#I understand it came from a place of hurt

[gilbertscurls]

Hurt Again ➵ Matt Sturniolo

summary: matt gets hurt. again.

You rushed through the door, your heart pounding in your chest. Chris had called you, sounding panicked, but it was Matt’s name he’d dropped—Matt was hurt, again.

You found Matt in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, clutching his side with a blood-stained towel. His jaw was clenched, eyes narrowed in discomfort, and even though he tried to act tough, you could see the pain etched on his face.

“Matt!” You dropped your bag and rushed to his side, panic clear in your voice. “You’re hurt? Why are you always hurt?”

Matt, trying to keep his usual cool exterior intact, looked up with a half-smirk. “It’s not that bad.”

“Not that bad? You’re bleeding!” You grabbed the towel from him to check the wound, and sure enough, there was a nasty gash running along his ribcage. He winced but said nothing.

“What happened?” you demanded, voice tight with worry as you grabbed the first aid kit from the cabinet. “And don’t even try to tell me it was nothing.”

Matt sighed, leaning against the counter. “I was trying to fix the shelf in my room. It’s been loose for a while. Didn’t realize it was that loose, though. Came down with half my tools.”

You shook your head, your hands moving quickly to clean the wound. “You’ve got to be kidding me. You could’ve called for help, you know.”

“I didn’t think I’d need it,” he muttered, his tone defensive but softened by the pain.

You shot him a look, your eyes narrowing. “Of course you didn’t.”

The room fell into a tense silence as you worked, carefully cleaning the gash and applying pressure. Matt, as usual, was trying to act like it didn’t bother him, but you could see his jaw tighten every time you pressed down on the wound.

After a few moments, you sighed, your voice softer now. “Why is it always you, Matt? Why are you always hurt?”

Matt glanced down, his expression hard to read. He wasn’t great at opening up, even to you, but there was something in the way you asked that made him pause. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m just unlucky.”

You looked up at him, frustration and concern warring in your expression. “Or maybe you’re too stubborn for your own good. You don’t always have to do everything by yourself, you know?”

He huffed, trying to shrug it off. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.” Your voice cracked slightly, the worry you’d been holding back leaking through. “You’re always hurt, Matt. Whether it’s stuff like this or keeping everything bottled up. You don’t let anyone help you.”

Matt met your gaze, and for once, his usual walls seemed to falter. “I’m not trying to be a hero. I just… I don’t want to be a burden.”

Your hands stilled for a moment as you processed his words. You’d known Matt long enough to understand that he wasn’t great at accepting help, but hearing him admit it—hearing the vulnerability in his voice—hit you harder than you expected.

“You’re not a burden,” you said softly, placing a bandage over the wound. “You never have been.”

Matt looked away, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “I don’t know how to… let people in. Not like you do.”

You smiled, despite the situation. “I know. But maybe you could try? You don’t always have to be the tough guy. It’s okay to let people care about you.”

For a moment, Matt didn’t say anything, just stood there as you finished patching him up. When you were done, you stepped back, your eyes searching his face for some sign that he was listening.

Finally, he sighed, his defenses lowering. “I’ll try.”

You smiled, the warmth in your eyes chasing away the tension that had been building. “Good. Because the next time you try to take on the world by yourself and end up hurt, I’m going to kill you.”

Matt chuckled, wincing slightly as he adjusted his stance. “Deal.”

You stood there for a moment, the usual distance between you replaced by a quiet understanding. Matt wasn’t one to show his emotions easily, and you had always known that, but now—now, you felt like maybe you were finally starting to bridge that gap.

“You don’t have to keep getting hurt to prove you’re strong, you know,” you said softly, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from his face.

Matt met your eyes, and for once, there was no smirk, no sarcastic comment. Just a quiet, genuine look that said more than his words ever could.

“I know,” he murmured. “And thanks… for always being there.”

You smiled, your heart swelling a little at his rare display of vulnerability. “Always.”

And maybe, just maybe, Matt would finally start letting you in.

tag list: @stuwniolo, @sturnobsessedwh0re, @matts-myloverboy, @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut, @lizzymacdonald06, @asherrisrandom, @sturniolowhore69, @faith5drpepper, @emely9274, @psychologyloverfr, @lovetaylorrussellgrr, @conspiracy-ash, @helpimateenagerinlove

[rottenfyre]

⸻ ᴛ ʜ ᴇ ᴛ ʏ ʀ ᴀ ɴ ᴛ ⸻

Pairing: Yandere HOTD x Targaryen Reader Part 2

Summary: After your mother's death, your life wasn't the same anymore. Everything was changing so fast and you were just watching.

Warning: Y/n herself is a warning.

Notes: English is not my first language. Gifs don't belong to me, credit to the owner. Hope you enjoy!

The air felt cool against her damp skin as she stood in front of the window, watching the distant glow of King's Landing beneath the night sky. Her body was still warm from the bath, the steam lingering in the room as it slowly dissipated, leaving behind the soft scent of lavender and rosewater.

She let her fingers trace the edges of the windowpane, feeling the cold, hard glass beneath her fingertips. It was quiet tonight—eerily so. The usual sounds of the city seemed muted, as if the world outside had gone still, holding its breath.

Her handmaid, Elira, stood behind her, gently brushing through her wet hair. The familiar rhythm of the bristles moving through her locks was soothing, almost meditative. Elira had always been there. Since the very beginning. They were the same age, but Elira had always known her place—quiet, loyal, obedient. Always there, always in the background, never faltering.

"It still hurts, you know... losing her." She spoke softly, her voice almost a whisper, more to herself than to Elira. She stared out into the dark horizon, her eyes distant. "Mother was... everything. The only person who truly knew me."

Elira didn't respond—she never did when it came to such things. She just kept brushing her hair, silent, attentive, like the shadow she had always been.

The ache in her chest intensified, a dull, ever-present throb that threatened to consume her. Who’s going to love me now? Her mother had been everything. The one person who had always been kind, always been gentle. And now, she was gone. The gods, if they even existed, had taken her away. Not just her mother, but her newborn brother as well.

Y/n blinked slowly, her eyes burning. Why did they take them? What kind of gods would do this? Why leave me behind with nothing? She couldn’t understand it, couldn’t process the emptiness that had swallowed her whole since that day. The pain was constant, gnawing at her insides like a beast that wouldn’t stop.

She hadn’t left this room since they told her. She hadn’t gone to the funeral. What would be the point? Rhaenyra had been the one to carry their mother’s body. She could have done that too. She could have honored her mother, but what was the point when she wasn’t even here? She was dead. Dead.

Y/n closed her eyes for a moment, letting herself sink into the sensation of the brush moving through her hair. "I loved her. I always did... I was kind to her, wasn't I?" The words felt heavy on her tongue, as if she were asking herself more than Elira. She knew the answer already. She had been kind. She had been gentle.

She sighed softly, her breath fogging the glass in front of her as her thoughts drifted. It was supposed to be a boy. A brother. I would’ve been kind to him too. She had already chosen the Dreamfyre egg for him, already imagined what he would look like with his silver hair and violet eyes.

But now... there was no brother. No mother. Just silence.

Suddenly, a sharp tug at her scalp broke through her thoughts, jolting her back to the present. She flinched slightly, her eyes narrowing as she turned her head just enough to glance at Elira.

"I'm so sorry, princess! Please forgive me!" Elira’s voice trembled, her hands shaking as she quickly let go of the brush, dropping it to the floor. She fell to her knees, her head bowed low, not daring to look up at Y/n. "Please, forgive me, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t... please, please, forgive me..."

Y/n stared down at her, unblinking, her mind oddly blank. Elira had always been loyal. She had always done what she was told. And now here she was, groveling on the floor, begging for forgiveness over a simple tug of hair. It was... pathetic.

But she didn’t feel angry. She didn’t feel anything.

"It's alright," she said calmly, her voice soft but devoid of emotion. "You can continue."

Elira hesitated for a moment, her hands still trembling as she slowly picked up the brush again, standing on shaky legs. She resumed her task, this time more careful, her movements slower, more deliberate.

Y/n turned back to the window, her gaze distant once more, her mind drifting in and out of the haze that had settled over her ever since her mother’s death. She could still hear Elira sniffling softly behind her, no doubt still terrified of making another mistake.

It’s fine, she told herself. She’s always been like this. Always afraid. Always apologizing. But it didn’t matter. None of it mattered.

She closed her eyes again, her fingers tracing the cool glass once more, feeling the chill seep into her skin.

“I made a decision,” Viserys looked between his daughters. “I have chosen to name Rhaenyra as my heir.”

The words hit her like a wave of ice-cold water, freezing her smile in place. Wait… what? Her mind stumbled, struggling to make sense of the words. Rhaenyra? She blinked, willing herself to understand, to hear something else, but the reality pressed on her, unyielding.

“That’s… great, Father!” she managed, her voice tight and bright. Her lips twitched, and somehow, she forced them into a smile. She clasped her hands in front of her, feeling them shake, the tremors threatening to give her away. Hold it together, she thought desperately, teeth gritted behind her smile. Don’t let them see. Don’t let them see.

A cacophony of voices began to rise within her, whispering, hissing, each word cutting into her like a thousand small blades. Weak… pathetic… that’s what you are.

Her nails dug into her palms as she continued to hold her smile. No, I’m not weak… he just doesn’t see my worth yet. He doesn’t understand. But he will, he will…

That’s why Father chose her, isn’t it? Because you’re useless. Because you’re nothing.

She swallowed hard, her throat dry, and glanced sideways at Rhaenyra, who was watching her with a mixture of pride and hesitance. Rhaenyra, the golden girl. Rhaenyra, the heir. Rhaenyra… the one Father loves. Her stomach twisted painfully, but she forced herself to keep smiling, her jaw aching from the strain.

