#so she tried to force herself to be the same. she tried and she tried and it didnt ever work but she refused to hurt him like that

[helen-with-an-a]

You Hate Me

Hiiiii - so I thought I'd have a little break between requests and so I wrote this. It's angsty and I probably won't have a part 2 cos I like the way it ended and I'm not even sure where I would take it to be honest. Anyways, I hope you like it <3<3<3

Lucy Bronze x sister!Reader

Description: Lucy has always hated R and she just wants to know why

Word count: 7.2k

You felt like an outsider in your family your whole life. You were the youngest sibling by quite some way. Lucy was 12 when you were born. She didn’t really want another younger sister. She was happy with the way things were. She was the middle child - crazy and reckless with a passion for sport that would take her all over the globe.

Her parents already struggled with money. She and Jorge already had to do jobs around the neighbourhood to help out wherever possible. Sophie was thinking about what she could do when she moved up to secondary school. They couldn’t handle a baby. They couldn’t handle the extra costs you would bring. Would she have to give up football? She knew it was selfish to think of that, but football was her life. She couldn’t … wouldn’t … give it up without a fight.

For Lucy, football wasn't just a pastime; it was her escape, her freedom, and the one thing in her chaotic life that she had complete control over. On the field, she could be anyone she wanted – strong, fast, unstoppable. The thought of losing that terrified her. It wasn't just about the sport itself; it was about the future she had envisioned. Scouts had already begun to take notice of her, murmurs of potential scholarships floated in the air, and dreams of playing professionally, of leaving this small, suffocating town behind, had started to take shape.

But now, with a new baby on the way, everything seemed uncertain. The baby meant more bills, more attention diverted away from her, and likely, more sacrifices to be made. The prospect gnawed at her, a constant weight in the back of her mind. She didn’t want to be angry at you – after all, it wasn’t your fault – but the resentment was there, simmering beneath the surface. Every time she laced up her boots, the fear that it could be for the last time haunted her.

The pressure at home only seemed to increase. Her parents were stretched thin, their arguments about money becoming more frequent and more intense. The once-occasional requests for her and Jorge to contribute had now turned into expectations. It was no longer about just helping out; it was about survival. Lucy found herself picking up extra shifts at the local café, babysitting for the neighbours, and doing whatever odd jobs she could find, all while trying to keep up with her schoolwork and football practice. She was exhausted, but she refused to let it show.

At night, when the house was quiet and the weight of the day settled heavily on her shoulders, she would lay awake, staring at the ceiling, her mind racing. She couldn't stop thinking about what might happen if she was forced to give up football. It wasn’t just a game to her – it was her way out, her shot at something better. Without it, she feared she would be stuck in this life forever, trapped by the same financial struggles that had plagued her parents.

As your arrival grew closer, the tension in the house became palpable. Her parents tried to reassure her that things would be okay, that they would find a way to make it work, but their words felt hollow. Lucy could see the worry in their eyes, the strain in their voices. They were trying their best, but their best might not be enough. And that terrified her.

Lucy made a silent vow to herself: no matter what happened, she would find a way to keep playing. Even if it meant waking up before dawn to practice on her own, even if it meant working twice as hard to make up for the lost time, she wouldn't let go of her dream. Football was more than just a sport to her; it was her lifeline, her hope for a future that didn’t involve the same struggles her parents faced.

She knew it would be a battle, but Lucy had never been one to back down from a fight. If keeping her dream alive meant fighting harder than she ever had before, then so be it. She was ready for whatever came her way, even if that meant taking on the world with the weight of her family’s struggles on her shoulders.

There were complications. Mum had felt something was wrong. You were born too early. That’s what her dad had said one Thursday afternoon when they got home from school. Lucy could see the strain on her parents' faces as they tried to stay positive, but the cracks were beginning to show. The early birth meant more than just an unexpected arrival – it meant weeks, maybe even months, of additional stress. There would be doctors' appointments, hospital visits, and possibly medical bills that they wouldn't be able to afford. Mum and Dad would need to take more time off work, and that meant even less money coming into the house. They were already stretched thin, barely making ends meet, and this was another blow they couldn’t afford.

For Lucy, it felt like the family was being pulled even further apart. She knew what more time off work for her mum meant – less money for groceries, fewer new things, and more unpaid bills piling up on the kitchen table. The thought of how this would affect them all was overwhelming. Dad’s tired eyes and Mum’s forced smiles told her everything she needed to know – they were worried, really worried.

And as much as Lucy tried to focus on her own life – school, football, friends – she couldn’t shake the growing sense of responsibility she felt. She saw how hard her parents were working, how much they were sacrificing, and it made her want to do more, to somehow lessen the burden that had fallen on their shoulders. She picked up extra shifts at her part-time job and offered to help more around the house, even though she was already stretched thin. She stopped asking for new things, for trips, for anything that might add to the growing financial strain.

But no matter how much she tried to help, the reality was inescapable. The early birth meant more than just financial strain – it meant that your health would be a constant concern, at least for a while. The house became quieter, the usual buzz of activity replaced by a tension that Lucy couldn’t ignore. Conversations were hushed, and there was a heaviness in the air, a kind of unspoken worry that everyone carried with them.

She remembered how, before all this, her parents would talk about the future with cautious optimism – how they would make it work, how they would find a way to manage. But now, the future seemed uncertain, clouded by the reality of hospital visits and medical expenses. The joy that had once been associated with your arrival was overshadowed by the fear of what might come next.

You had turned out fine. You were discharged from the NICU six weeks later. You were a little small, a little underdeveloped, but you were fine. The doctors’ visits still happened regularly until you were about three years old, but then you were declared fit as a fiddle. A perfectly normal, healthy child.

Except you weren’t, or at least you didn’t feel like it. From an early age, you could sense that something was off. You couldn’t quite understand it back then, but you felt it in the way Lucy would close her bedroom door just as you toddled over, eager to join in whatever she was doing. You felt it in the way she would snatch things out of your hands, things you just wanted to look at, things she was showing Sophie and Jorge without a second thought. The sting of rejection was something you became all too familiar with, even before you could fully comprehend what it meant to be unwanted.

You didn’t understand why Lucy seemed to dislike you so much. You were just a child, desperate for her attention, for her approval. But no matter how hard you tried, you could never seem to break through the wall she had built between you. You remember watching her from a distance, her laughter and excitement as she talked about football with Sophie and Jorge. You wished you could be a part of that world, but it always felt like there was an invisible barrier keeping you out.

Your parents, older than those of your friends, were tired. You could see it in their eyes, in the way they moved through the day with a sort of weary determination. They did their best, you knew that. But their best often wasn’t enough. They were stretched thin – between work, bills, and keeping up with the demands of raising four children, there wasn’t much left over for you. The attention you craved, the affection you needed, was often redirected elsewhere – toward Lucy’s burgeoning football career, Jorge’s new hobbies, Sophie’s interests.

You lived in hand-me-downs – clothes that didn’t quite fit right, toys that had lost their newness long before they reached you. You quickly learned to ask for little, to keep your wants and needs to yourself. Birthdays became a delicate dance of low expectations. You remember the time you asked for that big Barbie dollhouse when you were five. You had seen it in a catalog and had imagined how much fun it would be, but when you shyly mentioned it, the reaction was swift and harsh. Lucy shouted at you, her voice filled with anger and frustration. “Are you kidding? We can’t afford that! Stop being so selfish!” The words hit you like a slap, and you learned that day to make your wishes smaller, quieter, more manageable.

It wasn’t just the material things, though. It was the sense that you were always in the way, that your presence was more of a burden than a joy. The more you tried to blend in, the more you felt invisible. Your parents were simply too tired, too overwhelmed to notice the small things – like the way your face lit up when you finally mastered riding your bike, or how proud you were when you brought home a picture you had drawn at school. There was no one to share those victories with, no one to tell you that you were doing well.

Lucy’s disdain only seemed to grow as you got older. She was focused, driven, her eyes set on her future in football. Every spare penny went toward her training, her gear, her travel expenses for matches. And you, you were just there, existing in the shadow of her ambition. It wasn’t that she went out of her way to be cruel; it was more that she simply didn’t have the space in her life for you. You were the uninvited guest, the afterthought.

You remember the looks – the ones she would give you when you tried to talk to her, or when you reached out for some connection. They were cold, distant, as if you were a stranger in your own home. It made you feel small, insignificant, like you didn’t belong. You tried to be helpful, to stay out of her way, but nothing you did seemed to change how she felt about you.

It was confusing, the way you were treated differently. Sophie and Jorge seemed to get along just fine with Lucy. They had their own interests, their own ways of bonding with her, and you were always the odd one out. It hurt, more than you could put into words. You wanted to be close to them, to be part of the sibling camaraderie you saw in other families, but it always felt just out of reach.

As the years went by, you withdrew into yourself. You learned to entertain yourself, to find comfort in solitude, because trying to fit into their world was too painful. The isolation was lonely, but it was safer than risking the rejection that had become all too familiar. You built your own little world, where you didn’t have to worry about whether or not you were wanted, where you could be yourself without fear of being turned away.

You were thirteen when you were gifted something that changed your life. It came at a time when the house had finally quieted down, the once chaotic energy of your siblings replaced by an unfamiliar stillness. All three of them – Lucy, Sophie, and Jorge – had moved out, each one carving out their own path, their own life away from the confines of your childhood home. Lucy was about to move to Lyon, Sophie had landed her dream job in a bustling city, and Jorge was travelling, always chasing the next big adventure. They were all living their best lives, while you were left behind, navigating the echoes of their absence.

With them gone, the purse strings had loosened a little. The financial pressures that had always weighed so heavily on your parents seemed to ease with each sibling's departure. There were fewer mouths to feed, fewer expenses to cover. For the first time, there was a little breathing room – a bit of space for something more than just the basics. And in that space, something unexpected happened.

On your thirteenth birthday, your parents handed you a small, neatly wrapped box. The excitement you had long suppressed bubbled up cautiously, a mix of anticipation and doubt. You had learned to keep your expectations low, to shield yourself from disappointment, but this time, something felt different. As you carefully peeled away the wrapping paper, your heart skipped a beat. Inside was a camera – an old, second-hand one, but to you, it was a treasure beyond measure.

Your parents had saved up for it, they explained, seeing how much time you spent doodling and drawing, how your eyes would light up whenever you saw something beautiful. They wanted to give you something that was just yours, something that could help you express yourself, to capture the world as you saw it.

The camera became your constant companion. You took it everywhere, eager to capture the beauty you saw in even the smallest things – the way the light filtered through the leaves of the trees in your backyard, the subtle smile on your mother’s face when she thought no one was looking, the old, weathered buildings in town that seemed to whisper stories of a time long past. Through the lens, you began to see the world differently, noticing details and moments that had always slipped by unnoticed.

But more than that, the camera gave you a voice. It allowed you to tell your own stories, to frame your own experiences in a way that was meaningful to you. It was your way of processing the complicated emotions that had built up over the years – the loneliness, the longing, the sense of not quite fitting in. With each click of the shutter, you were able to capture a piece of yourself, to express feelings that had always been too difficult to put into words.

And as you delved deeper into photography, something else began to happen. You started to see yourself differently. The shy, withdrawn girl who had always felt like an outsider was slowly transforming into someone with a purpose, with a passion. The camera gave you confidence, a sense of control over your own narrative that you had never felt before. It didn’t matter that you had grown up in the shadow of your siblings, or that you had often felt neglected and overlooked. With your camera, you were finally able to step out of that shadow and into your own light.

Your parents noticed the change in you. They saw how the camera brought you out of your shell, how it gave you something to look forward to, something to be proud of. They encouraged you, in their own quiet way, to keep going, to explore this new passion. For the first time, they seemed to truly see you – not just as their youngest child, but as an individual with your own dreams, your own talents.

At fifteen, you were asked to participate in the local exhibition. You had won a competition for the local paper, and this was the prize. ‘Alnwick by the Locals’ – it was to be put on display up at the castle. You had asked Lucy if she could make the trip over from France.

Lucy had been away for so long that you weren't sure if she'd even come. Her life in France was a whirlwind of training and matches, and the little requests you made felt insignificant against the backdrop of her bustling career. Still, you hoped – hoped that this time, she might see things differently.

When the day of the exhibition arrived, you could hardly contain your excitement. The castle was adorned with your photographs, each framed image capturing slices of life in your small town. You stood by your display, anxiously scanning the crowd for any sign of Lucy. Your heart raced with a blend of nerves and anticipation.

As the afternoon wore on, there was still no sign of her. You tried to push the disappointment aside, focusing instead on the visitors who stopped by to admire your work. They complimented your eye for detail and the way you had managed to capture the essence of Alnwick. Each positive comment felt like a small victory, a validation of the passion and effort you had poured into your photography.

You were losing hope fast. She wasn’t coming. Of course she wouldn’t come. She hadn’t responded to your text message asking her to come and giving her a date. She hadn’t responded to the email you had sent with her ticket attached. All she had to do was book the flights. It had been luck that it landed on a free weekend for her. You wouldn’t have asked otherwise.

As the afternoon stretched on, your excitement began to wane, replaced by a creeping sense of disappointment. Each passing minute seemed to amplify the absence of the one person you had hoped would be there to witness your moment of triumph. You forced yourself to stay positive, engaging with the visitors who complimented your work, but the empty space where Lucy should have been felt like a physical ache.

You wandered through the exhibition, making small talk with guests and answering their questions about your photographs. The praise for your work was a small comfort, but it couldn’t fully compensate for the gap left by Lucy’s absence. The castle, once a place of eager anticipation, now felt like a grand but empty stage, highlighting the solitude you felt.

By the time the exhibition was winding down, the weight of Lucy’s no-show had settled heavily on your shoulders. You packed up your things with a mix of resignation and sadness, feeling the sting of what could have been. Your parents, who had come to support you, tried to lift your spirits with kind words and encouragement, but their efforts fell short of erasing the feeling of emptiness. Your other siblings had turned up. Your sister-in-law had appeared, holding a bunch of flowers and looking around the space in wonder. Why couldn’t she have been your actual sister?

In the quiet of the car ride home, you tried to focus on the positive aspects of the day – the success of the exhibition, the connections you had made with people who appreciated your work. But it was hard not to remember that Lucy hadn’t turned up.

Back at home, you retreated to your room, muttering something about being tired and disappearing upstairs before anyone could stop you. Your room was covered in photographs. You didn’t have many of you as a child – a downside of being the youngest of four to very tired parents you supposed. There was one that you kept pinned above your bed. It was the day you were brought home from the hospital. You were in Jorge’s arms as Lucy and Sophie stood either side of him, all of them beaming brightly. You were fairly sure it was the only photo you had of Lucy smiling at you. The rest of the photographs were taken by you. Jorge and your father. Sophie and your mother. Your parents in the stands waiting for Lucy to play. Narla chasing a ball. Your grandparents looking out to sea.

You knew opening social media wasn’t the smartest thing to do, but you couldn’t help yourself. It was the third picture you saw. Lucy, sitting next to Keira and Georgia – wide smiles and happy faces. She was in Manchester. She had made the trip over to England after all. Just not to see you. The image was a punch to the gut. Lucy, in a casual outfit, her hair pulled back, was surrounded by her friends, their joy on full display. You could almost hear their laughter through the screen, see the ease and comfort of their togetherness. The pain in your chest grew even more.

You hadn’t been told she was moving back to Manchester. Mum had mentioned it in passing, commenting that she was so excited to finally be able to see her daughter play with comparative ease. You had lied when she asked you why you looked confused – making up something about homework you had remembered you needed to complete. The pain was something you were so used to by now, that you were surprised it still hurt. The last time you saw her at home was Christmas. She had missed your birthday completely – again. But that was fine. You could play happy families for a few weeks whilst she was back. You had been to a few football matches for hers – only the big ones. The Champions League finals mainly. The rest of the time you made up excuses. Homework was a reliable one. You were just too busy. Exams were around the corner, you couldn’t afford to take the time off, even for just one weekend.

You had become adept at masking your feelings, but the truth was, each time you saw Lucy’s life in the media, each time you heard about her successes and adventures, it reinforced the distance between you. It was as if she existed in a different world, a world where you didn’t quite belong. Even when she was physically present, her mind seemed to be elsewhere, her focus entirely on her career and her own life.

You hadn’t been told that Lucy would be moving to Barcelona either. Another thing she failed to mention. You knew that Lucy and your parents met up in Manchester regularly – it was easier for them to make the trip to watch her games that it was for her to travel to you. But you would have thought she would’ve mentioned it at the Euros. The night after they won was the longest you had spent in her presence since you were about twelve. She had willingly drawn you into a side hug as your parents snapped a photo of all their children. Looking back, it was clearly the alcohol in her system, and the adrenaline high she was still running on.

You had been dragged over to Australia too. Not that you let your parents know about your distaste in going. You couldn’t do that to them. They knew that Lucy and you had a strained relationship, but not how deep the cuts ran. You would not be the one to tell them that either.  It would break their hearts to find out that their favourite daughter, and their youngest child barely co-existed together. No, you were more than happy to put up a front for them. They had given you everything, it was the least you could do.

“Hi, I’m Ona, it’s nice to meet you.” She smiled amicably, a bit nervous perhaps, but she seemed nice enough.

“Hola, Soy la hermana de Lucy … o la llamas Lucía?” She blinked, startled by your Spanish.

“Tú hablas español?” she asked impressed.

“Un poco, hice español A-level en la escuela. Pensé que sería una buena manera-” You joked, ignoring the strange looks from Lucy.

“Ona, c’mon, I think your parents want you.” Lucy’s voice cut through yours, effectively cutting you off.

You had been so hopeful, so eager to make a connection, but the moment had been abruptly cut short by Lucy’s interference. At the time, you had shrugged it off, thinking it was just Lucy’s usual impatience. Now, however, it seemed like yet another piece in the puzzle of Lucy’s world that you never fully understood.

The news of not-quite-breakup with Keira, and her new relationship with Ona reached you indirectly, through snippets of social media posts and the occasional mention by your parents. They were often caught up in their own busy lives, struggling to balance the constant demands of work and home. Conversations about Lucy's new life was interspersed with discussions about their own challenges, leaving little room for deeper insights or personal connection.

Ona, who you had briefly met in the whirlwind of the World Cup, was now a fixture in Lucy’s life. The contrast between their lives and yours felt even starker. While Lucy was jet-setting across Europe and building a new chapter in Barcelona, you were back in your small town, navigating the complexities of your own world through the lens of your camera.

It was the biggest day of your young life. You had been asked to put up ten photographs on display in London. Your photographs were going to be seen in London. By paying members of the public. The significance of the event was almost overwhelming. You had worked tirelessly to curate the best of your collection, selecting pieces that told a story, captured emotions, and showcased your unique perspective.

The morning of the exhibition, you arrived at the gallery with a mixture of nerves and excitement. The building was impressive – an elegant space with high ceilings and large windows that let in natural light, perfect for showcasing art. You were greeted by the curator, who showed you to your designated space and helped you set up your work. It was surreal to see your photographs hanging on the walls, each one carefully framed and lit to perfection.

You had only met Ona a few times, when she had been brought to England to meet your family. She was kind and sweet. Maybe it was because you were relatively close in age, but you couldn’t shift the familiar sting. Why couldn’t she have been your sister instead? It was the summer, the Olympics in full swing, so you knew it was too much to ask for her to be there. But you couldn’t help the small bubble of hope that Lucy would turn up.

You had it on good authority from Keira, Leah and Georgia that she had agreed to go. Ona’s game was due to finish at 4 pm the day before opening night. The journey would probably be tiring for Lucy, but she had promised her friends she would be their. If not for you then to see them before pre-season started up again.

The day of the exhibition arrived, and you were enveloped in the excitement of seeing your work displayed in such a prestigious venue. The gallery buzzed with activity as people streamed in, their voices a mix of appreciation and curiosity. The atmosphere was electric, and you tried to focus on enjoying the moment, even though the small, nagging hope that Lucy would show up lingered at the back of your mind.

Hours passed, and as the evening drew closer, you began to accept that she might not make it. The crowd was engaged and appreciative, and the positive feedback was reassuring, but the absence of your sister was a constant ache. You tried to push it away, concentrating instead on the connections you were making and the compliments you were receiving.

Your parents had come, and their pride was evident in their smiles and the way they spoke about your work. They marvelled at how far you had come and how talented you were. Their support and encouragement were the best comfort you could have asked for, and you felt a sense of accomplishment in sharing this achievement with them.

Just as the event was winding down, you were approached by Keira, Leah, and Georgia, who were all beaming with excitement. They had come to show their support and to catch up with you after the event. Why couldn’t Lucy do the same thing? Did she really hate you so much that she couldn’t even fake it for a few hours for the sake of her sister?

“We told Lucy about the exhibition,” Leah said, her eyes twinkling with excitement as she looked around the space.

“She said she would come back for it.” Keira added, her tone warm but carrying a hint of concern.

Keira had always been the one who was more in tune with the undercurrents of relationships, and she knew how complicated things were between you and Lucy. She was the only one who truly understood the depth of the tension that simmered beneath the surface. She had offered to take you and Lucy out for lunch – letting your parents rest after the long day of travel.

During that lunch, Lucy’s walls were visibly up, and her responses were curt and distant. The conversation often felt forced, with long pauses and polite but empty exchanges. It was strange Keira had watched with a mix of frustration and disbelief as Lucy struggled to engage, offering only grunts and monosyllabic words in response. She had never seen Lucy like that. She was usually great with kids. She usually revelled in making them laugh and enjoy their time with her. She had watched you sink further and further into yourself, until she was the only one speaking, a far cry from how dinners with Lucy’s family normally looked.

When the subject of family came up in conversation, Keira’s knowledge of the strained dynamics between you and your sister was never far from her mind. Keira’s attempt to mend the gaps had been a sincere effort, but it usually just ended in a fight between Lucy and her girlfriend. You often wondered why you couldn’t have had Keira as a sister instead.

“But … we haven’t heard anything from her today.” Georgia confessed; her voice tinged with concern.

Keira, ever the perceptive one, gave Georgia a sharp nudge, a silent reminder to tread carefully. She glanced over at you, who had been trying to mask your disappointment with a forced smile, though the tightness around your eyes betrayed your emotions.

“I’m sure she’s just caught up with something,” Keira said, trying to sound reassuring. “She’ll be here soon, I promise.” Her words were meant to comfort, but Keira couldn’t shake the worry that Lucy’s absence might be more than just an oversight. You knew otherwise, Lucy wouldn’t be coming.

Leah, sensing the shift in mood, quickly changed the subject. “Your photos are absolutely stunning,” she said, her enthusiasm genuine.

“Thanks, Le,” you smiled back at her. “Did you see the one of you guys?”

“What? I’m … we’re in here?” She clearly hadn’t made her way to the back of the room yet.

“Yeh, it was after the Euros.”

Leah and Keira were standing together on the makeshift dancefloor, a vibrant space that had been hastily set up for the occasion. Their laughter and the rhythm of the music filled the air as they danced with uninhibited joy. Wrapped around their shoulders were colourful flags, their bright hues fluttering with every movement. The flags added an extra splash of festivity to their energetic performance.

Amidst the swirl of movement, Georgia bounded up to them with infectious enthusiasm. She launched herself into the scene, her head playfully peeking out from between Leah and Keira. Her excitement was palpable, adding a new dimension of liveliness to the group. The trio's shared joy and friendship were evident in their spontaneous and carefree expressions.

“Wow,” Leah breathed. She was in genuine awe. She remembered that day like it was yesterday, she remembered the moment she saw the camera being aimed at her, a quiet but smiling you behind it.

Keira joined her, leaning in to get a closer look. “You really captured the energy of that moment. It’s like I can hear the music just looking at it.”

You smiled at their reactions, feeling a sense of satisfaction wash over you. “I’m glad you like it. That was one of those moments where everything just felt perfect, you know? The music, the people, the atmosphere. It was one of those nights that you just want to hold on to forever.”

Georgia nodded, her smile widening. “And you’ve done just that. It’s not just a photograph; it’s a piece of that night.”

Keira looked around at the rest of the exhibition. “Seriously, all of your work is amazing. You’ve got such a unique perspective. It’s like each photo has its own story.”

“Thank you, Kei. Coming from you … that means a lot.” Keira was the closest thing you had to a sister that cared. Not that Sophie didn’t care, but she had a similar indifference that Lucy had. It wasn’t as bad, but you only really saw her on the holidays and if she ever came home for a weekend.  

As the night came to an end, you couldn’t shake off the lingering disappointment. The exhibition had been a success, but the empty space left by Lucy’s absence felt like a heavy shadow. Another milestone in your life had come and gone, and once again, you hadn’t been important enough for her to show up. You couldn’t fathom why she hated you so much. She showed up to Sophie’s things, and Jorge’s. Why not yours?

The weight of this realisation grew heavier with each passing moment. As you the taxi took you back to your hotel, the quiet of the car only seemed to amplify your sadness. By the time you arrived, you were in no mood to face the evening alone with your thoughts. Maybe ordering a bottle of the strongest thing they had from the hotel bar wasn’t your best idea. But you were alone and sad after what should’ve been the best day of your life.

The hotel room was big and expensive – your one treat to yourself in congratulations. A luxury suite in a five-star hotel in London. The alcohol burned your throat, but you didn’t care. You didn’t want to sit with your emotions any longer. You wanted to stop feeling. Anything to numb the pain that had been a constant your whole life.