Of course he doesn’t love you, they continued. Why would he? You’re not what he wanted. You’re just a mistake, a failure, a useless little girl who couldn’t be more than a shadow.

Her heart hammered against her ribs, each beat like a drum in her ears. She felt hollow, as if she were disappearing from within, crumbling like ash. I’m not useless, I’m not… But they laughed, drowning her, making it impossible to think.

Look at him. Look at how he looks at her. Do you see that warmth in his eyes? He has never looked at you like that. He never will.

Her hands were trembling openly now, and she clasped them tighter, willing herself to stop, to silence the whirlwind inside her. I am more than this, she thought, but the words felt empty, like something fragile that could shatter with a single breath. She lifted her gaze to her father, but his expression was unchanged, his eyes full of pride—for Rhaenyra.

That’s all you are, isn’t it? A disappointment. A shadow, unwanted and unloved.

Her head swam, and she could barely hear anything beyond the mocking laughter echoing in her mind. But she kept smiling, the mask she wore cracking at the edges, her heart sinking with each passing second. You're wrong. You're wrong about me. Father does love me… he has to…

“Are you all right?” Viserys asked, frowning slightly.

The words jolted her back to the room, and she forced herself to nod, ignoring the way her throat tightened. “Yes, Father,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. She wanted to scream, to cry, to tear down everything around her, but instead, she turned to leave, her face carefully blank.

As she walked away, the voices clawed at her, unrelenting, ruthless.

Useless. Unwanted. Weak. That’s why he chose her. That’s why he’ll always choose her. Because you will never be enough.

It's finally over. It had been a long day, a day that had dragged on for what seemed like an eternity. Today Rhaenyra had been named heir to the Iron Throne and she had to bow before her.

As she walked, Elira, kept a respectful distance behind her, her soft footsteps barely audible. The quiet murmur of the castle, usually so comforting to Y/n, only seemed to intensify the ache in her chest. She quickened her pace, her heels clicking sharply against the stone floor as the thoughts spiraled deeper. Why her? Why not me?

"Thanks the gods it's Princess Rhaenyra,"

Y/n froze, her entire body stiffening as she heard the words. Her mind raced, and her steps slowed, her breath catching. She looked around the corner, and saw a small group of servants standing near a doorway, talking among themselves. Her gaze narrowed as she caught the full statement.

"Ah, yes, I'm really thankful the King didn’t choose that mad cunt," one of them laughed, a harsh, ugly sound that made her skin crawl.

"What did you say?"

They immediately froze when they heard her, their faces draining of color. She could hear their frantic whispers, the way their voices faltered in fear. One of them, took a hesitant step backward.

The servants' eyes widened, and they all started stammering apologies, their words tangled together in a rush of panic.

"Please, my lady, we meant no harm, we were just—"

"We were just talking, milady. Please forgive us—"

"Please don’t—"

Her eyes locked onto the boy who had spoken the words. He looked terrified now, his face pale, his eyes wide with fear. She took a step forward, the rage bubbling over, her movements fluid and quick as she closed the distance between them. The boy shrank back, but it was too late.

“What the fuck did you just say to me?” Y/n half-yelled, her voice a venomous hiss. Everything that had been building inside her—the anger, the hurt, the rejection—came flooding out in a violent, unstoppable wave.

The servants froze, some of them taking instinctive steps back, but they couldn’t escape.

Before the boy could even react, Y/n was on him, her hands grabbing his hair. With a sickening crack, she slammed his skull against the stone wall. She didn’t even register the impact at first, her vision turning red as the anger clouded her thoughts. She did it again. And again. And again.

The sound of his skull crashing against the stone echoed in her ears, drowning out everything else. She didn’t hear the cries, the pleading, the desperate sobs. She didn’t hear Elira begging her to stop, her voice barely cutting through the haze of fury.

"Stop! Please! Stop!" Elira cried, her voice high with fear, but Y/n was beyond reason now. She could feel the boy’s head break beneath her hands, could feel the blood running down her fingers. The sound of his sobs, his frantic begging, only drove her further into madness.

And then, after what felt like an eternity, it was over. She stood there, panting, her breath ragged as she stared down at the boy’s lifeless body. His head was a mangled mess, blood seeping out from the cracks in his skull. Her hands were slick with it, the red staining her fingers, her palms.

She blinked, coming back to herself slowly. The haze began to clear. She looked down at the body, her heart still racing, the adrenaline still coursing through her veins. Her chest heaved, and for a moment, she could barely comprehend what had just happened. She didn’t even remember how she’d gotten here, or how many times she’d struck him.

He’s dead.

The thought hit her like a punch to the gut. Her heart sank, but the anger still simmered beneath the surface, still clawing at her insides. She turned to look around at the others—the servants were trembling, staring at her in horror, their faces pale and filled with fear.

Why... Why they are looking at me like this?

Y/n glanced down at her dress, now soaked in blood. It was one of her favorites. She frowned as she looked at the deep red stains, the fabric ruined. What a pity.

With a deep sigh, she straightened up, her anger beginning to ebb, leaving a hollow emptiness behind. Her voice was calm, too calm, as she turned to the servants. “Clean this mess up,” she ordered, her voice flat. “And make sure no one finds out about it.”

She didn’t care how they did it, just as long as it was done. She turned to Elira, her voice still controlled, though her emotions were a mess inside her. “Prepare the bath for me,” she said softly, almost pitiful. “I need to wash.”

As she walked away, Elira hesitated for a moment before following her. The others remained rooted to the spot, too afraid to move. Y/n walked through the hallways, the blood drying on her hands, her mind drifting in a haze of confusion and sadness.

I’m so tired. The thought came suddenly, washing over her like a wave. She let out a breath, shaking her head slightly.

But as she entered her chambers, she start thinking about the scene she left behind. The servants would clean it. They always did. But they would never forget. And neither would she.

With that, she closed the door behind her, her thoughts already shifting again, the sadness creeping back in.

"The realm will never accept a woman as their ruler," Rhaenys muttered, her voice laced with the bitterness that always seemed to cloud her words when the topic of succession arose.

Y/n tilted her head and nodded, the movement slow, almost sympathetic. Oh, how tragic, she thought, her lips curling into a faint smirk. All this whining and hand-wringing. Pathetic.

She softened her features, arranging her face into what she imagined looked like mild concern. "Tragic, isn’t it?" she said, her voice dripping with a smooth, honeyed sarcasm that neither of them seemed to catch.

"When I am queen I will create a new order," Rhaenyra said, her tone defiant, her chin lifted as though challenging the world to disagree.

Yes, yes, Rhaenyra, I’m sure you would be a shining example of wisdom and honor, Y/n thought, fighting back a laugh. Keep dreaming.

"Of course you would, dear sister," Y/n replied smoothly, giving a slight, dismissive nod. "The realm would be lucky to have you."

Rhaenys glanced at her, as if sizing her up, before letting out a low, sardonic chuckle. "Men would sooner burn the kingdom than let a woman sit on the throne," she said, a bitter truth in her words that, for some reason, still failed to resonate with Y/n. Power wasn’t something one was given—it was taken. And anyone too weak to seize it had no right to it in the first place.

She hid her thoughts behind a sip of wine, watching them both with a half-lidded gaze, letting their words drift over her like idle gossip. What a pair they are—one too proud to realize her limitations, the other too bitter to let go of her grievances.

"Oh, yes, a kingdom ablaze," Y/n murmured, feigning a wistful tone. "How poetic. Such a tragic tale, isn’t it?" She held out her glass, staring into the dark red liquid as if pondering something deeply moving, though in truth, she was only admiring the way the light caught the wine.

Rhaenyra sighed heavily. "They underestimate us. They see us as delicate things, fit only to be wives and mothers."

"Do they?" Y/n’s smile widened, an amused glint in her eyes. Oh, the endless suffering. Boo-hoo.

Rhaenys was watching her with an arched brow, clearly picking up on the subtle mockery in her tone. "You don’t seem very troubled by any of this, Y/n," she observed, almost as if accusing her.

Y/n shrugged, a slow, lazy movement that exuded indifference. "Oh, I am devastated, truly," she replied, the sarcasm practically dripping from her words. "What a tragic world we live in, where women like us must endure such indignities. Really, it’s heartbreaking."

Rhaenyra shot her a sharp look. "This isn’t a joke, Y/n."

"Of course not," Y/n replied, her voice smooth as silk, unfazed by her sister’s disapproval. "Nothing about any of this is funny." She took another sip, savoring the wine and the absurdity of it all. I should be the one that wear the crown, not you.

Then, as though the thought had only just occurred to her, she sighed and placed her empty goblet aside. "Ah, but I must take my leave, unfortunately." She glanced over at them, feigning a regretful expression. "I’ve a fitting to attend for my dress, you know, for Father’s wedding. It simply wouldn’t do to be unprepared for such an occasion."

The slight in her tone was subtle, but it was there, veiled in a pleasant smile. The wedding going to happen sooner or later. What a spectacle it would be. Their dear father, so desperate to secure his legacy that he’d wed a mere girl, and all to produce another heir—a boy, if the gods were willing, and if not… well, it hardly mattered to her.

"How dutiful of you," Rhaenys remarked, a hint of mockery in her voice. It was clear she saw through Y/n’s thin veneer of civility.

"Indeed." Y/n inclined her head, lips quirking in a smug smile. "After all, it’s so important to play our parts well, isn’t it?"

She glanced back at them one last time, giving them both a pointed look, her smile widening as she took in their earnest, troubled faces. "Farewell, then. Do enjoy your discussion. Such deep, meaningful words, truly," she said, voice dripping with false admiration as she turned on her heel, sauntering away without a second glance.