You weren’t sure when the idea came to you. One minute you were on the hotel balcony, wallowing in your sadness with the bottle in your hands, the next you were pulling out your phone. You weren’t expecting her to answer. You weren’t even sure she had your number saved.

When her voicemail finally picked up, the sound of her voice – a cheerful and upbeat recording informing you she couldn’t make it to the phone and to leave a message for her – felt like a final slap in the face.

“Luce … Lucy … Lucia Roberta. It’s me,” you giggled, the alcohol making you feel oddly detached from the situation. “By me, I mean your sister. Not Sophie, your other sister. Y/N … you’re probably not even going to listen to this, so I can probably say what I want to.”

You took a deep breath, struggling to keep your words coherent. “I don’t know why you couldn’t make it tonight. Actually, no that’s a lie. I do know why you didn’t come tonight. You hate me. That’s why.”

Your voice wavered, and you wiped a stray tear from your cheek. “Remember that time you said you’d come to my year 6 school play? You didn’t make it. And the Alnwick Castle exhibition thingy? And my GCSE results meal? And my A-level party? And my uni send-off? I know you didn’t want another sister. I don’t think I even appear on your Wikipedia page. I know ‘cos I use it to keep updated on your life. You never tell me anything so.” You took another shuddering breath and a swig from the bottle.

“What was it this time? Did Ona need you? I know you’re at the Olympics for her. I like Ona. She’s really nice. And funny. And pretty. I wish she was my sister instead of you. Or Keira… Keira was good… is good. She actually cares about me. She showed up today.” A bitter chuckle escaped your lips, and you shook your head, trying to push away the tears.

“I don’t know what I ever did to you, Lucy.” You stared at the dark hotel room around you. “I don’t know why I even bother sometimes. Maybe I should just stop pretending that you’re ever going to be there for me. Maybe I should just stop hoping for something that’s never going to happen.”

Your voice softened, the lump in your throat making it hard to speak. “I’ve tried to be understanding, to see things from your side. I know you’re busy, and I get that life doesn’t always align. But it’s like I’m always on the outside of your world, never really part of it. It’s exhausting, waiting for something that never comes.”

A long silence followed as you struggled to gather your thoughts. “Anyway, I don’t expect you to call back. I don’t expect you to make any grand gestures or anything like that. I really need to stop expecting anything from you. I just needed to say it. I needed to get it off my chest, even if it’s to your voicemail.”

You let out a long sigh, feeling a strange mix of relief and sadness. “Take care, Lucy. I hope things are going well with you, even if I’m not a part of it and you hate me for the rest of your life. I really do.”

It was another hot day in France. The sun beat down on Lyon, the heatwaves fogging the horizon. The cobblestone streets shimmered in the intense light, and the usually bustling markets were quieter than usual, with vendors seeking refuge in the shade of their awnings. The air was thick with the scent of fresh baguettes and ripe fruit, but even these familiar aromas seemed to waver in the oppressive heat.

Outside, the rhythmic clatter of a bicycle's wheels on the pavement was one of the few sounds cutting through the heat. The cyclist, a young woman with a wide-brimmed hat, pedalled slowly, her face glistening with perspiration. She was on a mission to find a place where the heat was more bearable, perhaps a hidden garden or a cool courtyard where she could rest and escape the relentless sun.

Ona looked back towards Lucy, who was still in bed, her dark hair splayed out over the pillow like a cascade of midnight. The room was filled with a soft morning light that filtered through the thin curtains, casting a warm glow on the walls. Ona smiled, feeling a sense of contentment that she hadn’t experienced in weeks.

Last night had been exactly what they needed. The weight of the Olympics had finally lifted, if only temporarily. She had underestimated how exhausting the Games could be – Lucy had been right when she described it as a marathon. The endless competition and pressure to perform had taken their toll, and last night’s reprieve from it all felt like a much-needed breath of fresh air.

She leaned over and gently brushed a strand of hair from Lucy’s face. Lucy stirred slightly, her eyes fluttering open. She gave Ona a sleepy, contented smile, her hand reaching out to rest on Ona’s.

“Morning,” Lucy murmured, her voice thick with sleep but warm with affection.

“Bon dia,” Ona replied softly, her heart swelling with the simple joy of being beside Lucy.

Ona let her fingers dance across Lucy's face, across her brow and down her nose before delicately tracing the outline of her lips. The soft morning light filtering through the curtains painted a serene glow across the room. Everything felt calm and intimate, a stark contrast to the intensity of the past weeks.

Just as Ona leaned in to place a tender kiss on Lucy’s forehead, the piercing ring of her phone shattered the quiet. Ona’s eyes fluttered open, and she sighed, glancing at the screen with a frown. The phone buzzed insistently on the bedside table.

“Mmmm, who, who is it?” Lucy grumbled sleepily.

“No n'estic segur,” Ona muttered back.

“Too early for Catalan,” the Brit groaned, twisting away to pick up the phone

“Oh,” her demeanour changed abruptly.

“Who is it?” Ona asked, her voice laced with curiosity and concern as she reached over to peek at the phone.

“Just a voicemail,” Lucy said, her voice distant and troubled. She rolled over in bed, clearly unsettled by the message.

“From who?” Ona persisted, her brow furrowing. She was trying to understand the sudden shift in Lucy’s mood.

“My sister,” Lucy replied, her voice flat and weary. The mention of her sister’s name seemed to weigh heavily on her.

Ona’s eyes widened in surprise. “Why would Sophie be phoning you now? It’s only 6 am in England.”

“It’s not Sophie,” Lucy clarified, her tone tinged with a mixture of frustration and resignation. She sat up in bed, rubbing her eyes as if trying to wake herself from a troubling dream. “It’s Y/N.”

Ona’s expression softened with empathy. She was aware of the strained relationship between you, though the reasons behind it had always eluded her. She had heard bits and pieces about their complicated dynamic but had never been given a full explanation. She wasn’t even sure Lucy had a definite answer for her.

“Maybe you should listen to it?” Ona suggested gently, her voice filled with concern. She reached out and placed a comforting hand on Lucy’s shoulder.

“No,” Lucy’s answer was abrupt and to the point. She seemed almost angry with herself for letting the voicemail disturb her morning. She threw the covers aside and swung her legs over the edge of the bed, her movements sharp and restless.

The movement managed to throw Lucy’s phone off the bed as well. She must not have locked it properly. Before they could react, your voice filled the room.

The voicemail had begun to play on speakerphone, and Lucy’s heart sank as your words echoed around them. “Luce … Lucy … Lucia Roberta. It’s me,” your voice slurred slightly, you were clearly drunk. “By me, I mean your sister. Not Sophie, your other sister. Y/N … you’re probably not even going to listen to this, so I can probably say what I want to.”

Ona’s eyes widened in surprise, and she looked at Lucy, whose face had gone pale. The voicemail continued, your words growing more emotional and raw. “I don’t know why you couldn’t make it tonight. Actually, no, that’s a lie. I do know why you didn’t come tonight. You hate me. That’s why.”

I hope you enjoyed it <3<3<3

[undisclosedproxy]

Possessive, obsessive, aggressive T.R T.N M.R

Summary: This will be a continued little series i will be writing. It’s an au on how Y/N has moved into a house with Theodore, Mattheo and Tom after they finished their schooling at hogwarts.(p.s this is kinda just an intro so give me suggestion on scenarios i should do!!) (My inspo is from this girl who made an Au called “new girl” or smth, if u see this girl ilysm) These three boys are all madly in love with her and they aren’t afraid to show it in all ways necessary, and Y/N? well she doesn’t mind being shared.

The soft wind of the morning sunrise blew through Y/N’s open window, causing her to slowly open her eyes with a soft groan at the change in temperature. One minute she had been cozy and warm, the next she was freezing. There had been a massive party last night at their usual homely manor; she could barely remember anything except dancing, sex, and drinking. Her head throbbed with pain as she slowly sat up, her body aching and her mind spinning. Her tired eyes scanned the room, feeling relieved when everything was clean, as usual. She sighed as she tried to run her fingers through her hair, only to meet large, painful knots. She couldn’t be bothered to deal with this yet; the sun hadn’t even risen, so she didn’t have to either. Y/N fell back onto her soft bed with a thump.

Her eyes snapped open when she heard loud pots and pans clattering downstairs. She knew instantly who it was—Tom. Why is this guy always so nonchalant, doing the most random things? She forced her tired body out of bed and practically dragged herself and her rats nest of hair to the kitchen, where he was currently attempting to clean the basically trashed manor.

”You’re awake.” he said dryly, his face as still and emotionless as usual.

Y/N’s brows furrowed in annoyance as she watched him clean up cups and trash from their sleek counters. He was dressed in his usual day attire—neither too casual nor too formal. Y/N always wondered how he was always so put together and organized. It was one of the reasons she adored him so much. He had been there for her when she felt like her life was falling apart, helping her piece it back together.

”You’re loud.” Y/N responded back with the same dry tone in her voice.

“Well I do sincerely apologise I have cleaning to do. You imbeciles trashed the manor.” Tom said in his monotone voice as he stood up straight to look Y/N in the eyes.

“Please just be quieter..” Y/N murmured as she flopped onto the large couch, Tom watched her from behind the counter, times like this is when he really enjoys the open concept of the manor, he can watch her do everything.

”I. am. sorry.” He said in a forced voice, Tom doesn’t apologise, he’s never apologised to anyone, expect Y/N. He has a special place for her in his heart, they all do, hence they all moved in together.

”mph” she murmured back already half asleep on the couch.

Tom walked over to the cupboard with long strides and grabbed a lancet from the top shelf and draped it over Y/N and kissed her forehead and let her rest.

2 and a half hours later

”Are you serious? you’re kicking me out?” An annoying loud female voice screeched from upstairs as her loud thumping stomps could be heard throughout the whole home.

”Not even a good morning? or making me breakfast?” she yelled angrily, obviously still pretty under the influence of the copious amounts of alcohol and drugs she did last night.

“Morni-” Mattheo started with a yawn as he came downstairs to a sleeping Y/N and a grumpy Tom.

”Shut up.” Tom huffed cutting him off.

”Why so angry dearest brother? You didn’t get any pussy last night?” Mattheo asked obviously just trying to get under Toms skin as much as he can.

”I do not indulge in those ludicrous activities you and Nott get into.” Tom said shoving a paper plate of a food that was unrecognisable into the trash bag he was holding, a grim look plastered onto his face.

”Speaking of those ludicrous activities, what is that god awful screeching emitting from Theodores quarters.” Tom said looking around in disgust as he assessed the progress of cleaning he had done.

”I have no idea what you just said.” Mattheo said standing in the middle of the open kitchen and living room awkwardly as he stared blankly at his brother.

”What? Are you-? Forget it. Go tell them to close their mouths, they’ll wake up Y/N.” Tom said glancing over Y/Ns sleeping figure that somehow hasn’t awakened from the squealing. Mattheo’s gaze softened at the sight, he was about to go upstairs but was interrupted.

“FUCK YOU THEODORE NOTT!” The girl screamed, finally shes revealed herself, she ran down the stairs wearing just a skimpy red thong as she bundled up her dark blue dress to her chest to cover her and use the last bit of decency she was holding on to.

Tom and Mattheo watched as the girl ran out of the manor angrily, still muttering rude words directed to Theodore. Theodore’s foot steps got louder as he came down the stairs quickly, he was wearing just boxers obviously he had an eventful night. He opened the door forcefully and threw her heels at her accidentally hitting her straight in the head.

”OUCH!” She screeched from outside.

Theodore sighed as he locked the door with a quick motion. He turned to everyone else, an amused and tired Mattheo, a grumpy Tom and a just woken up, confused Y/N.

”What?” Theodore asked confused as he stared blankly back at everyone.

[causeimcrayzeebee]

MAJOR DRDT CHP 2 EP 16 SPOILERS

hey guys what the FUCK JUST HAPPENED. holy SHIT. never ask a gay person what happened October 5th 2024.

first can i say that the execution was phenomenal. i miss ace SO MUCH already but goodness the ending hurt. i had a feeling he’d die of fear once the execution started but that did NOT make it any easier to watch. holy shit.

i love how much self reflection happened. Ace, after all this time of being unable to repent for the harm he caused, instilled that motivation to be better into Arturo to save Levi’s life. from being called a coward by teruko to calling someone else on their cowardlyness was honestly kind of cathartic to see. ngl im excited to see what’s ahead for arturo after this!!

despite Teruko’s whole speech about how she won’t die, Levi jumped in to save her. he says he doesn’t understand human empathy but this was pretty damn close. even tho she assured everyone she’d be fine, Levi tried to save her anyways, but again it could just be driven by his need to do what he thinks a good person would do. praying he survives cause holy shit. him saying that he doesn’t understand Ace and Ace trying to push him away even more really stung….

MonoTV’s reset actually caught me so off guard. i kinda love it tho, it really displays the tone shift. ofc this killing game has been fucked up from the start, but it’s gotten even darker now as the main source of humor as well as comical incompetence is no longer who we knew it as. very likely that monotv won’t have another slip up like losing who’s motive is who’s again next chapter.

terukos development…. holy shit. I can’t stop saying holy shit bc tbh all of these are my thoughts immediately after finishing it and im still recovering from shock so take these with a grain of salt. i absolutely love how her arc has gone. as many have said previously, Ace is an example to Teruko what the isolation she forced herself through can do to people. Ace is the tragedy that could befall her as well. not to make things about percy jackson, but it’s very akin to the luke and percy foils (ik it’s not the same thing really I just wanted to mention their character foils) Arei is one side of the coin, and Ace, and Teruko if she kept going how she was before this trial, are the other. Arei was able to own up to her mistakes, and the others weren’t.

There’s also something that really displays their similarities when Teruko has to stay behind to cry because she’s too cowardly to face the group this way. Might just be because of timing but yk just a thought. Teruko was essentially admitting of guilt for Xander’s death and missing him, as well as Min. It really is easier to pretend as if everything is out of your control, even when you could have done something. Teruko has to learn about what’s beyond her dichotomy of blame and fate.

okay guys. let’s get this out of the way. um. this sprite is NOT helping you beat the mastermind allegations Whit. I actually jumped out of my seat seeing this sprite, it was actually quite horrifying to witness this. in response to Min’s execution, Whit had hardly much of a reaction, which has been a bit suspicious but likely has to do with how he grieves considering his mother. This tho…. i can’t tell if it makes him more or less suspicious (genuinely if anyone wants to talk about things that either prove or disprove Whit mastermind theories pls go ahead im so interested in what people think cause im at a loss). but like…. why is his hand behind him. what is he doing.

genuinely so wild how this whole time, Whit has only show a significant amount of care for Charles. yea i love charwhit they gay as hell, but even so, this specific focus that Whit has when it comes to Charles is something that, if Whit really is the mastermind or even just a traitor, it could be reaaaallllyyy bad news for Charles. I would not be surprised if he was trying to get close to Charles to make it hurt as much as possible when he revealed himself to be the mastermind or something of that nature. Or it could just be him having grown an attachment to Charles in some way (again pls lmk what you think about whit!!!) We’re not getting the happy love story we want but what did we expect when it’s a fanganronpa.

so yeah those are my thoughts on the ending of chapter 2! I planned to do a quick funny post and yet here i am writing analysis for half an hour. goodness. anyways to make up for funny post, i saw this part of Ace’s execution and my first thought was bungo stray dogs reference (crowd starts booing).

[notnights]

Big ol thing I wrote about Ragatha because I feel I don't do enough with her despite all the thoughts I have with her:

Ragatha might say reassuring things but they’re a means to an end that even Pomni didn't take genuinely and wasn’t comfortable with. As evident from her dream. And up until she saw Ragatha mourning the loss of a person (which is not even a high bar to reach) she wasn’t comfortable with her.

Things that really interest me about Ragatha's character:

1). She does not comfort Gangle when her mask breaks in the pilot. (NO one does, but that’s another discussion), nor give her reassurance or any response, when Gangle replies “no” to not being okay. (though this is probably just a joke)

2).The first thing Ragatha says to Pomni is “Lets just try and calm down… you just need to get your head together-“ And when Pomni continues to freak out she becomes nervous and doesn’t get involved until Pomni asks another question.

3). The most she'll do against Jax's behavior is bark at him like a bad cat.

4). "I don't think she likes me very much."

Interest 1). At best this means Ragatha believes Gangle’s tragedy mask is a “boy who cried wolf” scenario and Ragatha knows she can’t change how Gangle feels in this state and knows Gangle is “okay” for the most part. Because this happens Every. Single. Day. There’s only so much you can do to comfort someone like that. And Every. Single. Day. Gangle turns out “okay.”

And at worst she is purposely ignoring Gangle because Gangle makes Ragatha extremely uncomfortable. Here Ragatha is trying her best to keep it together meanwhile Gangle is sobbing and miserable right next to her “not even trying” “not even hiding it.”

If Ragatha tries telling Pomni “hey it’s okay here, really, I promise!” And GANGLE is in the background crying do you have any idea how that looks? How that makes the rest of us feel? How discouraging that must look to the newbie!? <-This was stuff told to me as an inpatient at a psych ward. "Don’t express your negativity around the other patients it discourages them," I would be forced into isolation because I cried non-stop. Not because the behavior itself was bad and worthy of punishment but because they thought my state could negatively impact the other patients and wanted to keep me out of sight out of mind for those other patients. (And YES this was wasn't right. I’ve been told by multiple mental health professionals, including doctors and staff at a different psyche ward this was the WRONG thing for them to do. Even if the means were to "protect the morale other patients."

Ragatha might have this same conclusion. If not for the others, for herself. She stresses to keep it together as it is. If trying to comfort someone like Gangle makes her MORE stressed, she has a right to not be involved with her but that's incredibly difficult when you are in such a small community in close quarters. There's only 6 of them they're all each other has. Raga can't just hang out in other places, around other people. Neither can Gangle. They're forced to be by each other. If Gangle and Raga both resent each other for this it makes sense.

Interest 2). Telling someone to just "get your head together" is a common but incorrect reaction to someone panicked. Sure if you know someone well enough to know how they would react to it, it could work. And Ragatha is just doing what she knows, maybe even what works for her, but Pomni is a complete stranger to her. Most people wouldn't know what to do in this situation (comforting a stranger on the worst day of her life) so you can't blame her for that reaction. Raga was just doing her best and thought she was helping but its probably one of the factors that made Pomni think otherwise (dream sequence).

Then compare it to Pomni's treatment of Gummigoo. While a different emotional circumstance, Gummigoo was still a complete stranger to Pomni. She lets Gummigoo sit on it for a bit, probably not intentionally but when she sees Gummigoo isn't getting any better she finally asks if he's ok. He says no she sits with him and lets him talk about it.

Contrast to Pomni asking why they don't try to leave, and Raga starts to explain only to near panic herself, then completely dismisses any of it, reassures herself even, reminding herself and telling Pomni that they need adventures in a way. They're good! Adventures are good! They help distract from the bad thoughts. Don't worry about the bad thoughts Pomni, we have adventures, here check out Kaufmo!

After she tries to tell Pomni to "calm down," and it doesn't work she stands their nervously not getting involved. She cannot comfort her in a way she understands. If Gangle is someone she gave up on, Ragatha has a limit of what she'll do for comfort. This probably speaks to her defusing a situation by taking the path of least resistance. Rather than doing what might be right in said situation.

This isn't to say Pomni vs Ragatha's comfort method is better or worse, I more mean Pomni probably expects a different kind of comfort method, which Ragatha didn't do and in turn gave Pomni that stuck-up impression of Raga in her dream.

Interest 3). Ragatha doesn't fight back against Jax very hard. Her reactions are almost funny. And Jax thinks they're funny. Like an older sibling being angry at a younger for doing something bad but also "they don't know any better yet." Normal for older kids and adults to react to a younger, and while Ragatha probably sees Jax as a kid (I'm nearing 30 myself and most 22 year olds feel so "baby" to me now despite only being 8 years older than them. Just kind of comes with aging as an adult, I'm sure I'll think the same about 30 yos when I'm 40), Jax is old enough to know better, or at least starting to know better and improve. But he's stuck in this place with no consequences. Ragatha can scold him all she wants, he could get hurt and punished, but pain is only temporary, isolation can only work for so long before it starts being cruel. You can't send him to bed without dinner, he doesn't need sleep, he doesn't need to eat. He can't even have his life threatened. There is NOTHING she could do to discourage Jax from doing bad behavior.

So like the potential of giving up on comforting Gangle, she has given up trying to scold Jax. Like Gangle always ending up "OKAY," Jax's behavior always ends up "OKAY." Sure he potentially had a hand in killing a whole kingdom but those aren't even real people, it's okay! Sure he maybe threw you out of a moving truck, but look it didn't really hurt! Sure maybe he hit Kinger with a bowling ball but look he's fine! Everything is "okay!" at the end of the day, with or without Jax's violence!

Interest 4). "I don't think she really likes me."

Instead of making Pomni feel welcomed and safe, Pomni thought Ragatha was condescending, patronizing, her strongest and simplest expression of this was "I'm not a child." Raga's fear of her not being liked is either because she is some what aware her behavior can be seen as condescending, or annoying but can't help it, its the only method she knows how to function.

OR thinks Pomni not liking her is the reason her method isn't working. "I just hope she's not having another horrible experience." She does not trust Pomni on her own, but who can blame her when she knows the bad first day Pomni had. But can be seen from Pomni's view as "let me help you! you can't do this on your own! I know you can't do this on your own!"

"She still seems really upset about what happened yesterday" makes me think Ragatha thinks Pomni abandoned her for a reason, and is maybe in a bad mood today, not wanting her help for that same reason. Ragatha thinking its her fault Pomni is having bad experiences because she isn't trying hard enough to get through this tough time.

Ragatha wants to speedrun pomni through the "hard part"get to the distraction part that helps her so much. Instead of letting her go through the phases herself, then helping when she's ready. (again compare this to Pomni's help to Gummigoo)

Kinger also does not directly reassure Ragatha with a "no, im sure she likes you!" or anything like that. Instead his reassurance comes from reminding her, Pomni is in the Hard Part, right now. Reminds Raga she too was once in the Hard Part, and it took HER awhile as well. "Don't take it too personally," reassuring her even if Pomni doesn't like her, that's ok, its not her fault, at least not her fault alone. And things can change in the future because Pomni is adjusting. Kinger both reassures Ragatha it's not her fault Pomni's having such a bad time, and tells Ragatha they should have faith in Pomni figuring things out no matter how long it might take.

Unfortunately I don't know how much of that Raga soaked in due to being distracted with Kinger remembering her going through that. Her tone when Pomni says she made a friend, makes me feel she did retain some of it. She's relieved Pomni handled things on her own alright, so might ease up on her hovering. But who knows, we won't know till the next episode if she had that development of letting Pomni figure some things out on her own.

[separatist-apologist]

We Could Call It Even

Summary: Newly made and terrified, Elain Archeron's human fiance tells her of a creature that could turn her back and keep them together and Elain will stop at nothing to make rumor a reality.

There is no force that can undo fate. No magic that can unmake a mating bond. And Lucien Vanserra isn't about to let his mate throw herself in the path of certain death on a fools hope. Lucien will be forced, instead, to watch her love another man for eighty brutal, miserable years.

While Elain Archeron will have to contend with a life she hoped to never live…and a mate she never wanted.

Thank you @shadowisles-writes for the moodboard!!

Read on AO3 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

It was Elain’s ticket to the continent, shoved in his hands with such hatred, such force, that Lucien nearly ripped it into pieces. Surely some of her fury had transferred into the little slip of parchment and would curse him should he attempt to use it.

And yet, death at sea didn’t sound so bad to him right then. When she stormed off, tears streaking down her face, Lucien hadn’t felt anything for her at all beyond irritation. He didn’t believe anyone had ever tried to hold her accountable for even a moment in her life. It wasn’t entirely Elain’s fault she was spoiled—no one saw anything of value in her and viewed her as little more than porcelain. Fragile, broken easily, in need of constant protection.

Lucien hoped she took a tumble from the shelf she’d been placed on. Maybe, if nothing else, it would make her a little more interesting. 

She had a first class ticket, as it turned out, and her cabin was spacious. “Thanks, darling,” he muttered sarcastically before flopping himself down on the bed. He dozed off again, his dreams too bright and loud to be remembered when he lurched awake. It had been the stress, he realized, that had prompted this spontaneous, poorly considered plan.

When he peered out the rounded window, all he saw was blue water in every direction. Oh, Feyre was going to be so angry with him. Lucien considered, for a moment, turning himself around when he got to the continent.

His mind was cruel. Stretching over decades, he imagined himself finding Velaris a new home, making friends. Growing closer with Feyre, whom he genuinely loved and adored the way he might have loved a younger sister. It was a soft, easy sort of life. He and Feyre up to their same shenanigans. She could show him all the best places, they could gossip without someone hanging over their shoulder disapprovingly.

And just when he’d gotten comfortable and believed it was forever, he knew Elain would come crawling back, tail between her legs. Still bitter, but now stricken with grief, she’d want her family to care for her while she mourned. And Feyre, with her too soft, forgiving heart, would take her back without question. 

She’d meddle. Feyre simply couldn’t help herself. He didn’t blame her for it, but Lucien knew in a century, Feyre would be trying to shove Elain back into his life now that Graysen was dead and she had no other options. Feyre was incandescently happy with her own mate—she’d want the same for her sisters.