Y/n strode toward her father’s chambers, Ser Criston trailing like a shadow at her side. She had a perfectly charming smile painted on her lips until she came up short, blocked by two guards standing in front of the doors. Their hands gripped their spears, glancing at each other nervously before looking back at her.

“Step aside,” she said, voice a silky command.

The guards didn’t budge.

One of them, foolishly brave or utterly clueless, raised a hand. “I’m sorry, my lady, but the King has asked to not be disturbed.”

Her smile faltered, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “You’re saying I can’t see my father?” Her voice was calm, almost amused. She tilted her head, letting her gaze drift over their faces with cold scrutiny. “Are you sure that’s wise?”

The guard stiffened, clearly feeling her gaze like a blade. “We have orders.”

She chuckled, the sound smooth as honey but laced with venom. “And do you have any idea what I could do to you for disobeying me?” She leaned in, voice dropping low. “I could have your tongues ripped out, have you hanging from the city walls by your intestines, all while you beg for mercy.” She smiled, sickly sweet. “Or I could just tell my father you disrespected his daughter.”

The guards flinched, glancing at each other but standing firm.

She clicked her tongue, gaze sharpening. “Perhaps I should have Ser Criston here peel the skin from your faces, inch by inch? How does that sound?”

Criston’s hand drifted to his sword, his eyes darkening in anger at their defiance. Before he could make a move, Otto appeared around the corner, striding toward them with his usual calm authority.

“Ah, my lord Hand,” Y/n said, smile widening as she turned toward Otto. She cast the guards one last look before redirecting her attention.

Otto looked at her and then at the guards, clearly sensing the tension in the air. “Is there a problem here, princess?” His voice was calm, as if he hadn’t just walked into a potential bloodbath.

She tilted her head, letting out a soft, exasperated sigh. “Oh, nothing major, Lord Hand,” she purred. “Just a minor misunderstanding. These men seem to think they have the right to keep me from my father’s chambers. Quite peculiar, don’t you think?” She cast a smug glance at the guards, watching as they shifted uncomfortably.

The guards started to speak up, but Y/n shot them a warning glare, silencing them immediately. “In fact, I’d say it was downright insulting.”

Otto nodded thoughtfully, his expression neutral. “Well, princess, your father is about to attend the small council meeting. I’ve come to fetch him myself.”

She clenched her jaw, an annoyed sigh slipping from her lips as she finally gave a small nod. Fucking cock suckers. But she kept her expression calm, respectful even. Otto had always been fond of her—treated her like one of his own, in a way. No need to break that little bond just yet.

“Very well,” she murmured, stepping back as she allowed Otto to enter. She watched him disappear into the chamber, then turned her gaze back toward the guards, her expression a warning that needed no words. They quickly looked away, pretending to be more interested in the floor.

Moments later, Otto returned with her father. Viserys offered her a faint, apologetic smile, but his focus seemed elsewhere, a bit distracted. Odd. Otto, too, seemed unusually composed, almost as if there was something else on his mind.

As they walked away, Y/n glanced toward the chamber doors, half-distracted, until she caught a flash of red hair in the corner of her vision. A woman’s figure seated on the edge of the bed—her father’s bed.

Her heart skipped a beat, eyes widening. She had to suppress a sudden laugh, biting her nails as her excitement bubbled up. Oh, now that’s just… delicious.

There’s no way… Is that…? Did Otto really…? Oh, you sly, clever old fox. So that’s why Father’s been so preoccupied. And here I thought he was just mourning my poor Mother.

“Are you all right, my lady?” Criston’s voice brought her back to the present. He glanced at her with concern.

She smiled at him, a flash of brightness that was all teeth. “I’m perfectly fine, Ser Criston,” she murmured, her gaze still lingering on that red hair. Alicent. The Hand’s sweet little daughter, warming dear Father’s bed where Mother once lay. Oh, it was almost poetic.

Without another word, she wrapped her arm around Criston’s, a little too tight, leading him away, her smile widening as her mind danced with happiness. The thrill of it all simmered under her skin, making her eyes glint with a mad sort of glee.

Oh, Rhaenyra… if only you knew. Your dear friend is right here, warming our father’s bed. Such a pity you don’t see it yet. Poor, poor little sister.

Criston glanced at her, brow furrowed in confusion. “Is something the matter, my lady?”

“Nothing at all,” she purred, letting out a small laugh. “I’m just… happy, that’s all.”

As the small council convened, Viserys rose to his feet, his expression serious yet strained. She cast a brief glance at Rhaenyra beside her, who watched their father with rapt attention, completely unaware.

Don’t tell me Father’s actually going to—

“I have decided… I am to marry Lady Alicent Hightower.”

The silence that followed was exquisite. Y/n’s smirk widened as she glanced sideways at Rhaenyra, whose face had turned from shock to disbelief. Rhaenyra’s eyes met Y/n’s, wide and wounded, and in that brief exchange, Y/n’s smirk told her everything. Yes, dear sister, I knew. I knew before you did. And now… so do you.

Y/n’s gaze turned cold as she looked across the room at Corlys. He sat motionless for a moment, disbelief and anger barely concealed in his face as he processed what the King had just announced. She barely held back her sneer of disgust.

This pathetic man… offering up his child to this decrepit old fool just to worm his way closer to the throne. What a spineless little weasel. Tried to sell sweet Leana to Father… You’re nothing but a cock-sucking snake, Corlys.

Corlys’ face hardened. Offended, he shot Viserys a withering look before standing abruptly and leaving the room in silence. Y/n’s eyes followed him, the smirk still tugging at her lips. Good riddance, you worm.

Next to her, Rhaenyra had gone pale. She shot a look of absolute betrayal at Alicent, whose face was touched with guilt, as if she’d known this moment was coming yet hadn’t prepared for the sight of her friend’s hurt. Then turning on her heel and storming out.

Poor, naive Rhaenyra… How perfect, to have this all crumble around you while you stood unaware.

But Y/n stayed, savoring the stunned silence that filled the room, and then, without missing a beat, she plastered on her most sincere smile.

“Congratulations, Father!” she chimed, her voice warm as she moved toward Viserys.

Viserys let out a sigh, though a relieved one, as she embraced him, patting her arm gently. “Thank you, my dear,” he replied, clearly grateful for her support.

She released him, turning to Alicent, who was still wide-eyed, not quite sure what to make of the sudden affection Y/n was showing. She shifted uncomfortably as Y/n opened her arms to her.

“Alicent,” Y/n murmured, drawing her in with a tight embrace, voice sweet as honey. She leaned close to her ear, her words just barely audible to anyone but Alicent.

“Oh, Alicent,” she murmured into her ear, “I always knew you were a little whore.” She felt Alicent’s body stiffen, but she continued, undeterred. “You shouldn’t be so pleased with yourself—you’ve married my rotting father, after all.” She let out a mocking laugh, barely a whisper. “I can only imagine… his ‘crown jewels’ are as decrepit as the rest of him. But lucky you, you’re the perfect breeding mare, aren’t you? A nice, wet hole to keep his cock warm,” she added, voice dripping with contempt, “Every night you’ll lay with him, his decaying hands on you, his disgusting, rotting body. I’ll bet even his—” she sneered, “—cock is rotting.”

Alicent’s face flushed, her breath catching as she stood, stunned and trembling in Y/n’s arms. Y/n only smiled, tilting her head to kiss her on the cheek.

“I’m so happy for you, Mother,” she cooed, her voice dripping with sweetness.

Alicent, visibly shaken, managed a faltering smile, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Thank you… daughter.”

Part 1

@ʀᴏᴛᴛᴇɴꜰʏʀᴇ 2024. ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟ��ᴛᴇ ᴏʀ ᴜꜱᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡᴇʙꜱɪᴛᴇꜱ

[aquaticmercy]

Waste a Moment / Part 10

Summary : Bucky had always kept his distance, but seeing you get hurt on a mission changed everything. For the first time, he has a chance to start over with you.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x avenger!reader (she/her) 

Warnings/tags : Mentions of food. Cursing. Memory loss. Head injury. Reader used to work in a museum.

Requested by :  @remoony

Word count : 2.7k

Note : Thank you so much for all the love you all are giving this series! Enjoy!

Series Masterlist

“Give me Something I Want”

Wednesday.

In the days that followed Yelena’s ultimatum, Bucky felt a strange, quiet storm churning beneath the life he’d finally allowed himself. 

For the first time in years, he felt a sense of warmth, of peace—something he’d only dreamed about, something that had always felt out of reach. 

He had you. And he could feel the calmness like he hadn't felt before every time you looked at him, every time your hand slipped into his, every time you said his name with a kind of gentle joy he’d thought he’d never deserve.

Even after that little bicker on Monday night, you had found your rhythm again, choosing to trust him instead.

He’d spent so many nights alone, haunted by the weight of his own memories, terrified of what he was capable of, of who he had been. 

But you… you made him feel like he was worth saving. 

But even as he kissed your hair and let himself sink into the couch cushions, he could feel Yelena’s judgement hanging over him like a ghost. The truth clawed at him, the bitter memories whispering reminders of the damage it could do if found out, if you knew the version of him that had once pushed you away, that had built walls so high he didn’t know how to tear them down, could you still look at him with that same kind stare? Would you pull away, realising that you’d only seen a sliver of the man he’d been, that the rest was buried in regrets and choices he wasn’t proud of?

His mind flashed back to that moment with Yelena, her voice leaving him exposed, vulnerable. Her words echoed in his head, haunting him. 

But she didn’t understand— she couldn’t possibly. Because you now looked at him with love and adoration. He wasn’t ready to lose that, to lose you.

Thursday.

The next morning, he found himself watching you as you slept, the barest light tracing your features. His heart twisted in a strange, painful mix of love and fear. 

He would carry the burden of his past alone, if it meant he could keep the life he’d found in you. 