But Lucien…oh. He couldn’t forgive Elain for this. He didn’t care if she didn’t understand and was hurt and angry. They were mates and that meant something. Jesminda had died for it. And Elain didn’t even have the courage to tell him she didn’t want him without him forcing her hand. What kind of life was it, always playing second best to a ghost, besides? 

Maybe leaving was for the best. He’d write to Feyre—they could keep in touch—but he could start over. Prythian had never been his home, anyway. He’d only ever felt like it could be when Jes had been alive. After her death, he’d been merely existing. Everything reminded him of her.

Now there was Elain, complicating everything. What if he lost his mind one day—what if something slipped down the bond that shredded the last remnants of his sanity? Or what if merely became curious and went to see her, only to find her surrounded by children and happiness and love? What if she got everything he didn’t? It was better to have an ocean separating them. Better to just try and start over. Who cared if he was a High Lord son anymore? He could just be Lucien, for once. Maybe he wouldn’t work in courts or be involved in the inner workings, guiding policies and keeping rulers from being beheaded, and maybe, just this once, he wanted that. 

Lucien spent a week on that ship, mingling casually with others who, like him, were looking to start over. Some were visiting family or returning home and others had struck out in Prythian, their homes destroyed, and were hoping to get further away from the wars the suspected would keep coming. 

He talked to some of them casually, but mostly kept to himself. Lucien regretted, if nothing else, not bringing a change of clothes. He did his best, but by the time they arrived on the shores of Vallahan, Lucien’s clothes had a very particular smell to them. 

The smell of salty air was a balm for his still wounded soul. Lucien drank it in as he stumbled from the rocking ship onto solid, unmovable ground. He swayed for a moment, arms thrown out to regain his balance, and when he took those first confident steps, he leaned to one side like a drunk. There was simply no helping it, and so he tried not to let himself feel too self-conscious about it.

Lucien drank in the small port city he’d been dropped in. Already, he knew he wanted to move further into the interior—whatever the city was called was a little too small for his liking. He wanted to lose himself somewhere. Just be Lucien. He’d drop his last name if he had to, or invent one entirely. 

He was charmed, all the same, by the architecture that surrounded him. Everything was constantly being torn down and rebuilt in Prythian, their own styles often declared to be outdated. You’d find homes dated three centuries before in a particular style just down the road from palatial estates remade in the newest fashion. 

Here, everything had a more cohesive feel, which lent to an overall sense of community. Buildings were two or three stories made of red or sometimes white bright and typically steepled rooftops. Temples were taller, ominous buildings that loomed light over the rest of the city with spires that stretched like spindling fingers towards the heavens. 

Lucien was entranced, walking down streets of smoothly laid cobblestone. Brightly painted doors were thrown open, inviting people to come inside shops to browse. Patrons at local eating establishments sat beneath awnings, drinking and eating and talking with cheerful enthusiasm. Children played a loud game of ball nearby, kicking it around with their feet and yelling foul if someone used their hands.

“Looking for work, mister?” A voice cut through his wonder. Lucien turned to find a rather dirty looking man wearing a bloodstained apron. The local butcher, then, he surmised based on the smell and the large cleaver held loosely in one hand.

His father would die to see one of his sons engaging in peasant work and yet… “I am,” Lucien decided. “Though, I have no skill in butchery.”

The burly man, no older than four hundred if Lucien had to guess, eyed Lucien up and down. “You look like you swing a sword well enough. You’ll pick it up. Do you want work or not?”

Lucien glanced up at the building shrewdly. “Does it come with lodging?”

“You can have the top apartment to yourself. Pay is whatever you can sell after everything else is square—a fifty fifty split.”

That was far more generous than Lucien expected. Besides, work was work he told himself with an incline of his head. He had plenty of money, of course—he could have paid for somewhere outright and lived a more casual existence.

Working in the community would make it easier to live among them. They’d learn to trust him while he learned the customs and culture. He could fit himself in better before moving on. Lucien had time, he reminded himself. There was no rush. He’d live a dozen centuries more before his thread was cut. Why not, he decided? He followed the burly male in doors where the pristine shop awaited. 

“Since my wife died, I’ve been doing this all by myself,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his beefy neck. He was a solidly built man with a barrel chest and a thick, black beard. Piercing blue eyes took him in, as if reading the measure of Lucien and finding him worthy. 

“Tell me what you need,” Lucien replied, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m a quick study.”

In retrospect, after a day of trailing Bernard the Butcher, a name that made him chuckle just loud enough to earn a scowl, Lucien found he’d been well primed for this kind of work by his older brother, no less. Eris, who had never cared much for him, had occasionally taken him out of the house when their father was in one of his rages.

In the forest of Autumn, Lucien had learned to skin fish and deer. He’d learned how to cleanly get meat off the bone and which pieces were the best. He’d learned to render tallow from the fat and sharpen animal bones into tools or instruments or, when he was really young, little toys he buried outside the Forest House so Beron wouldn’t take them from him. 

Here, at least, the animals were already dead. Bernard contracted with a farm just outside of town that belonged to his sister-in-law and her husband. They came twice a week with hogs and beef mostly, and on fridays they brought chicken. On the weekends there might be fish, though Bernard said he left that to the fishmongers unless he had something particularly valuable, if only because he hated the smell.

Lucien thought that was fair. 

He spent the evening cleaning the back, scrubbing up blood with a long handled brush and then, when he wasn’t quite satisfied, on his hands and knees with a little scrub brush. Bernard was impressed.

“I’ve never seen this place look so clean,” he admitted. Lucien was a little disturbed by that given the stained, wooden counter and the lingering smell of rotting blood in the air. There was nothing that could be done for some of it, though in other places he found that a little injection of gold might make things just a little nicer.

He’d worry about that later.

Lucien was given the keys to the apartment on the third floor, which he could access directly from the shop. He simply locked up for the day and walked the five steps to another door, slid the key into the lock and tramped his way up. Bernard was on the floor beneath him which Lucien half liked, though he supposed if they ever had a quarrel, it would make his down time deeply uncomfortable.

The apartment was empty save for a lopsided certain hanging from the living room window, once white but stained brown from dust. It was good, though, he decided. It had solid, sturdy bones. It struck him, right then, that this was home. The enormity of his decision suddenly settled in his stomach, filling Lucien with a mix of panic and excitement. He’d left. After years of thinking about it but never having the courage, Lucien was gone. His past was nothing more than a ghost haunting the edges of his memory rather than a monster with vicious teeth always hovering just behind him.

Lucien took a breath before making his way back down the steps. It was mid-day, closer to dinner than the evening, which meant just enough places were still open. He made purchases, having drawn a promissory note on the gold back in Prythian. He’d need it all transferred which would take time, but most stores allowed him to purchase items on credit. That was a relief because he needed a whole new wardrobe, though perhaps not as fine as he was accustomed to. Lucien purchased one nice outfit, just in case, and left everything else for the everyday wear. He made orders for furniture to be made and cosigned himself to sleeping on the hard floor until it could all be delivered.

And as he walked, he noticed an empty store front at the corner of the block with  peeling white letters that read The Fox and The Fawn. Peering through the dirty window, he saw it had once been a pub of some sort before it closed.

A strange yearning surged through him. He wanted it, though he couldn’t say why. While Lucien had experience with butchering, he had none with operating his own business. Standing there, nose nearly pressed to the glass, Lucien promised himself if he were still around in six months, he’d damn it all and take on the lease. 

It was too soon, though. Lucien decided to put it in the hands of fate—though fate had never been terribly kind of him. If someone else scooped it up, well, that was his answer that he wasn’t meant to stay and continue on with his original plan.

Lucien slept on the floor that evening after cleaning the interior of his apartment. He woke well before dawn, exhausted and aching, and made his way down just as Bernard did.

“Ready?” the man asked, looking as well-groomed as he ever was. Lucien rolled the sleeves of his black shirt and took a leather apron from the hook in the back once they were inside. They worked before they opened, cutting the meat they’d hung the day before now blessedly drained and ready to go. 

Some of Lucien’s cuts were sloppy—too much fat or too slim—and it took him the better part of that early morning to get good at it. He learned that in Vallahan, tea was more of an evening drink and here, everyone drank coffee grown in the warmer parts of Rask. It could be sweetened much like tea with milk, sugar, and cream, and a whole industry had sprung up around it. Lucien learned the bakery a block down sold coffee in every form imaginable, with flavored syrups to match the seasons. 

Lucien found himself obsessed with it. Every morning he’d wake up twenty minutes early and make his way down before the lines got too long. He ordered everything, one at a time, so he could try a variety of drinks before settling on his favorite. He learned he liked it a little darker, though still sweet, and hot even if the weather was warm. 

He also liked the lemon and coconut muffin they sold, and by the time Lucien had been there a month, the pretty, red haired barista had his order waiting for him before he got to the counter.

“Good morning, Lucien,” she said, flashing him a lovely grin.

He’d wink back. “Good morning, Odessa,” he’d say in response. He liked her—he wanted to take her out. 

And he didn’t want anything serious. Lucien couldn’t offer any female anything because he knew the moment they learned he had a mating bond, they’d scurry off. They’d assume that the female was going to come back eventually and he’d leave. No matter how Lucien argued that Elain was never coming to claim him, he knew, all the same, that they’d prefer a male without as much baggage as he was dragging around. 

He’d always wanted a wife and children. That was, perhaps, the most cruel part of Lucien’s reality. He’d dreamed of it as a boy—how he’d do it all differently. How his children wouldn’t cower when he walked through a door, how his wife would smile brightly, unbruised and in love. All he’d ever get were the fleeting moments in between. Casual, and little more. When he closed his eyes, he used to picture Jes in that role of wife and mother. It seemed a betrayal of her sacrifice to choose another female. 

Now, though, his mind betrayed him. When he closed his eyes at night, he saw Elain in that role. Smiling as children tugged at her skirts, watching him with a bemused expression while he chased after a newly toddling babe ambling toward the street. 

He hated her for that. Hated her even more than he’d hated her after her cruel words because she’d be someone's mother, certainly, just as she’d be someone else’s wife. Not his, though. Never his.

And despite everything, instinct made him want her. Some nights his teeth ached from it, mouth flooded with blood as he bit down to keep himself from roaring like an animal. His nails would bite against his palms, legs shaking from the urge to rectify what was happening between them. Sometimes he played out vivid fantasies in which he kidnapped her and took her to some secluded cottage where no one would ever find her. 

By the time Lucien had been in Nidraos for six months, the impulse had lessened. Sometimes it still pulled him from sleep, but it wasn’t such a battle to get himself back into bed. He simply forced himself to relive her final words before he went back to sleep. 

After a while, he stopped thinking about her day to day at all. He no longer cared how she spent her time or what the human lord did to her. Lucien had slipped back to a place in his mind where he could simply be. He found himself in a place with true seasons not dependent on the kings magic. The whole system seemed to function much like the solar courts in Prythain, though those here seemed to pass the magic along via their very lineage and not the chaos of the land. There was no Calanmai—though a host of other holidays often delighted Lucien. So many were centered around the joy of children and family, which should have made him miserable.

Bernard, who must have known Lucien didn’t intend to stick around forever, brought him to his family’s Solstice Gathering where everyone had a gift for him. Lucien hadn’t expected that and, upon realizing there were gifts for him, wrapped in pretty gold paper, had caused him to choke up though he thought he did a decent job swallowing his emotion.

Lucien couldn’t remember the last time someone had given him a gift. 

The empty storefront remained empty for six months, and then a year. Lucien had hesitated at the six month mark. He was comfortable. Happy, even. He should have known, then, that someone from his old life would come calling.

And call she did in the form of Feyre Archeron. He saw her one morning on his way out of the bakery, steaming cup in his hands. Snow had begun to fall gently from overhead as another winter came to the small, seaside city. He’d bundled himself in a warm coat and hat and was thinking about the chickens waiting for him when he saw her, looking strange and out of place in the middle of the city square. Lucien was certain Feyre hadn’t come alone, though it certainly looked as if she had.

That meant Azriel was lurking somewhere, just out of sight to give Feyre the illusion of privacy but close enough that he could slaughter anyone who threatened to harm her. Nevermind that in his year living in Niadros, the worst crime he’d seen had been a child stealing a neighbor's cat and refusing to return it. The local mayor had been forced to step in, providing the girl with a new kitten in exchange for the grumpy looking thing. 

It struck him right then at how militaristic Prythian was.

Lucien didn’t miss it.

Feyre saw him, face splitting in a blinding, beautiful smile. Lucien’s chest ached at the sight. “Fey?”

“There you are,” she said, jogging over as her blue cloak trailed in a puddle of water. “I was starting to think I’d never find you.” She threw herself against him, typical Feyre-style, for a bruising hug. Lucien didn’t mind, burying his face in her hair. “Missed you,” he grunted out, the words not beginning to cover it.