He kissed your forehead, his lips as light as a feather, making a silent promise to himself: he would protect you from the pieces of himself that might hurt you, no matter what it cost him. And if Yelena tried to break that fragile peace, he’d deal with her when the time came. But for now, he’d stay right here, holding onto this one thing that finally felt real.

As he lay beside you, he repeated it in his mind like a vow: She will never know.

Friday.  

The mission briefing room pulsed with red lights and bright screens, though everyone else seemed blind to it. 

Maybe you just weren’t used to it yet.

Around you, the team was busy with logistics, preoccupied with tactical details, terrain-view maps, and contingency plans. 

You felt Bucky shift beside you. He was always a watchful presence beside you, like a human shield. Across the table sat Sam, Clint, and Yelena, their expressions locked in concentration. Bucky, however, had hardly looked up. His gaze remained trained on the table, his fist clenched in a way that made the way that made your heart flip.

Sam lifted his eyes to meet yours. “You’re ready for this,” he said, his tone firm. “Your specialisation on ancient artefacts makes you the only one who can get close enough without setting off every alarm in the place.” He gestured to the screen, where a high-definition image of a weapon gleamed with an eerie allure—a golden blade encrusted in cryptic symbols, the metal gleaming as if alive, exuding a faint glow that seemed neither earthly nor entirely comprehensible to the human mind.

“Our intel says it’s magical,” Sam continued— he had consulted with Strange, and he didn't even seem too sure. “Or at the very least, powerful enough to be a real threat if it falls into the wrong hands. We need you to get in there, identify it, and secure it before anyone else does. Clint and Yelena will be on backup. They’ll be ready to extract you the second something goes wrong.”

You nodded, feeling the familiar buzz of adrenaline flooding your veins— one you couldn't tie to a memory. This was the kind of mission you’d trained for, the kind that made you a candidate for the Avengers in the first place.

Then you felt it—a small but telling movement. Bucky’s hand had moved, his fingers curling tighter into a fist, the hum of machine coiling around his metal arm. A worry flashed in the back of his eyes that held the barely-contained force of a storm. His eyes were locked on the photograph of the weapon, his entire body straightening as if bracing against a blow.

He finally spoke. “No.”

The single word shattered the room. The others fell silent, every gaze snapping toward him, the low hum of conversation extinguished as if a candle had been snuffed out. His tone was final. 

You blinked, thrown off by the bluntness he exuded.

What?

The single word spiked confusion, breaking through your focus. Bucky was rarely vocal when he was around the entire team— but  he was never like this. His expression was hard now, carved with an intensity that seemed almost primal, as though he could see the danger you’d face from a mile away.

Sam’s brows drew together. “What?” he started, his voice calm but tinged with caution. He had the terrain intel for you, every dip of the landscape, But Bucky’s objection was a territory none of them had mapped.

As you looked up, Bucky’s eyes were fixed on you now, as if he were silently urging you to see what he did—to feel the risk that he alone seemed to sense.

His jaw clenched so tight it looked like he might crack a tooth. When he finally met Sam’s demanding stare, there was a flicker of vulnerability, an urgency that softened his hard edges. 

“She’s not ready,” he said, in a rumble so low that a chill ran down your spine. “We haven’t covered everything yet. There’s more we need to work through.”

Clint leaned forward. The look on his face was half a challenge, half a curiosity. “Bucky, you were the first to tell us she’s ahead of schedule. Hand-to-hand, stealth—you said it yourself, she’s exceeded every target.” His voice was level, but a hint of irritation crept up his throat.

Sure, Clint might not have as much of a … hands on approach as Bucky did, but he oversaw your training, too.

And he knew you were ready,

Bucky shook his head. It was his human hand that flexed into a fist this time, the knuckles turning white. 

“I want more time,” he muttered, more to himself than to anyone else. “The mission should be postponed. That’s all I’m asking.”

Bucky radiator of the fear he was struggling to mask. 

“I trust your judgement, Bucky,” Sam’s arms crossed over his chest, his brow furrowing. "But she’s proven that she’s capable. She’s kicking my sorry ass week in week out and you know she’s ready.”

“I just want more time,” He repeated in a rasp, his eyes darkening. 

Time. 

That was all he wanted. 

All he ever wanted with you.

More time, to fix every weak spot, to be sure you were shielded against every possible threat. More time to prepare you for the dangers you couldn’t yet see. More time to hold you in his arms before anything— this mission or Yelena— took you away from him.

But time was slipping away. 

Sam looked over at you, assessing, maybe even waiting to see what you thought. You’d been eerily quiet, a mixture of awe and nerves keeping you planted to your chair. This was your first mission briefing after getting back into training, after all. You hadn’t learned the cadence of these discussions yet, hadn’t learned the proper flow of conversation.

“One week wouldn't hurt,” you murmured, your voice steady, though a knot twisted in your chest. 

Bucky’s breath hitched as the words one week left your lips, echoing in his mind like a warning. The phrase cut through him, pulling him back to Yelena’s voice, low and sharp as she’d said it to him just days before: One week, Barnes. You have one week to tell her everything or I will.

He glanced across the table, his eyes landing on Yelena. Her stare was unrelenting, almost predatory. The corners of her mouth quivered in a faint, insincere smile, and her eyes locked onto his with a dark promise, a reminder of the ultimatum she had made—an ultimatum that only had two days left on the clock.

Bucky felt a dread gnawing at him, knowing that both clocks were now ticking down faster than he could stop it.

Sam glanced between the two of you. This time. His eyes were kinder, more understanding.

“Fine,” he conceded. “But only for a week. After that…” He gave a smile that reassured your confidence. “It’s yours.”

Relief surged through Bucky, though he buried it beneath a mask of calm indifference.

As the meeting wrapped up, everyone began to leave the room. As you stood to leave, you caught a look from Yelena, her face shadowed by a faint trace of sadness. She lingered by the door, though she said nothing. 

You looked down, an unexpected pang of guilt tugging at your heartstrings. You assumed that Yelena was disappointed in you, in delaying the mission.

You hadn’t meant to slow anyone down. You had trained relentlessly, preparing for a moment like this, but Bucky’s resistance had meant something to you. 

You had grown to trust him more than anyone in your fragile existence. If he said no, he must’ve had a reason.

—

When you were finally alone with Bucky back at your apartment, a tension thrummed between you. You turned to him, crossing your arms, unable to hold back the frustration and confusion threatening to bubble over. 

“I was ready for that mission,” you said. “I am ready.”

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. You could see the struggle in his eyes, a potion of protectiveness and love. “It’s… not that simple,” he replied reluctantly. His cheek ones flexed, and for a moment, he looked at you with a vulnerability that made you weak.

“Not that simple?” you echoed, pressing an explanation out of him. “I agreed to a week because you were worried, not because I thought I wasn’t ready. You’re always so… protective, but I need you to trust me.”

He nodded, his human hand reaching out to touch your arm, comforting himself through the contact. His thumb traced gentle circles. “I do,” He hesitated, the admission heavy on his tongue. “I need you here. Just… a little longer.”

The honesty in his words softened your frustration. His hand tightened on you, his voice dropping to a raw, vulnerable whisper. “I can’t lose you. Not again.”

The words hit you hard, and for a moment, you stood there and shared his worries. You lifted a hand to his cheek, feeling the roughness of stubble under your fingers, his eyes flickering closed.

“Bucky,” you whispered, gently pulling him closer. Your arms slid around his neck, and you felt him relax almost instantly. A quiet sigh slipped from his lips as you ran your fingers through his hair.

“I’m here,” you murmured, your voice soft as your lips brushed over his cheek. “But sooner or later, you’ll have to let go.”

Bucky’s metal arm slid around your waist, his forehead pressing gently against yours. He held you like he was memorising every detail, the sound of every breath you took. 

Then his mouth found yours in a kiss that carried everything he couldn’t put into words. His hands moved up your back, tracing slow, warm circles that left a trail of heat along your spine. You felt his fingers graze your skin, slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, his touch sending shivers through you as he pulled you closer, pressing you against the marble counter.

Each kiss, each touch, was a confession, an apology, a plea. Still, you felt the distance he kept, a part of himself he still couldn’t share.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested on yours. His breaths were uneven, his gaze heavy-lidded with something that looked awfully a lot like grief. 

“I will,” he promised, his voice growing thin. “I just need more time.”

You nodded, brushing your thumb along his cheek, meeting his gaze with warmth, understanding. “One week,” you whispered back, a soft smile lifting your lips. You leaned in, kissing him again, your touch lingering, giving him the reassurance he so desperately needed

When you said it, your voice was soft, filled with warmth and reassurance. But in his mind, the words twisted, dragging him back to the way Yelena had said them—sharp and unforgiving.

One week.

Your tone was gentle, a promise. Hers had been relentless and ruthless, a threat. He couldn’t shake it, the way she had cut into him, a grim countdown echoing in his mind no matter how hard he tried to focus on you.

You sighed, breathing in his scent, wondering what he was thinking about.

Could you really blame him? Of course he cared. Of course he was worried. 

The last time you’d been sent on a mission, you came back with four years of your life wiped clean, whole chapters of memory erased like pages torn from a book. 

You didn't voice it, but you often found yourself wondering about those lost fragments of your life, the memories that had slipped through your fingers. What were they? Who have you been? 

Bucky had never given you straight answers. All he ever said was that before all this, he was your friend. But there was something in his eyes that suggested more. 

You wondered sometimes,  if the two of you had been more than friends before… Had you been lovers, too, the way you were now?

It was easy to imagine it, the way his body curved so naturally onto yours.

But he wouldn’t tell you, and his reluctance left you with an aching sense of being incomplete. 

Sometimes you wondered if losing all that time hurt him more than it hurt you.

Maybe the thought of reliving them, of watching you live without the memories you both carefully curated together, hurt him too much. 

And even if Bucky were to tell you everything—the names of places you’d been, the details of nights spent together, the whispers you might have shared—it would still be just that: information. Facts without feelings. 

No context behind what you did and why you did it. 

In that moment, his body leaned into yours as if he could delay time, press pause, keep the world at bay for just a little longer. 

But deep down, he knew this was temporary. 

He knew Yelena wouldn’t wait forever. Two days, maybe less, and everything he feared would come crashing in.

Even if he managed to talk her out of it, he had a week until you had to go on the mission.

—

Later that night, Bucky sat in the dim glow of his phone, eyes fixed on the unsent message he’d typed to Yelena.  

Can we talk?

He was planning to convince her, to beg her if he had to, anything to stop her from telling you the truth. At the very least, he wanted her to hold off for a little longer.

He had an excuse now—the mission. The argument was already forming in his head. “She’s going on a mission in a week,” he’d tell her. “Do you really want her distracted with all of this?” 

It was a flimsy shield to hide behind, but maybe it would buy him time. Maybe he could just keep buying time.

Because for you, he’d pay anything.

With a weary sigh, he deleted the message. 

Tomorrow, he thought, I’ll talk to Yelena in person, face to face. Maybe if she saw how much this meant to him, she’d hold her silence a little longer. Maybe she’d understand.

But as Bucky’s screen went dark, your phone buzzed in the other room.

You glanced down at your phone, surprised to see a message from Happy:

Hey! Had my assistant compile all the security footage of you from the last three years at the compound. You’re welcome to come by and watch it whenever you’re ready.

-to be continued…

Taglist :

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[purpledemonlilyposting]

Does that mean you’ll still react to Lily’s bad media takes? Because honestly, between what you, Ant and Crim (whom I understand doesn’t want to part take in the Lily Slop anymore, I respect) have accomplished by calling Lily out and her actively attacking you guys helps shows her true colors, especially when she was falsely striking y’all. It has affected Lily’s channel, her views have been at an all time low and I’m sure that’s hurting her financially too.

You guys also helped a lot of people realize how toxic Lily can be and how she constantly talks nonsense. Not too mention with her crimes, Lilly is a walking red flag with all the high intimacy siblings stuff that it goes into her work, she has a clear pattern of behavior that always links back to the crimes against her. Girl is having coffee at the screen of the crime but weaves so many lies to deny it that she can’t keep her story straight.

My heart goes out to Courtney and wishing her justice, but you guys dissecting Lily’s lack of media literacy has also help spread more awareness of her having no authority over anything as well as damaging her views. So while I understand not wanting to talk over or for victims, you’ve all still contributed awareness of how dangerous Lily can still be.

Well if Lily is dumb enough to do a video on Dragon Age you bet I will. But even my audience is losing interest in her, she didn't even come close in my last poll about what they want my next react stream to be.

I had a stream before Lily, it was just on Twitch, and I'm not going to apologize for seizing the opportunity handed to me when I suddenly found myself with a new audience and a new income stream on YouTube.

I've been very transparent from the start that I'm an entertainer first and foremost and ill-equipped to speak in depth on the crimes I believe Lily is guilty of.

But I also can't ignore them. So I keep on her ass with this sideblog full of receipts. I mention the gross shit she's said and done every stream on her. Ant and I have been trying to get YouTube to take her copyright system abuse seriously which could terminate her channel.

But beyond direct legal action all the rest of us can do is keep calling attention to what a degenerate she is, annoy her, point out what a shit content creator she is in the first place, and chip away at her reputation. Sue me that I want to have fun along the way with the skillset I do have.

And not to toot my own horn but she's dropped over 2,000 subs since I came on the scene.

You will be seeing edits of past Lily streams coming out though. I'm starting to pay editors to help me with that. 😁

[think-like-a-poet]

lando x reader where they are on holiday and enjoying the city, just cute moments

Sightseeing

Lando Norris x reader

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

The sun was shining on the back of your head as you were making your way down the street. Landos hand was inside yours as he looked on his phone following google maps directions.

"I understand nothing from this app. It says we need to go every direction at once." He sighs. You laugh as he puts his phone back.

You squeeze his hand, "Don't worry, babe. We will just walk around till we see a nice place to eat."

He stops in his track, pulling you with you to the side to not be in the way of others, "Alright, but you wanted to see Pisa first. It is only twelve."

You smile and give him a quick peck on the lips, "I am sure a tower isn't hard to miss. We just follow the rest of the people."

"Alright, lead the way." he hold out his hand and together you walk further down the street.

-

Around thirty minutes later, you finally reached the leaning tower of Pisa. It could have been earlier if Lando hadn't insisted on going a side way to be their faster, even though he had never been here before, and you came out were you started

"Alright, not the right way," he had muttered and you had shook your head.

Now, you were trying to get Lando on the right place with his hands held out, "Bit to the left. You are standing in front of it."

Lando shuffles to the side and stretches his hand out so that it looks like he is the one pushing the tower, "Like this?"

"Yes, don't move." you cheer and take a lot of pictures, hoping on of them would at least be good enough, as Lando changes his face expressions from normal to weird, mimic almost all emoji's.

You laugh and hand the phone to Lando, "Could we do a selfie"

"For you, always." he jokes and takes the phone to put it into his pocket and grabs his camera from around his shoulder You roll your eyes playfully at his comment.

He holds the Camera into the air and you smile at the red light. "Beautiful."

He puts it around his neck, "Lets get some gelato instead. I saw a shop a couple streets back."

"You sure your trainer is alright with that?"

Lando shrugs, "I am on holiday. What he doesn't know, doesn't hurt him." he takes your hand back in his and walks towards the ice cream shop.

-

Youruser

Youruser: Bella Vista @ landonorris

Iiked by: Landonorris,lilyzneimer and 382.827 others

Landonorris: you are my bella vista❤️

Liked by creator

Lilyzneimer: How did you not fall?

Youruser: lots of practise

Landonorris: she did fall the first time

Youruser: shhh, don't tell my secrets

User: to go on holiday with lando norris

User: my favourite couple

User: now i want ice cream

-

LandoNorris

Landonoris: eat pasta,drive fasta @.youruser

Liked by: Youruser, oscarpiastri and 978.273 others

Oscarpiastri: stealing my qoute

Landonorris: We drive faster together

Oscarpiastri: alright

Yourusername: are we interrupting @.lilyzneimer

Lilyzneimer: i say we run away together

Yourusernane: Lets do it

User: love how he posted a pic of her, but not himself

User: We need a landojpg post

User: please

User: the hand on her leg

User: i am to single for this

[matcha-milkies]

LIKE AN OLEANDER

Summary: Bill Cipher needs a footstool and a thoroughly Stockholmed Ford is happy to oblige.

Relationships: Bill Cipher & Ford Pines, Pyronica is there too

Content Warnings: Abuse, Master/Pet, Psychological Torture/Horror/Trauma, Stockholm Syndrome, Victim Blaming, Sensory Deprivation

Tags: Triangle Bill, Canon Divergence - Weirdmageddon, Bill Cipher Wins, Collars, Chains, Whump, Hurt No Comfort, Bill Cipher is a Jerk

Word Count: 1,306

Link to AO3: Here

A/N: Based on @jellyskink’s immaculate Domesticated Ford AU, in which Bill mentally breaks Ford in the 1980s and brainwashes him into an obedient and fawning pet. Weirdmageddon started early, and over time the weirdness bubble surrounding Gravity Falls naturally expanded to contain both California and Oregon. If you want to learn more, there’s a lot more tidbits on their blog, though fair warning it’s a pretty dark and sad AU.

Thank you, jellyskink, for giving me the green light to write a fic for this!

I saw someone say this au is “all pain, no sex” which is really at the heart of what I look for in fics, but is so painstakingly absent in most fandoms, so this is a godsend •⩊•

If you haven’t listened to “Oleander” by Mother Mother what are you even doing with your life /lh

Bill Cipher is in a particularly good mood today. He and Pyronica probably broke a record for largest bonfire in California, even counting all their previous antics over the years. Not the dream demon’s most creative endeavor by a long shot, but hey, sometimes you just gotta start a blazing inferno to let off some steam. Nothing wrong with a bit of simple, straightforward arson now and then.

It’s only when he returns to the Fearamid, practically glowing, buzzing and high off the screams of the innocent, that he remembers the state he left Sixer in.

The man is in a kneeling position, collared by the neck. His hair, fluffy and disheveled, feathers down to around his shoulders, brushing against the cruel blue metal. His twelve fingers twitch and grasp at nothing, futilely, as though groping for purchase on a rugged cliffside. His purple sweater is rumpled in places, like he had pulled and grabbed at that too, to no evident avail. He’s whimpering to himself, words that are at first indiscernible as Bill enters the massive chamber.

The scientist is tethered to a ring near the base of the Throne of Frozen Human Agony, staring vacantly into the middle space, unseeing. It’s not his fault. Bill severed all input from his optic nerves, so he literally can’t see. Or hear. Or feel. Yeah, he cut off those nerves too. It was supposed to be a punishment that lasted a few hours. And then Bill had left and gotten carried away with his fun, and well, it had been an entire day.

Whoops.

Make no mistake, he doesn’t feel bad about it. If anything, it’s kind of funny, like forgetting to feed your dog! Wait. Humans don’t find that funny. Well, who can expect them to understand the emotions of an all-powerful chaos god? He draws closer, and the previously indiscernible words sharpen into clarity.

“I love you, my muse. I love you.”

Repeated ad nauseam to the uncaring void.

“Aww,” Bill clasps his hands together and brings them closer to his eye. “He’s so pathetic!” Pyronica, who came in with him, nods her agreement and laughs along. This must be what it’s like to catch your puppy mid-dream, its little tongue lolling and leg kicking at nothing.