“I got your letter…and the request for your gold to be sent over. Rhys did all that,” she told him, slipping her arm through his. A few folks watched curiously, and he knew there’d be rumors about yet another female. He’d have to explain Feyre was truly just a sister—he couldn’t let those sorts of rumors swirl around, even if they bolstered his reputation as an unapologetic rake. 

“Is everything okay?”

“It’s the same,” she replied, which eased some of his worry. “I saw your mother just the other day.”

Lucien had done his best not to think of her in the last year. “Is she well?”

“As well as she ever is,” Feyre murmured gently. “I told her you were happy, and that seemed to lighten her mood.”

Some of the grief he felt eased. “Good.”

“Will you tell me what happened?” Feyre asked suddenly, pausing in front of a frozen statue of a mermaid. In the summer, water poured upward from her fingertips, causing it to rain against her bronzed hair. Local children would dart away from their parents to splash inside while others tossed in coins hoping a wish might be granted. 

“Ask her.”

“I tried, but she and her husband,” Feyre sneered the word, unaware of how the word stabbed Lucien right through the stomach with jealousy, “have forbidden all faeries on pain of death.”

“They could try,” Lucien mumbled, wishing they would, if only so Rhys might mist the bastard laying with his mate. 

“She’d decided to play out some fantasy in which she’s still human, I suppose. She was apologetic in her letter, true to form, but she won’t go against him. What happened?”

Lucien desperately did not want to rehash it, so he shrugged his shoulders. “We exchanged some words. They were unpleasant.”

“And then you left.”

“And then I left.”

“Lucien, if she said something—”

“It was more than just her words,” Lucien told Feyre with a sigh. Snowflakes had begun to gather on her lashes, sparkling softly in the early morning light. “One day she’ll come crawling back and you won’t have it in you to hold this grudge.”

“I hold grudges just fine,” Feyre disagreed. “She never had to love you to stay with us but she chose…I don’t know what she chose, honestly. But it hurts me.”

“I know it does,” Lucien replied, not needing to tell Feyre it hurt him, too. What more could he say on the subject? Elain was selfish, he’d told her to her face—he was certain she’d framed it as some revolutionary act of putting herself first without acknowledging that her whole life, Elain had always come first. 

“I wanted you to stay. I was hoping for a friend who was only mine. Things…” Feyre took a breath, looking around.

“Feyre,” Lucien all but whispered as he stepped closer, “did something happen?”

She bit her bottom lip before smoothing out her expression. Liar. She was such a liar. Lucien knew it because he was a liar, too. “No, nothing happened. I just miss being able to talk to you, that’s all. Everyone else—I love them, of course, I love them so much, but…they’re Rhys’s friends and family first. And every once and a while I remember that.”

“What happened?” Lucien asked her, holding her by the tops of her arm.

She wasn’t going to tell him. Whatever had happened that had brought her to him, she was remembering that he’d left her, too, and only sent a letter as an afterthought. 

“Nothing,” his sweet liar told him, as if Lucien hadn’t spent a year living with her while she practiced lying to his face. “I just miss you, that's all.”

“It’s driving me crazy,” Lucien confessed, still holding her still. “I can’t…I can’t be that close to her. Some nights, an ocean doesn’t feel far enough. She made her choice and I’m trying to live with it.”

“He’s going to die—”

“Could you forgive Rhys?” Lucien asked, catching how Feyre winced. Maybe Feyre could. Maybe she’d overlook it, but Lucien didn’t think he could. 

“Are you happy?”

“I am,” he admitted, looking around him. “I didn’t mean to stay, but I like it here. I have friends, a life, I…I’m happier than I was before.”

Feyre took a breath. It was clearly the opposite of what she’d wanted to hear.

“I’ll go back if you ask me to,” Lucien added, because he would. “If you need me, just ask.”

She shook her head. Selfless to the very end—no matter how badly she missed him, Feyre wouldn’t make him go. “Stay. You deserve something good, Lucien, even if it means I don’t get to see you every day.”

She flung her arms around him, squeezing so tightly his ribs groaned in protest. “Don’t come back.”

“You have a place here anytime you want it. High Lady be damned.”

She laughed, and Lucien swore a shadow slithered over those clear, blue eyes. He doubted governing was what Feyre truly wanted in life, though he wasn’t going to say it to her. She was young and, perhaps more tragically, a people pleaser. Her mate wanted her to be his equal in all things and so she would be—without complaint, even if it made her miserable.

Lucien had seen it all before. How long before she was here with him and they were running away again? Never, likely—she’d make it work. Still, Lucien wondered what Rhys could have possibly done to bring her all the way out to him hoping he’d come back.

“Whatever it is you’re waiting for?” Feyre said as she untangled herself from his arms, her expression resolute. “Don’t wait.”

Lucien pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Tell that mate of yours I’m watching him.”

She smiled, well aware it was an empty threat. Still, he knew it made her feel a little better. He promised to write more often, and maybe visit the next Solstice, if only to see her for her birthday. And Feyre wished him well again before she vanished into the crowd.

And Lucien turned to that still empty storefront.

He signed the lease that day.

[princess-of-the-corner]

So, I haven’t seen the London Special, just seen the reactions, but it is really hammering home to me how much of the plot could be … not “fixed”, but at least “untangled” if Mari had literally ANY CONNECTION to Gabriel that didn’t involve Adrien. Like, her mentor, an old family friend, her godfather, her dad’s old college buddy, just … ANYTHING that made Marinette connected to Gabe on a personal level. It still wouldn’t make her lying to Adrien ok, but it at least would make it more sympathetic. Cause then she isn’t just lying to Adrien, she’s lying to HERSELF, because if she tells Adrien, then she has to acknowledge that actually, Gabe kind of sucked. Like, “cool motive, still murder” - yeah, you tried to revive your wife, and you loved your kid, but you were a dick, man. Marinette having ANY connection to Gabriel that is more personal than “my crush’s dad” would make the entire thing at least a little easier to understand. As it is, it comes across as Marinette, I’m not sure this is the right word, but almost “infantilizing” Adrien. She’s making decisions for him, denying him agency in his own life, because she’s decided she knows what’s best for him.

And like, Mari’s a kid who had a hell of a lot heaped on her shoulders, I get where the mindset probably came from, but Marinette’s only major connection to Gabriel in canon is that he’s Hawk Moth and she’s Ladybug. And while yes, that is a big connection, it also isn’t personal? Like. Gabe’s relationship with Marinette is basically nothing, if you take out the Miraculous stuff. Marinette is just some girl who goes to the same school as his son, is a rather promising designer, and … that’s kind of the extent of their interaction. Without the Miraculous, they barely qualify as acquaintances. If Marinette isn’t Ladybug, or Gabriel wasn’t Hawk Moth, there would be basically nothing there. And while I can make an argument that Ladybug absolutely has a say in what to tell the PUBLIC, that keeping up the ruse with them MIGHT be … not GOOD, but the lesser of two evils, I don’t think Ladybug/Marinette has any right in denying that info to Adrien. It’s his damn dad, he has a right to know what happened. Hell, even just about his mom! He has a right to know what happened to her!

And on a quick swerve, it actually annoys me that Ladybug hasn’t told Chat Noir. Like, the guy is your partner, you’ve been fighting this thing since day one together, on the superhero side of things, he ALSO deserves to know who the hell the pair of them have been duking it out with. Like, I’m aware identity shenanigans are afoot, but if Ladybug has the right to make this kind of call, then Chat should also get that right, which means LADYBUG SHOULD TELL HIM.

(… I will admit, this might all be bothering me less if my dad hadn’t been playing Hallmark movies all day, and I hadn’t been forced to sit through at least 12 separate scenarios where literally TALKING TO A PERSON would solve all the problems. But like … 8 times out of 10, when someone says, “don’t tell anyone I did this thing”, it is A) something you should PROBABLY tell someone, or B) something that is going to blow up later if you keep it a secret.)

-

Yeah no like!

On top of wanting some acknowledgement that this is well-intentioned but fucked up to do

the whole thing about Mari having no investment in the identity reveal past ‘ah that’s my bf’s dad’ has bothered me for a while because REALLY she should have some connection and they already set it up but never did anything with it.

But Marinette lying to herself and trying to convince herself that her mentor/friend is a Good Person despite the fucked up things he did would be a lot better than ‘uwu I don’t want to tell Adrien that his father fucking sucked despite the fact that Adrien is already VERY aware that his father fucking sucks’.

[tinydefector]

TINYDEFECTOR! DROP ANOTHER INSECTICON FIC OR WRITTEN WORK AND MY LIFE IS YOURS!

(If you have the time and energy of course. Take care of yourself and be safe!)

Y'all asked for Insecticons get ready for Arcee and Insecticon reader as this for Kinktober for today and tomorrow as a two part piece becuase I wanted my wife to get some action and she deserves a Rebelled Colony of Insecticons.

This actually really made me want to make an Insecticon Oc so....

Kinktober day 4 Insecticons

TFP Arcee x Insecticon reader

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: pheromones, hormones, fingering, mating.

@tf-kinktober2024

Day 3

Day 5

____________

Arcee is out on a stealth mission investigating an Insecticon disturbances. Her sensors were on high alert as she moved through the tunnels of the mines. a set of optics linger on the blue autobot as she slinks around the old mine. But they stay out of view of the Autobot, following her movements. "You're not a very sneaky Autobot" they call out.

With a quick scan of the area, Arcee tried to pinpoint the source of the voice blasters drawn. She knew that if this was a Decepticon trap, she had to be prepared to defend herself at a moment's notice. 

As she continued to move cautiously through the dark tunnels, Arcee kept her optics sharp and her processor running at full speed, ready for whatever might come her way. She couldn't afford to let her guard down. 

They move along the roof of the mine quickly, disappearing before she can see them. "Where's your Team blue?" They ask, slinking back behind more rocks as they move further down the mine. Arcee's circuits buzz with a mix of concern and determination as she hears the mysterious figure taunting her about the absence of her team.

 She replies in a calm but firm voice, "My team is where they need to be, just like I am."

Despite the voice's attempts to unsettle her, Arcee focused on navigating the dark and treacherous mine. She couldn't let herself be distracted. 

They move swiftly, body slamming her into one of the walls of the mine before pinning her down. Arcee's systems flared with alarm as she was suddenly ambushed and pinned down by the mysterious figure. Despite her best efforts to defend herself, she found herself overpowered and at the mercy of her assailant. 

Bright green optics look down at her as their wings flicker making a low clicking noise. " You know better to sneak into places that aren't yours" they warn, in truth they didn't want to hurt her, but they couldn't say the same for others of the Rebelled hive.

Struggling against the force holding her down, Arcee tried to maintain her composure and assess her options. The warning from the figure only added to her unease, knowing that there were potentially more dangerous threats lurking in the shadows of the mine.

With a steely resolve in her voice, Arcee replied, "where's Arachnid, is she skulking around here" it came out more as a snarl as she spoke, Arcee's processors worked overtime. 

They let out a soft vent. "The hive has moved on. Arachnid has taken them, few of us have separated, taking these old mines as our burrows. The others dont like intruders, they will rip you apart if they find you" they warn, Their wings flutter again slightly but they don't make another move to try and attack, just keep her pinned. 

Another sound further down the mine makes their head snap towards the noise. Before tightening their holding her and moving swiftly with her pressed against their bulk. "Stay quiet" they chirp against her audial processor.

As they navigated the maze-like passages, Arcee remained on high alert, scanning for any signs of danger or potential threats. She knew that the Insecticons were formidable adversaries, and the one currently carrying her was a much larger one than she had dealt with before. 

 They drag her down into a rather tight burrow using their bulk to block out the view from any of the other Insecticons that move around. Arcee's spark pulsed with fear as she found herself dragged into the tight burrow, surrounded by the ominous sounds of the Insecticons communicating with each other. Despite the overwhelming odds against her.

Struggling against the figure holding her, Arcee fought back slightly, pushing against their bulk and trying to break free from their grasp. She knew that the Insecticons were dangerous adversaries, so she had to get out now. "Let me go!" Arcee growled. 

"Stop or i'll let them have you" They nearly snarl against her shoulder. Their clawed Servos pull her snuggle against their frame. Despite the other Insecticons displeased noises no one had attacked her. Their wings seem to almost wrap around her. Its only when the sweet scent emitting from the Insecticons have her frame relax and nearly melt into the one holding her she realises something is amidst.  

 Feeling a wave of dizziness wash over her, Arcee's usual reserve and caution seemed to slip away as she found pulled closer to their frame. "What... What are you doing to me?" she murmured, her voice much softer even as she still struggles.

They let a heavy rumble leave their chest as they watch the other Insecticons slowly disappear. " You little femme walked yourself into a Rebelled Insecticons Colony in the midst of trying to find a queen. Your frame is reacting to our pheromones" They finally explain while pulling her closer so the others couldn't have the blue Autobot.