He can’t remember whether he instructed his pet to repeat those words or not. Honestly, it’s anyone’s guess. Bill’s will and Ford’s are so inextricable at this point that Ford often does things without needing to be told. Of course, they’re not entirely on the same wavelength, or else punishment wouldn’t be required in the first place.

“Eh, remind me to snap him out of it in another half an hour,” Bill says, settling himself on the throne. With a wave of an arm he summons a martini glass. “I’m gonna have myself a drink.”

“Sure thing, boss.” He summons a glass for her too, and hipshot, she accepts. “Hey, you think we should’ve put the fire out before we left?”

They both share a hearty chuckle over that. “Would be a shame if it all burned down!” Bill sighs as the laughter dies down. “Nah, but seriously. California will still be there for us to play with tomorrow. And if it isn’t, we can always just rebuild it! In my image! Ha!”

“Yeah. Technically the fires are my image though.”

“Touché!”

They talk for a while, maybe 20 minutes or so in this fashion, casually sipping time punch and discussing unnatural disasters like they’re music festivals. Ford goes completely untouched and unnoticed, until suddenly Bill returns his attention to the human, and a light bulb goes off next to his hat.

“Wait. Do you wanna see something hysterical? I have the best idea.”

Every sensation returns to Ford at once in a flood of color, touch and sound. Sometimes, when Bill is feeling merciful, he eases him back into it, but his merciful moods are few and far between. More commonly, he likes to toss the scientist in the deep end and watch him flounder, tears quickly beading at the corners of Ford’s eyes and spilling fatly over his cheeks. His body convulses in a singular, broken sob, and before he can finish another apologetic, “I love you,” Bill hits him with a hard command.

“Stanford! I need a footstool!” The demon extends his legs and wiggles his feet a little. He whistles as though beckoning a dog. “Come ‘ere!”

Despite his disorientation, Ford rushes to obey, lurching in the direction of Bill’s voice and falling flat on his face. Shakenly, he picks himself off the ground, letting loose a singular groan.

“I’m still waiting!” Bill sings, swinging his legs a little for effect. Pyronica snickers. Ford tries again, following the sound of his muse’s voice, although he is quickly dismayed to find that he’s already reached the end of his chain. He falls just short of Bill’s feet, and no matter how he chokes himself, no matter how hard he tugs at the collar or the chain attached, he can’t go any further than this. His distress is evident in the way he keens.

“What are you doing?” Bill demands, rolling his eye. “All I asked for was a simple footstool and you can’t even do that? Bad! Bad dog!” Ford sobs.

“I-I’m sorry, my muse!” he rasps, the cold metal of the collar pressing in on his windpipe as he strains to obey. “I’m so sorry!”

Pyronica is practically in stitches at this point, and Bill is a showman, a class clown ever chasing the next laugh. “Are you really though?” His eye wanes to an amused crescent. “Do you even love me, if you can’t even follow a command as simple as this?”

“Yes!” Ford insists with a cry. “Yes, my muse, I love you! I’m sorry that I’m so useless… Please, please forgive me…”

“Why should I? Do you think you deserve forgiveness?”

“N- No,” Ford sniffs, “but—”

“Alright, alright. Since I’m in such a good mood, I’ll give you a hand.” Bill waves his hand in a circle and the chain elongates, allowing just enough slack for Ford to crawl under his waiting feet. Bill settles them heavily on top of Ford’s back and sighs. “Ahh, that’s better.” The man shakes under the weight.

“Thank you, my muse,” he says. Normally, he would be a lot happier about serving Bill like this, but he’s clearly still torn up over his recent punishment and failures. “Thank you so much.”

“Don’t mention it, kid!” Bill rests his hands behind his ‘head,’ or rather, the tip of his topmost vertex. “Maybe after this, if you’re good, you can have a treat.”

“R- Really? Oh, thank you so much, my muse. I promise I’ll be good.” His voice is still wavery from the earlier-shed tears, but his cheer seems to be returning. It’s not difficult to keep the man happy when he’s so thoroughly and hopelessly smitten with his muse. Bill could have Pyronica drop-kick Ford off the top of the Fearamid right now and when he reached the bottom he would find a way to smile and thank Bill, no matter how many broken pieces he was in.

“Yeah. Now shut up while I get some reading in. Hasn’t anyone ever told you footstools don’t talk? Sheesh.” With a sigh, Bill summons an extradimensional magazine and floats it in front of his eye, every so often flipping through the pages. Pyronica says she’s off to see what Teeth and Keyhole are up to, and Bill acknowledges her departure with a little grunt and wave. Ford stifles a whimper. His back has already been giving him issues lately, and this definitely isn’t helping matters, but he soldiers through it for his muse. He’s determined not to mess up again. He’s determined to be a good footstool.

A/N: This is my first time writing from Bill’s perspective! I don’t usually write him this cruel, so it was a fun change of pace to lean full force into that side of him. Thanks again, jellyskink, I hope you liked this little installment!

[alwaysthefool]

Dressed Up Treachery (x Sylus)

Warnings: none

Tags: f! Reader (pro trans blog), MC Reader

Synopsis: Sylus gets jealous and that’s never a good thing

You were in another room, getting ready for an event with a dress you picked out yourself. An off shoulder silk bell strap with the fabric reaching your ankles, dyed in soft colours and embellished beautifully, however needing to be zipped up from behind. You tried to reach it, but failed, eventually looking for your phone to ask Sylus to come help you, soon realising you left it in his room.

You groaned, holding up your dress on your chest with your hands, lightly taking footsteps to Sylus’ room. Before you could knock, you heard someone clear their throat behind you.

You looked back to see Luke, or perhaps Kieran, with a box of cufflinks for Sylus in his hand. “Oh, thank god you’re here.” You chimed. “Help me zip up my dress.”

“Uh…” The voice seemed like it belonged to Luke. “Are you sure boss won’t get mad at me?”

“What? That’s so silly.” You laughed. It was truly a small thing. You just needed help with a zipper. Luke gulped, setting the box on the table beside the door, and soon you felt a gloved hand lightly push your hair on your shoulder, and zip you up.

“I’ll give him these, thanks!” You said, referring to the cufflinks. Luke took a bow, and almost sprinted away. You picked up the box and knocked on his door, hearing a cold ‘come in’. You lightly came inside, seeing Sylus in front of the wall mirror, fixing his tie. Thankfully, it wasn’t positioned in such a way that you were visible, so you tried to sneak up on him.

“Terrible habit, kitten.” Sylus sighed, turning around to face you, his face breaking into a smile when he saw you dressed up. “You look beautiful.”

“Thanks.” You feel heat rush up to your cheeks when you noticed Sylus wasn’t looking away from you. You shied away, handing him the box. “Your cufflinks.”

“Help me put them on?” Sylus asked, opening the box and taking them out. You clumsily took the cufflinks, and his large hands, taking your time with it, discarding the box on his vanity. You could tell his red eyes were still on you and that made you a little conscious. “Stop staring.”

“Do you really expect me not to? Such a pretty girl, and she’s all-“ Sylus stopped for some reason. You were almost done with his cufflinks, so you looked up at his frowning expression.

“Kitten, why do you have my cufflinks in the first place?”

“Oh. I needed help with zipping up my dress, so I came to you. But Luke— well, at least I think it was Luke— was outside so I asked him to do it!” You spoke non chalantly, finally finishing up. You expected Sylus to nod in understanding and move on, but something was suddenly off about him. He looked irritated.

“You what?”

Sylus was not looking pleased, to say the least. His eyes bore into you, accusatory and hurt, as if demanding an explanation. It almost reminded you of someone else you knew. Your relationship with Sylus was inexplicable, something between business partners and actual partners, but you never actually addressed it. He’d never said it out loud, but the way he held you, looked at you, spoke of you, made everything confusing. He acted as if the two of you already belonged to each other without even a single moment that confirmed it.

Maybe this was it.

“It’s just a dress.” You rolled your eyes, stepping away to sit on the bed, but he held you back gently by your waist, making sure not to touch your skin. You looked up at him, upset yourself, thinking you did something wrong.

Sylus sighed, trying to appear less annoyed once he saw that look. “Next time, only ask me for things like this.”

You were about to say something to protest, but he continued. “Things like zipping up your dress, helping you put your heels on, braiding your hair… leave them to me, please.”

“Why?” You pushed, defying him still. You felt bad, he was being patient and gentle, but you wanted some clarity in that matter. You pulled away from him to sit down on his bed, playing with the pearls on the skirt of the dress.

“Because.” Sylus seemed to lose his patience as he moved to tower over you, his hands on either side of you. “These small moments with you are precious to me. I want all of them. I want them, and I want you,” He moved closer, his lips next to your ear, his hair tickling your cheek, “all to myself.”

There was none of that usual snark or teasing in his voice, it was just a pure, possessive, pleading tone. You wanted him to be more explicit, but only managed to let out a ‘mhm’ as he got off you, a pat on your head.

So that’s the definition you held on to, and the fact he wouldn’t take his hand off you for the rest of the evening, asking you your views on everything, making sure you didn’t drink too much, treating you with care and affection like never before. You could only lean into him, and accept all of it shamelessly, not even thinking about the eyes on you.

-x-

Bonus;

As you and Sylus retuned home, something felt amiss. “Hey, where’s Luke?” You asked Sylus, as Kieran took the keys to take the car into parking.

“He’s on clean-up duty.” You cringed hearing that. That was never a fun task.

“And for something he didn’t even do.” Kieran whispered to himself, stifling a laugh.

[sepublic]

As I talk about Luz visiting a host culture and learning to appreciate it, to respect and submit to the grace of her hosts, I think there’s similar potential in Vee doing the same in a reverse way; She’s a demon entering the human world, she’s engaging in human culture and learns how to be human on their terms.

Now granted, some of that human culture Vee encounters has issues of assimilation and imperialism and the like, so the onus on Vee to be respectful is much smaller. Plus she’s a refugee who had little choice, persecuted by an older branch of that culture in Belos, so really she’s entitled to do as she pleases with Gravesfield; She’s not like the Coven Heads, who expected to fuse the realms, and be treated like royalty for it by both inhabitants.

But then we get to the Noceda family, who aren’t from there, who are Dominican immigrants, whose forebearers come from a country that struggles with imperialism, whose struggles in this American society hearken back to that. With Luz needing to learn magic on the terms of the witches and the Titan and whatnot, I think there’s potential in Vee acclimating herself to the Nocedas’ Dominican customs, learning Spanish, all of that. Camila very much chose to adopt this scared child who had to go along to survive, but it’d be neat to explore Vee understanding Luz in hindsight, and how her decision to leave home was informed by racism and other factors.

Like imagine Vee getting to apologize/make it up to Luz for saying she had it good and abandoned her mother for nothing; Imagine Vee reflecting on how she didn’t even want to be here specifically, just away from someplace else so she could survive. But now Vee can catch her breath and find stability, so now what? Does she do the same as Luz and embrace another world?

Imagine Vee taking Spanish lessons, imagine Vee partaking in the family traditions and music and culture. Appreciating what the Dominican heritage that adopted her is like. Being grateful to be included, wondering if she even belongs or deserves to, if she’s just an impersonating thief like her creator. Eda tells Luz to her own kind of witch, maybe Luz and Camila comfort Vee in a similar way.

I can see it being a touchy subject that requires care, but it could be something the Noceda sisters bond over, that question if they really belong and if their presence is inherently harmful; Luz wanting to do her witch fantasy led her to helping Belos find what he needed to become an emperor and enact the draining spell, to establish a genocidal regime.

Vee stole Luz’s life and contributed to a lie that devastated Camila when she found out, created a temporary rift between mother and daughter that contributed so much to Luz’s suicidal depression, which of course pained Camila. Luz and Vee both hurt people who took them in, who they grew to love and vice versa, without meaning to in a grand butterfly effect.

Because again, people understand Luz, a lot more than she realizes, it’s her greatest comfort, a fantasy even deeper than being Azura because even that was about finding people who shared the same interest in magic as her. Camila knows what it’s like to make mistakes, Willow knows what it’s like struggling to be the perfect friend everyone can depend upon; Amity knows what it’s like to hide your greatest sin for fear your new friend will reject you for it. Etc.

So Vee knows what it’s like to have to leave a place, finding a new one, stumbling your way into the arms of a mother and learning enthusiastically about how to be this world’s people as you make friends from them. But all the while you question yourself if you belong, if you’re some impersonating thief. Luz saw herself in Belos, maybe Vee saw herself in other white colonizers like him, the ones who came shortly before in conquering the Americas, contributing to the Dominican culture as a side-effect.

Vee’s ability to shapeshift could make her ask, Am I just an imitator? This makes me think of how Hunter is really good for episodes where he and another character bond over similarities; We were both cloned by Belos to aid in his genocide (While Hunter was technically in the spotlight and meant to be a nephew, Vee was hidden at all times and a loathsome tool). We both feel the weight of being colonial in some regard. We both have to rely on the identities of others, so who does that make us? In a timeline where Gus was not as mindful about the Grimwalker secret, I could see Vee helping Gus with Hunter’s clone angst.

And if there’d been more time, maybe Vee could’ve helped Luz with her own guilt, her own worry of being an outsider who doesn’t belong and is inherently harmful whether she means to be or not. Camila could bring up Vee and say that it’s not the same, there’s a difference between an immigrant and a colonizer, esp when the native chooses to accept. And Vee would feel validation as an example, but still wonder anyway. Shouldn’t they be conscious of it?

But maybe that’s what they’ve already done, with Luz learning to earn magic the way wild witches do, treating witches and demons as people and not side character tropes in her story. Those friends affirm that she’s already done the work, and the butterfly effect of being manipulated is not equivalent to malicious, intentional colonization. And if Vee feels she hasn’t done it, she can begin now, when it comes to Dominican culture and being a Noceda. And the Nocedas have always loved weirdness, so Vee’s already halfway there! Manny would’ve loved her and appreciated the joy Vee brought to his family.

Between everything that needed to be established for the plot and for Luz’s own depression, plus clone troubles, and Camila’s backstory and like. Yeah there was no time for a Vee storyline like this when Luz was isolating herself the whole time, and would only start to let people in when she was returning to the Demon Realm or was there. But imagine a full S3 where we could’ve it all…

This could make good grounds for a fanfic, the Noceda sisters bonding. It’d have to take some cultural sensitivity that the characters would have in-universe, but a writer might struggle out-of-universe. I could see this being after the finale, when Luz has a relapse because that’s always a possibility and has happened before; And for Vee, her storyline isn’t necessarily addressed and they can both bond over a shared fear together!!!

[is-this-yuri]

so, no shame, i had a meltdown in response to that video i was working on getting disappeared by a crashing app. i'm autistic and emotional overwhelm is to be expected. ESPECIALLY given the stress i'm under being homeless.

i was crying quite loudly for about half an hour, and this is something i can soothe and guide myself through to vent my emotions. it's nessecary and, at this point after years of implementing coping strategies, a pretty harmless regulatory activity.

however, since i'm homeless and i live in my car, i have no private space to go through these meltdowns. they can be disturbing to witness or hear from a distance, i mean for me it often involves screaming and sobbing. but i reiterate they are not an immediate sign of danger.

apparently, someone thought a child was crying in my vehicle and called the police.

since i'm at a state park, a ranger came by to check on me and warn me the cops were coming, so i got out of there.

my question is, if you're so concerned about a potential child in distress, why wouldn't you go up to the vehicle and check on them yourself? why hide behind the police like a coward? such an 'innocent act of concern' could have really put me in danger.

police are not understanding about autistic meltdowns. they, and frankly the general public, see them as potentially dangerous. while it isn't unheard of, reports of autistic meltdowns resulting in violence are very overblown and used to fear-monger. i've never acted violently toward anyone during a meltdown, ever. but i HAVE been a victim of violence from both people i trusted and police attempting to control my meltdowns.

i'm constantly checking my surroundings to make sure i'm at least somewhat alone before having one of these meltdowns. i can't always contain them until i get to a place where i can be alone. it's not always safe to drive myself anywhere when my emotions are hightened. there is no stopping a meltdown, it WILL happen once i reach a certain emotional tipping point. a tipping point my stressful life places me right at the edge of all the time.

i don't feel safe anymore. anywhere. i'm not allowed to and cannot safely regulate my intense emotions, and there's a real risk of me being imprisoned, restrained, hospitalized, hurt, or killed because of this.

the ironic thing is the topic of the video i was working on is very relevant to this experience. this is my real, every day life, and i'm fucking exhausted of it. i'm angry. i deserve to feel safe.

[kix-mm]

Will their be part 3 of A once cruel god. G/t short story and end with a good ending?

A once cruel god. G/t short story pt4

Hehehehe

Pt1 - Pt3

Amber cautiously looked up at Victor, expecting the sight of some witty smile or the face of someone holding back a laugh. Maybe Victor had just gotten better at sounding serious... but not even his face gave away the joke.

Victors brows were furrowed into a worried expression, his eyes were strangely puffy, and there was no smile, not even a smirk. This was getting harder for Amber to tell if it was genuine or not. "Y-youre joking right, my lord?-" "Victor.."

Amber winced at his voice, bracing for any impact. "I'm sorry..?" "Call me by my name... not my title, please..." Victor asked with his hands clasped together. He almost looked like an angel whenever he did that. "Will you help me become a better person?" Victors eyes shimmer with hope, making Amber even more uncomfortable than he was a moment before. "Why me? How could I possibly help you? I'm just a human... you're a god, nothing I say has any meaning to you"

"That has changed..." Victor insisted, holding Ambers tiny hand with another one of his. "Please, give me a chance to listen and do better... I'll listen from now on, honest"

That stung Victor badly. How could he think something like that? Who had told him such a lie? Ambers words always meant so much to him. How could he not know this? Was his love for the human not clear enough? His praise and kindness were always something he'd stride for. But then again, praise and kindness had always been the only thing he'd listen to, though he could never understand it, he understood the tone, anything otherwise meant nothing to him... oh...

Amber instinctively pulled his hand back, afraid to lose the only one he had left. He could not believe what he was hearing, this all sounded so genuine, too good to be true, what was the catch? "A-and... if I can't? If I say something you don't like? What will happen to me?" He asks while rubbing his arm, looking down at the stump it was reduced to, Victor was already quite fond of the taste of humans, so would Amber become nothing more than a light snack?

"Nothing will!" Victor raises his voice in insistence. "N-nothing will happen to you! I'm asking you a favor after all." Amber seemed a little overwhelmed by the sudden pressure. If he was genuine about this, he would have the opportunity to make sure Victor never hurts anyone ever again! Nobody would ever have to go through the horrendous torture that so many lost their lives to... but on the other hand, Amber was a mere human. He didn't know what would be best for a giant - a god, what if he makes a mistake in his teaching? A human error?

Ambers' thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a loud growl, making the poor human freeze in fear. He looked up at Victor to see the young god flush red with embarrassment and hug his stomach. "s-sorry... wait- where are you going??" Amber had begun to once again desperately dragging himself away, as did every other human servant flee. This made Victor only feel more ostracized and embarrassed. "H-hey, come on... nothing is going to happen to you." He gently picks Amber up, who squirms at first but quickly gives up.