Arcee's systems buzzed with a mix of alarm and realisation about the situation she had unwittingly stumbled into. a shiver ran down her spinal struts, Struggling to push back against the effects of the pheromones clouding her sensors and processor.

Despite the closeness of the Insecticon and the overwhelming scent clouding her thoughts, little whines leave her as her frame shakes from the intensity of the hormones.  

" the others, they would have you the moment i let you go" their antai move as they click and buzz softly. "They are watching, waiting for you to make a run for it" they move slightly keeping Arcee pinned against them. 

The warning about the other Insecticons waiting to pounce on her if she tried to escape sent a chill through her circuits, reminding her of the precarious situation she was in.

"I-I won't make a run for it," she forced out, her voice strained with effort as she tried to resist the allure of the pheromones.

They click again this time softer as they slowly release her, moving and repositioning her in the burrow. Running their mandibles against the side of her neck cables as they slot themself against her frame. "We wish to mate little femme, that is why our pheromones are affecting you "

The admission about their intentions to mate sent a surge of alarm bells off in her processor. "I... I, I'm an Autobot," Arcee managed to stammer out, her voice barely above a whisper as she tried to push back against the overwhelming sensations threatening to overwhelm her. 

" It hasn't stopped us before, why do you think the Decepticons and us were aligned for so long?One of theirs was once our Queen. We are a Rebelled Colony with no allies, little Femme we care not the alliance" they state, while pulling her further back into what looked like a rather soft little nest. Laying down with her gently grooming and tending to her as the effects take hold.

Lost in a haze of her systems pleading for more, for the con currently holding her to touch more of her plating. But the glowing optics of the others focusing on her sends cold dread through her frame. "Easy little Femme, I won't let them touch you unless you want them" they coo against her neck cables.

 The realisation that the Autobots were in desperate need of allies, even if it meant forging a tenuous alliance with the Rebelled Colony, sent a shiver down her frame.

Despite her reservations and the full fledged effects of the pheromones clouding her judgement, Arcee found herself surprisingly talkative under the influence of the Insecticons touch. "We... we need allies," she murmured, her voice betraying a hint of vulnerability beneath her usual stoicism.

As the Insecticons gentle ministries continued. "And we need a Queen little femme" they mumble, the buzzing from their frame has her trying to pull them closer. They lean into her, servos moving down her hip plating to her valve cover, lightly tracing it, as their digits move down as it snaps open, they watch her every reaction as her body begins reacting to their pheromones. Keening softly as he moves against their servo. 

Her voice trembling, Arcee managed to speak, her words tinged with a mix of uncertainty and curiosity. "I-I am not a Queen," she whispered, her voice barely above a murmur as she tried to process the Insecticons words.

Their digits slowly press into her valve, working her open softly, scissoring her open. "We can change that sweet Femme" they hum softly, mandibles tracing her face and cables. Their other arm lifts her other leg giving themself more space between her thighs, Breathing in the scent of her.  

For an Insecticon they are rather gentle, even loving as they kiss her. She melts into each touch, optics blown wide as little moans and gasp leave her. A loud purr vibrates from their chest as they press closer to her. Digits tracing over her nodes and even running up her spike before plunging back into her valve. 

_____________

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[indigoire]

Someone else mentioned in the tag, but I love the foreshadowing we got in the first three episodes of tlovm, both for Glintshore and A Bard's Lament. Meet me under the cut.

First, Glintshore. We had teases in the previous season, namely Vex's "my heart is someone else's" as she turned on Saundor, with the sudden cut to Percy's face. Don't think I'll be forgetting that any time soon. This season will probably have the showdown between Percy and Anna, part two, lord knows how they're gonna fit it in between dragon fights but it makes sense to put it in this season. We have Vex getting frantic to save Percy, no matter what, and her throwing herself in front of him to take a shot for him. Her "what would you do without me" afterwards hits hard when, well, he'd probably die Vex. And Percy's no better of course, cradling her to his chest, and then taking her into his confidence about his thoughts on Anna and revenge and looking for a new purpose. The groundwork is laid. That resurrection ritual is gonna hit so hard after all of this.

All the same, I'm glad they broke a little of the sexual tension before killing Percy, even if the episode ended with Vex saying "it was fun but we can't do romance right now". She made it clear to the audience and Percy that she knows she cares for him and he cares for her, but they're too focused on the task ahead and too scared of the depths of their feelings to make a commitment. It almost makes perfect sense, if you didn't know that one of them was going to die and make the other one realize she can't go on without him. Again, that ritual is going to be delicious, I can practically see the tortuous flashbacks now.

Now, onto the bard. While Vex is frantic about Percy she definitely said something that cut Scanlan down. "Who cares [about your issues with Kaylie] we need to save Percy!" And in general the group being relieved to have Scanlan talk their way out of trouble, but not offering to help him with his daughter in return. He really did seem caught between two responsibilities: being a present father and helping his found family. It's very clear he cares about Vox Machina, but he's still trying to figure out how to keep Kaylie in his life. It seems like Pike is the only one who is willing to listen to him, but even she pushes him away after he tries to kiss her. She was well within her right (he was drinking, he was not in a good headspace, she was genuinely just trying to reach out as a friend and not making a move), but we know how Scanlan is gonna interpret that. In general I really appreciate that he's grown past being a joke, that we as an audience can still laugh at/with Scanlan but we're also forced to reckon with his pain and personhood. And soon Vox Machina will too. Possibly at the end of this season. Possibly.

[vevobly]

Yellowjackets Jealousy Headcanons!

A/N: This has you being romantically involved with them in mind, but you can interpret it however you want. Devour and enjoy as always!

Jackie Taylor:

Jackie thrives on attention, especially yours. So when it goes to someone else? Oh boy, you are in big trouble.

Jackie would practically be steaming. Whether you're aware or unaware of what you're doing to her, she'd be pissed.

Her jealousy would be subtle but to those who knew her well, it would be clear as fucking daylights.

Jackie would either resort to making passive aggressive comments or trying to one-up the person she's jealous of.

Like, if someone compliments you too much—she would just appear out of nowhere and insert herself between you guys.

Now, I'm not antagonizing Jackie here! But I fully believe the girl has some sort of popular complexity. So when you hang out with someone she deems "beneath" her social circle, she gets especially jealous.

Shauna Shipman:

Knowing Shauna, her jealousy would definitely be felt more than heard. Oh, and she'd probably bottle it all up until she explodes.

She’ll watch the way you interact with others, her eyes narrowing whenever someone else makes you laugh or smiles at you in a way she doesn’t like.

Shauna won’t confront you directly (unless she's forced into a corner into doing that) about it.

But she will subtly manipulate certain situations so you spend more time alone with her.

Shauna will definitely feel guilty about it. And very insecure at the same time that she'll ask you stuff like — “you’re not… bored of me, right?

Taissa Turner:

Jealousy does not get to Taissa. And if it did, she would not be jealous openly. I mean, she's confident in her relationship with you.

But if someone does start "flirting" with you, she's immediately stepping right in. Cool and collective.

She won't lash out or anything like that, she'll just remind them (and maybe you) who's in charge.

If jealousy really does get to her? She'd just go up to you and discuss it. That's about it.

Unless she's extremely jealous, then she might start controlling your time with other people for a bit. No worries! It won't last for too long.

Van Palmer:

Van would act like she’s all cool with it, but she's not. She would get extremely protective of you in a certain way when she's jealous.

Like, this girl will joke about you “breaking her heart” but also hover near you whenever she senses someone else than her vying for your attention.

Now, Van trusts you. But her insecurities have their own little way of just wiggling into her head, especially when someone attractive or successful tries to get your attention.

She’ll become more affectionate with you, using that to ward off any people trying to make their moves on you.

If you question it, she'll just laugh it off. Insist you're being a little silly because she knows better than anyone else just how much you love her.

Natalie Scatorccio:

Natalie's jealousy is explosive, and she definitely would not try just one tiny bit to hide it at all.

She wouldn't be afraid to confront the person making her jealous. And this girl's anger is not something you want to be directed at you (unless you're into it).

Because Nat's anger comes out in sharp words or her just being destructive.

If you’re being too friendly with someone else; she’ll lash out and tell you “why don’t you just go be with them, then?” — better grovel for her.

Since Nat has issues with being abandoned or betrayed, she'd probably pull back from you emotionally. Just becoming distant or reckless to protect herself from being hurt, especially by you.

Lottie Matthews:

Lottie's jealousy would just be strangely calm. Similar to Jackie and Shauna, she'd be pretty subtle about it.

Like, she'd just give off vibes that make the person making her jealous uncomfortable. Just thus quiet unnerving way of making them back off without saying a word.

With Lottie, I feel like you wouldn't even know she's jealous unless she tells you that herself or you just know her too well to know it.

If the person she's jealous of isn't backing off. One way or another, this girl will stir you away from that person no matter what.

She'll make certain stuff up so you go far from this person. Like someone needing you for something and so.

Laura Lee:

This girl would just be battling her jealousy! Like, she'd try so hard to suppress any feelings of jealousy because she sees them wrong.

But she still can't help it get to her sometimes. She'll feel sad, hurt when someone gets too close to you.

Like, she'll pray for strength and try her best to rationalize her feelings, but then it would still get to her and she'll end up saying stuff like “I guess I’m just not enough for you”

Laura Lee would feel guilty as hell when she's jealous, and when she ends up saying those words to you.

I feel like Laura Lee would be the type to go out of her way to be even kinder and more supportive to you when she feels jealous, just hoping that makes you choose her over anyone else because of how loving and faithful she is to you.

Misty Quigley:

Now this girl, you just don't make her jealous ever, okay? Misty’s jealousy is intense and can literally turn dangerous if it flares up through the skies.

When Misty is jealous, she’ll go to extreme lengths. From manipulating situations to outright sabotaging other people trying to get close with you, she will do anything to get rid of any competition.

This girl would manipulate you so much. Mostly painting herself as a wounded person who has no one else but you.

Misty doesn’t like sharing your attention with anyone else. So when you do, she'll become increasingly clingy and demanding of your time.

If you even start spending too much time with anyone else, she’ll guilt-trip you and say things like “don’t you care about me anymore?”

[wolfjackle-creates]

Wow. I am blown away by the response to my bang fic so far. I did not expect a Jazz POV fic with a (relatively) rare pair to do half so well as it has.

But here's another scene I love from the first chapter. Consider checking out on AO3 if you haven't already!

-----

Twenty minutes later, they were curled up together on Dick’s bed with the lights out. Jazz had insisted on being the little spoon. After the last few days she’d had, she wanted nothing more than to have her boyfriend curled protectively around her.

“Jazz?”

“Hmmm?” she replied, already half asleep.

“Do you— Are you— Is it good for you, to work with metas in trouble?”

Her eyes flew open and she stared into the dark room. Any hint of sleep was gone as she lay there tense. Dick’s arm tightened around her stomach. She took one deep breath, then another. “You’re worried because of my brother.” It was a statement, not a question.

Dick hummed, “We’re similar in some great ways and some terrible ones. I want to make sure taking cases like Callum’s isn’t going to keep you wallowing and unable to move on.”

Jazz screwed her eyes shut against the burning. “My brother is dead,” she said, the half-truth ash in her throat. “He is dead and I couldn’t stop it. His powers only made him more of a target and not a single adult tried to stick up for him.” Each word was harder to say than the last. “If I can keep it from getting that bad for anyone else… I need to do it. I wouldn’t be able to face myself in the mirror if I didn’t try.”

“Okay,” said Dick. “Okay. I believe you.”

Jazz forced herself to relax again. Of course Dick would be worried. If their positions had been reversed, she would’ve asked the same thing.

Just as she was starting to relax, Dick spoke again. “Would he have liked me?”

Jazz sucked in a breath; behind her, Dick tensed. Before he could apologize or try to take back his question, Jazz replied. “Danny hated every guy I dated in high school.”

Dick’s arm tightened around her, and Jazz grabbed his hand to thread their fingers together.

“I can’t blame him, though. I dated some horrible guys. The worst, get this, he only dated me because he was part of some weird magic cult. They fucked up a ritual or something and he wanted to use my body as a host for his real girlfriend’s soul when her body got destroyed.”

“What the fuck?” asked Dick. “Didn’t you grow up in the middle of nowhere? That’s some Blüdhaven or Gotham shit.”

Jazz laughed and squeezed his hand. “The corn makes people crazy. Now hush, let me answer your question.”

“Sorry,” said Dick, but Jazz could hear the smile in it. And feel it when he kissed the back of her neck.

“Quite all right. Now, Danny, as I said, he hated every guy I dated.” She bit her lip. Despite the jokes, she struggled to talk around the lump forming in the back of her throat. “But none of them were good guys. If I had been able to introduce the two of you, he’d be mistrustful. And probably try to interrogate you.” She chuckled, though it was a bit wetter than her normal. “Not that it’d phase a police officer like you.

“But… Yes, Dick. Once I’d convinced him to give you a legit chance? He’d have loved you. The two of you have the same sense of humor, the same sense for justice, and the same disregard for personal safety. I’d go gray worrying about what the two of you were up to behind my back.” She let out a shaky breath and repeated, “He’d have loved you.” The truth of that statement burned more than the lies and Jazz kept herself still so Dick wouldn’t notice the tears she couldn’t stop.

It was a long moment before Dick replied. “Good. I’m glad.”

“Now, let me get some sleep.”

Dick kissed her spine again. “Good night. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

-----

Read more on AO3

[tatooineknights]

“Obi-Wan never told you what happened to your father,” echoed inside the walls of Luke Skywalker’s head, bouncing off into a darkness that he was just barely cognizant of, desperately looking for an escape. There was no light to be found; the last glimmer of light was his own blue lightsaber, uselessly discarded and tumbling endlessly down an equally dark chasm. There were intense emotions all around, he could feel himself holding back sobs, as he tried to run away from this ever-pervading darkness all around him. “I am your father.”

The wounded youth was unaware of his current state, propped up inside a bacta tank, suspended by a harness hooked under his shoulders as his body was bare save for a modest pair of white briefs. Bacta was known for it’s healing and soothing properties, warm and gelatinous; but for Luke, that warmth made his subconscious feel trapped, stuck in a dreamlike haze he desperately wished to escape, his movements slow and sluggish as droids came and went, monitoring his recovering state.

“I can’t get the visions out of my head,” Luke once said not too long ago to the great Jedi Master Yoda, and now, those same visions forcibly attacked in an unending barrage. The sadness on Leia’s face as she whispered to herself, begging for help; the sudden coldness in Han, as if all life had frozen in an instant; his own face contorting into a pained scream, tears bubbling down his cheeks; and last, but most prominent, the image of Darth Vader’s extended hand, growing larger and larger.

The Sith Lord stood idly by the tank, his hand pressed against the glass, using the Force to peer into the mind of the young man. Luke could feel his presence, but he was unaware, unaware of everything that transpired. Last he knew, he was simply falling down from a weathervane before losing consciousness. There was nothing after; it was all constant vision of what had happened, of failure, and the looming threat of black armor that seemed to envelop a destiny he’d never once imagined.

“Luke,” he heard through the glass, through the depths of the liquid substance, underneath his wet hair and into the traumatized mind of the horrified Skywalker.

He hated that it was so calming to hear his name said, in such a deep baritone, lower than any he’d heard before. There was something… paternal… about it, on an instinctive level. “Father,” he tried to choke out in his unconscious state, but the respirator stopped him from expressing it.

“It is your destiny.”

Destiny?

The black walls soon shifted into greys and a crimson sheen, with the Sith Lord standing with his back turned, looking out into a window of space. A smaller and lean figure approached him from the side, dressed in a slim jumpsuit consisting of white with black accessories, a thin red cape clasped to his narrow shoulders. His hair was slicked back, poking out into curls around the base of his neck. Luke prayed that the man wouldn’t turn around – a sick part of him knew who it must be.

A great battle played out in the window, with seemingly three different sides at war. Luke could see the rebellion flagship in the middle of the battle, taking an onslaught of damage from all sides: and then, a great explosion. The image all went white, transporting Luke to another area, where he saw two individuals locked into a ferocious duel.

His suspicions were right – that young man was himself, drunk on the glory of the Dark Side, delusionally trying to contain himself from fully falling. His lightsaber was activated, a haunting red light shining out of it, on the defensive as a woman faced him. Her attacks were equally as imprecise, untrained as his own, but with increasing rage in an onslaught that this dark mirror of himself could no longer keep up with. Wait, it couldn’t be; Leia? As the realization dawned on him, her blue lightsaber caught his in a bind, gliding down along the core, before slicing into his wrists—

The familiar sound of his own anguished scream took Luke out of the trance, staring blankly through the blue liquid at the black glove on the glass. What happened at Cloud City? How did he end up here?

Leia… where were you?

Now, trapped in this tank, Luke was resigned to whatever might happen next.

Father, he wished out through the Force, swallowing in shock at his own use of the Force.

[craftingcreatures]

So this post said it way more eloquently and comprehensively than I ever could, but I've been mulling it over for a while and I wanna talk about it anyway.

I've been watching the Owl House lately and honestly I'm kinda in love with the way the show handles redemption. I see so many people in the fandom complaining about how the multiple villain redemption arcs are unearned, or that they get forgiven too easily, but like... isn't that the whole point? Redemption isn't earned, it's given. And I love the characters in the Owl House because they are brilliant examples of this principle.

Take Lilith, for example - she cursed her sister out of petty jealousy and in doing so subjected her to a life of ostracization, broken relationships, and suffering. Multiple people got seriously hurt because of Lilith's choice, most notably her own father. And instead of owning up to her mistakes she kept her involvement secret for decades, pledging loyalty to an oppressive dictator and climbing the ranks of the dictator's private army/police force in pursuit of her own ambition. Instead of confronting her own mistakes, she tried to cover them up. She attempted to absolve herself of guilt by quietly removing the consequences of her own choices (convincing Belos to remove the curse) without compromising her own goals. And she continued to hurt people in pursuit of this goal (leading multiple coven scouts to their deaths at the hands of an eldritch nightmare demon bird worm, using Luz as a human shield while attempting to subdue Eda). So when she eventually does confront her own guilt and turns a 180 on her character, a lot of people can't quite comprehend just how quickly Eda and Luz accept her, as if forgiveness was a foregone conclusion. In fact I don't think the word "forgive" was even mentioned.

Pretty much the same thing could be said for Amity, or Hunter, or the Collector. (There are a lot of redeemed villains in this show and I absolutely love it; redemptions are definitely my favourite trope in media.) The moment a villain confronts their villainy and chooses to change their behaviour, the protagonists welcome them with open arms. Often the protagonists begin reaching out to them even before they start to show signs of remorse, like with Luz and Amity in Lost in Language, or Luz and Hunter in Hunting Palismen and Hollow Mind, or Amity and Hunter in Eclipse Lake, or Amity and Luz in Reaching Out. As I said before, forgiveness is a foregone conclusion; the only thing preventing it is the villain's genuine decision to stop being a villain (which is neatly illustrated by the season 3 finale; Luz tells the Collector that he "did good" when he tries to extend forgiveness to an unrepentant Belos, and when Belos later feigns innocence Luz and the others see right through him. Belos' repentance wasn't genuine, and so couldn't be met with forgiveness).

A kind of inversion of this principle can be seen in Luz' character arc in season 2b and season 3. Luz blames herself for Belos' meeting the Collector, leading to Belos learning the draining spell and later the Collector's awesome and uncontrolled power being unleashed on the Boiling Isles while Luz and her friends are trapped in the human realm. From Luz' point of view, she is directly responsible for the rise of a despot and the probable deaths of almost everyone she loves. And she hates herself for it. In Thanks to Them she has an outburst where she basically wishes she'd never been born. One of the most heartbreaking moments in the entire show, for me, was when Luz asked her mother "why aren't you mad at me?". She clearly expects the people around her to reject her, to hate her, to treat her with the performative expectations that she explicitly doesn't expect from the antagonists in the show, even the ones who have acted far worse than she has (see Lilith, above), and she can't understand why they don't. Luz thinks she doesn't deserve forgiveness, when she has freely offered forgiveness to everyone she's ever met regardless of whether they deserved it. And once again The Owl House displays the theme of redemption by all the people around her working to reach out to her, to give her a redemption that Luz doesn't think she's earned. Once again, redemption is given, not worked for.

Look, I make no secret of the fact that I'm a Christian on this blog. And I understand that the overlap between "people who are Christians" and "people who watch The Owl House" is probably very small. But I just can't help but see something so profoundly beautiful in this show, so profoundly Christian, because this repeated motif of freely offered redemption to anyone who wants it is a perfect illustration of one of Christianity's core tenets. Redemption is not earned - it is given. The offer of total forgiveness and reconciliation is already extended, even to the worst offenders, even before the offender acknowledges their offense. There's nothing I can do to earn it; no self-flagellation needed to prove that I'm in earnest, no great deed I have to do to convince God that I'm worthy of forgiveness. The forgiveness is already there, waiting.

Kinda makes you think, doesn't it? The Owl House is a show about witchcraft, with very prominent and positively depicted LGBT+ relationships, and with a primary antagonist who is heavily implied to be a conservative Christian. It would be hard to have a piece of media that more explicitly rejects the normal cultural values of North American conservative Christianity. And yet this show displays a better understanding and celebration of Christian redemptive ethics than a significant proportion of actual Christians. I'm sure a lot of people would clutch their pearls and call it anti-Christian propaganda, but at its heart the Owl House is built on the fundamental Christian value of radical love.

I dunno. I just really like the Owl House.

[feralferretxp]

I've been meaning to introduce one of my Storybots ocs that I've had for a while but here we go. Let me introduce you to...

Melissa Malware

She's a totally normal storybot who is definitely not a shapeshifting virus who has alterative motives for taking over the computer world! :D

Melissa is inspired by the Melissa and I LOVE YOU computer viruses, influencing both her name and theme of spreading love worldwide. In an alternate universe called the LoveBug AU, she launches a campaign called "Project I LOVE YOU", encouraging StoryBots to express love in various forms, aiming to boost mental well-being and promote world peace. She also advocates for self-care, which leads people to work less and less, eventually creating a job crisis in the computer world.

However, Melissa's true intent is to infect others, causing them to slack off from work, which in turn slows down real-world computers, much like a virus. As her followers idolize her, they unknowingly spread her influence, infecting others with the same behavior.

Melissa's origins lie in a more abstract form sent into the internet by her creator. Her mission was to oversee a planted computer worm and ensure its success without interference, remaining in the shadows. However, her plan was unexpectedly derailed when a young Bang, wandering in the internet department while accompanying his father, mistook the worm for a colorful gummy and ate it.

Enraged and shocked, Melissa's task was ruined, forcing her to shift focus and watch over Bang as he grew up, tracking the effects of the worm on him. Over the years, she observed his growing forgetfulness and other changes (I'll make a future post about this and my theory in more detail) as she remained in the shadows. During this time, Melissa herself evolved. Watching storybots and their society, she became curious about life beyond her virus role. She gradually changed her appearance to resemble a storybot and secretly longed for a life where she wasn’t bound to a pre-programmed destructive endgame.

As she grew fond of the attention and adoration from those who saw her as one of them rather than a virus, Melissa tried to prolong her influence and delay her inevitable mission of ruining the computer world, torn between fulfilling her creator’s purpose and finding belonging among storybot society.

When Bang becomes an adult and the computer worm fully integrates with his programming, Melissa is devastated to discover that the worm is now inseparable from Bang, and removing it would kill it. This ruins her original plan, forcing her to adapt. Instead of separating the worm, she decides to use Bang to spread the infection.

Melissa presents herself as a sweet, humble activist and invites Bang to join her "Project I LOVE YOU," using his recognizable and beloved status in the community to help promote her cause. Behind her friendly demeanor, however, Melissa despises Bang, seeing him as a foolish and undeserving figure who, for some reason, is adored by everyone. Despite her loathing, she plays the role of a supportive ally, manipulating him into unknowingly aiding her true goal, while he remains completely oblivious to her hatred and intentions.

So in a nutshell, Bang has no enemies... except for one which is Melissa because she hates his guts LMAO. But yeah that's the LoveBug AU basically. There's more to it but that's for another time.

One important thing about Melissa is that her and Milo (@supgoddo's oc) are in true real love and are perfect for each other YIPPIEE GRRR I LOVE THEM SM

Anyways that's it for now for Melissa! Just wanted to introduce her character and stuff. Live laugh love Melissa <3

[quartzskies]

random but is anyone else into yosurise but in a doomed kind of way. like kind of one sided. like a yosuke is into rise in a puppydog kind of way and rise keeps trying to find a relationship but can’t and finally decides to give yosuke a try because at least he’s a friend and she knows he won’t try to take advantage of her being an idol etc. And yosuke is ECSTATIC and wants to give her the world but in an unsustainable kind of way, a desperate “i don’t deserve her but she’s giving me a chance and i need to do anything i can to keep her happy” kind of way. And rise is so flattered and like yosuke is nice but she can’t match that dedication, no one can or should, but it’s all so one sided and she feels so guilty about that but she doesn’t want to break his heart or be “mean”. all while yosuke is becoming almost self destructive by trying to give her “what she deserves” but it’s an unhealthy level of dedication and it’s honestly hurting both of them

[disdaidal]

I saw a post about tomboys on my dash and I wanted to rant a little, but I got distracted halfway through and forgot what I wanted to say.

[helmarok]

im experiencing emotions about jessie and her pokemon