"My lord- Victor, please put me down - I-I don't want to - I promise I'll help you! I promise! Just please put me down!" Victor beams at Ambers words, once again ignoring the young man's plea in favor of Amber promising to help him. "Really? Do you mean it? Oh, thank you! Thank you so much!" He pushes Amber against his chest, a childlike joy radiated off of Victor. This was supposed to be a hug of some kind.

Then came another growl, Victor wanted to just sink through the floor and disappear. Even feeling Amber tensed up again was making him feel bad. He slowly placed Amber down and lowered himself to their height once more. "I'm sorry about that." Victor speaks in a soft voice, knowing all too well that a moment like this was responsible for a great deal of pain for Amber.

"Shouldn't you eat something..?" Victor shakes his head. "I can't yet, I'm on a diet..." Amber frowns "a diet? Why are you on a diet?" Victor taps his finger nervously on the marbled floor. "I...Ate someone..."

Amber looked confused. Yes, of course, he ate someone. His main diet consisted of human flesh, so it was to be expected that he might eat a human walking around carelessly.

But then he thought a little more about it, and the realization hit him like a brick. Victor wasn't talking about humans, was he? Rather, his own kind - a god. As if Victor wasn't enough of a menace already, he had to take it a step further and become a cannibal!

"You-" Victor nods slowly, his stomach growls some more. "I can't leave my room until all their remains have gone, so now I've just got... cravings..." he explains. "I couldn't help it, I really couldn't. Everything was so strange, and everyone was acting so weird, and I just - I don't know why I did it! I enjoyed it so much - Amber, it was terrible, I ate everything!" Victor holds his stomach tighter as it growls again.

Amber sat there in shock, eating humans was already seen as cruel, but it wasn't frowned upon too much by the gods, but one god eating another? That's a god eater, one of their only fears. As if Victor wasn't isolated enough due to his background, now he has become a threat to everyone involved.

"I won't hurt you, Amber... please don't look at me like I'm a monster.." Victor sounded devastated, not for what he did, but for seeing Ambers eyes like that.

"But... but you've just committed the biggest act of treason. You killed your own kind - you ate your own kind!" Amber had slowly tried to create some distance between the two, but it had no use, Victor wasn't going to let him hide this time.

Amber gulped, thoughts rapidly spun through his mind to try and sugar the god up, pleasing him is all that he knew could make a difference. But just as he was about sweeten his voice and speak some nonsense to go right to the gods head he was stopped by a large finger gently pressing against his lips.

"Amber... don't, please, I'm over that, and I just need you... to stay here with me. " Victors gaze was that of genuine need. Amber was all he had. No other human would feel like they were being listened to and would just continue to be a yes man. Victor laid his head down on the surface, his large eyes delicately trained on Amber.

"You can't help me with this, I merely have to wait it out... so in the meantime... could you teach me to be... better?" Victor asked, already knowing that the human didn't have much of an answer.

Amber looked nervous, rightfully so. There was so much pressure. What would he even begin with?

[valhalla-calls]

Relativity Falls headcanons- My Version Pt.2

I thought I'd do a part two to this, because why not?

To go more in depth with the whole Mabel getting kicked out thing. Which, if it were an episode, I think I'd call it "The Two Tales of Nature". (Because Shooting Star, Pine Tree, and the hardships of the world.) Anyway, like I said, I don't think Dipper would just let his sister get kicked out, even if he was mad at her. We've seen him multiple times throughout the show sacrifice things for her. I don't think that'd change just because of one misunderstanding. A big one, sure, but I just don't see Dipper doing what Ford did. So, let's say Dipper wasn't there, because maybe he stormed off or something and when he came back, his parents lied to him about why Mabel suddenly wasn't there. That she left on her own accord.

Deep down he knew something was wrong, especially when some of her stuff had been left behind, but his parents were manipulative about this so, there's that. This also comes out in the open during the fight in front of the portal, on top of everything the two of them have been going through.

I've seen two different versions of this AU where Dipper has to deal with Bill's parents or the Axolotl in Bill's place. I'm cool with either of them being the demon(s) he has to deal with, but the Axolotl sounds scary as fuck as a villain. Just think about it, an entity that rules over a prison, forcing other entities to redeem themselves as a good guy? Imagine what the Axolotl could to do in Bill's place! And from my understanding, I could be wrong so I'm sorry if I am, but the Axolotl isn't a dream demon like Bill so, Dipper doesn't have to be asleep to be processed! There's just so much potential there!

Fiddlestan, all the way for my version. I think it's cute! Don't know if they'd get together during that summer or as adults later on in this au. However, I'm cool with either idea.

Dipper had journals and video tapes, I feel like he would do both. Especially, to monitor what he's been doing while possessed. Ford finds the journals while Stanley stumbles upon the tapes.

Mabel may or may not take a peek at these. Mostly sticks to the journals though, after just watching one tape. She couldn't stomach it because whatever was possessing Dipper, was hurting him.

Dreamscapers and the whole thing where the Mystery Shack gets stolen is still a thing and it plays out like kind of like canon, just that Gideon is older when he's doing the things he's doing. The only difference is that he's willing to cut a deal with Mabel, she can keep the shack if she marries him. Mabel considers it, but Stanley and Ford stand up for her.

[tsbs-shipfessions]

Hear me out

Eclipse and Nexus? PLEASE

they both had to deal with being someone when they're really not, Nexus with having to be Moon, but he's not Moon, and he never had the choice until it all but broke him

And Eclipse understands that, because Eclipse is v4, he's Eclipse, but he's nothing but a copy with the memories, and he's not really the same Eclipse that hurt the celestial family but had to accept/take the mantle that came with the memories

Eclipse could('ve) helped him move on from that hatred, they could heal together, find themselves and each other

I THINK THEM KISSING WOULD'VE FIXED EVERYTHING

Nexus could've left the main dimension and stayed in the peas place, MOVED ON AND BEEN BETTER

-💥

This is what happened in an alternative, better timeline.

[san-fics]

Happily Married

Felinette, 18+

(upcoming on Ao3, chapters 10-11 are published on Patreon)

Art credit @aspenaspid, original Tumblr post.

_______________

“Y-you did what…?” gasped Adrien, looking at her slightly dumbfounded, disbelief written all over his face. “You can't have Ladybug join you in bed, Marinette!” There was some special sort of desperation in his voice, as if Adrien was mostly trying to convince himself, and not her. “Besides, she would never agree to this!”

“Adrien, you don’t have to worry about us so much,” she smiled softly, doing her best to calm him down a little, although she had no intention of trying to soften the blow for him too much. The threesome with Ladybug story she came up with yesterday solved too many problems at once for her to abandon it.

“But you can’t… She can’t…” It seems he wanted to formulate something and couldn't find the right words for it. “How could Felix... with both of you... I don't understand...”

Marinette knew that his confusion was about something else, but she decided to pretend that she understood him differently in order to voice what was beneficial to her. “I mean, it's Ladybug, right? She's as safe as it can be, and she's the heroine of Paris. And I'm sure she won't do anything to hurt either of  us.” She turned to her friend and asked a question, the answer to which she already knew, unfortunately. “Judge for yourself, Adrien, if you were in my place—well, or in Felix’s place, anyways—would you refuse?”

The model stared at her with his mouth open, looking confused, and flustered, and stunned, and defeated. “You’re right…” he finally muttered, staring at the floor. “I… Felix is ​​a lucky man…”

“And I am a lucky woman,” she reminded him quietly, probably looking at him a little harsher than she was supposed to look at her good friend.

Perhaps now she wasn’t looking at her friend at all, but at a man who had never opened his eyes, hadn’t noticed her, or had noticed her in the wrong place, or too late. She looked at the man who didn’t want her once and whom she no longer wanted either. And maybe in this whole conversation, behind all her reasons and benefits from the result, there was still a hint of a small but sharp feminine revenge…

Ladybug jumped into her open window so suddenly, Marinette instantly took a fighting stance, taken by surprise. Fortunately Adrien was no less startled than she was and didn’t notice her trained reaction.

“Oh, hi, Adrien, didn’t know you were here,” the heroine of Paris said to the model, walking through Marinette's studio (with her standing right there!!) as if nothing special had happened. She glanced at the designer and smiled. “I won’t be long,” she promised as she winked at Adrien who watched her in bewilderment, “I just wanted to give a quick kiss to my new girlfriend.”

Felinette Tag list (ask me to join)

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[doll-elvis]

RED WEST: His mother always told me to protect him, don’t let him get hurt. The last thing she ever said to me was, ‘you take care of Elvis’, and I took that seriously the rest of my life. He was my best friend and I’ll always remember him as that. I loved the man very much

BILLY SMITH: Aunt Gladys always liked Red and Gene especially. She thought Red could protect Elvis

MARTY LACKER: Red loved Elvis so much that for a little while, he thought maybe (killing Mike Stone) was right, and that it would bring Elvis out of his depression

JOE ESPOSITO: Even the Memphis Mafia tried to intercept drug shipments from various doctors. One night Red West accidentally broke a delivery boy’s foot. He threatened to break the kid’s body if he didn’t quit delivering to Elvis

LAMAR FIKE: Elvis loved him (Red West) like a brother

BILLY STANLEY: I knew Elvis didn’t like Sonny’s loud and demanding presence but the decision on (firing) Red was hard for him. Elvis loved Red.

GEORGE KLEIN: I noticed that Red, a tough guy who hadn’t ever run from a fight in his life, had tears in his eyes. He said he wanted to apologize to me and to all the other guys, and said that he hated “the damned book” and wished that he’d never had anything to do with it. We accepted Red back as a friend, as we all believe Elvis would have

(photo on the right: Red West visiting the Humes highschool bathroom where he first protected Elvis)

[tenok]

.

[isfjmel-phleg]

I hope you know while I don’t know Secret I love her so much because of you

Aww, thanks! I have a lot of fondness for this often-overlooked girl, and it's good to see her get some love :)