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evanpetersmybf · 1 month

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All he asked for was you

Tate Langdon x female!reader

Summary: Tate loves you too much. He would do anything for you, to keep you by his side, to make you love him forever. He would cross any line to make you his, it doesn't matter how evil it is... But was it really worth it?

Genre: ANGST!! and some smut

Word count: 5,104

Warnings: Obsessive, stalkish and violent behavior, implicit toxic relationship; mentions of weapons, murder, mental health issues, family issues, school shooting; use of Y/N, swearing, cunnilingus, fingering, unprotected p in v. (i hope i'm not missing any...) NOT PROOFREAD !!

A/N: English isn't my first language!! Sorry if I have some mistakes and if Tate's a bit ooc (i tried to keep him in character as much as i could). I wasn't sure (and still not) if this is good but I spent days writing it, so I had to post it.

A small playlist with songs that inspired me for this: monster by meg and dia, pacify her by melanie martinez, all i want is you by rebzyyx, skyfall by adele, psycho by doko, paparazzi by lady gaga, dark red by steve lacy.

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Tate never believed in love, nor was he a romantic one.

In fact, he despised it. How could he even believe in that feeling when he never felt loved by his own mother? At least that’s what he pretended.

The blond always had the facade of a tough guy, although he couldn’t fool anyone. Constance knew well he was a sensitive boy. Probably the most crybaby ever to exist… And the most unstable one.

Now he was here. His chest going up and down, breathing shallow and fast. His eyes were darting around the room, looking for something or perhaps someone. Some silly tears were rolling down his cheeks while he anxiously fidgeted with a ring on his finger. The clock on the wall continued its tick-tack. The time kept running. His heart kept beating. It was getting late.

He refused to look at the wooden floor. He didn’t want to accept reality. If Tate did that, he would feel like the biggest monster on Earth.

Nevertheless, he couldn’t stay like this.

He had to do something real fast.

Today, 18:40

You were supposed to arrive at 19:00.

But he remained there, next to the corpse of his rival. A bloody ax beside the dead man’s bleeding head.

Whom he thought was his worst enemy, was someone really dear to you.

Well, Tate fervently believed this was something justified. He couldn’t stand that fucking asshole anymore! That scumbag needed to be put back in his place. And Tate only did that. Furthermore, he actually helped him. He took him away from this shitty world. It was a favor.

He had already killed his mother’s boyfriend, so why was he feeling guilty?

Maybe because his victim was special to you. Because his death would hurt you. And Langdon swore to God he would never let anybody or anything hurt you, including himself.

He loved you.

He wanted to be the one to hold your hand forever.

Tate snapped back to the present and frowned. He picked up the weapon, putting it in his backpack. He didn’t even mind cleaning it. Then, he proceeded to knelt right next to the lifeless dude and cleaned the blood surrounding his body; afterwards, he dragged him to the basement and…

19:00

A knock on the door.

You arrived.

“DAMN IT!”

He left his dead foe lying limp on the cold basement ground and quickly ran upstairs, straight to his room. He also left the backpack there.

Tate spent the last twenty minutes cleaning the mess he made in the living room after he atrociously smashed your friend’s head, forgetting that had poor time to get ready.

He desperately looked for clean clothes, scrambling the entire closet in search of fresh garments while he cussed at himself, at his mother, at that freaking boy, at the entire world but you.

Finally he found some jeans and a striped shirt. He looked at himself in the mirror after changing and cleaned the tiny drops of blood that stayed on his face and hands. He never realized he left the bloody clothing on the bed.

Another knock.

19:07

Tate opened the door, immediately throwing himself at you and giving you one of the warmest hugs. His demeanor with you was completely different; you were the only creature capable of changing his fucked up mind into something more beautiful, more peaceful. The issue was that it only happened when he was with you, otherwise he would be aggressive and rude as usual.

You got the best of him.

“Missed you so fuckin’ much, babe…” Voice muffled since his face was buried in the crook of your neck. Tate always did the same thing; clinging onto you like a small koala would.

“Heh, me too, hun!” You spoke with the same soothing voice he adored. Tate giggled and placed a tender kiss on your jawline, then another, and another, and another.

Soon enough, he was peppering kisses all over your neck, making you moan softly. Oh those sounds. He could hear you melting under his touch, his embrace, for the rest of eternity.

He loved making you squirm, making you laugh, making you feel loved.

He was way too sweet.

Only if you knew.

Four weeks before today…

Tate has always had the bad habit of stalking you. Yeah… He wasn’t proud of it. But can you blame him? He’s constantly afraid of you leaving him. He wanted to make sure you never did so… Otherwise he would die. Literally.

Don’t ask how he would die. You already know the answer.

You two were supposed to have a date, albeit you had to cancel your meeting.

And that, of course, made him overthink. It didn’t matter how many times you told him you were going to study; he felt betrayed, as if you were rejecting him. And Tate hated and feared rejection to the bone.

“Pretty please? Please, Y/N! I don’t wanna go home early, mom’s gonna be there and-and–”

“Tate, I can’t skip this. I have like, a test every day next week and I must study. I don’t wanna fail. Please, sweetie. I promise I’ll make it up to ya’, mhm?”

He rolled his eyes and whined, almost throwing a tantrum. He didn’t try to manipulate you on purpose. It came out naturally. “But I need you, Y/N! Why do you always do the same, huh? Am I not that important? Don’t you love me any longer?”

His childish crying continued for a couple of minutes, until it stopped and the blond agreed a deal with you.

You thought he was calm now, but no. How naive.

You went to the library to study as you said… Without noticing he followed you.

Quietly, he got into that maze of books after you and hid behind some shelves.

Tate noticed you sat on an empty table. Thank God. Oh?

Who. Is. He.

A man Tate didn’t know sat next to you. Really close. Too close for Tate’s liking. He tried to think he was a stranger, that he wasn’t going to talk to you… He was wrong.

He clenched his hands into a ball when he saw that idiot talking to you, and the worst part was that you followed suit. It seemed you two were friends or something.

How DARE YOU talk to another man? No, how dare you talk to another HUMAN BEING!?

Tate was insecure 24/7.

If you weren’t there, Tate was falling apart. It was simple.

No Y/N, no happy Tate. Was it too hard to understand?

Three weeks before today…

It was Friday. Tate was impatiently waiting for you outside the campus, hanging a small bouquet of flowers he picked up.

Once he spotted you coming out from the building, he waved his hand and embraced you tightly once you were in front of him. He gave you the adorable present.

“Tate!”

“How did you do? Did you pass your tests? Don’t tell me, I’m sure you did.” Said, grinning from ear to ear. He was away from you for an entire week. How did he survive? He didn’t know, but he was glad to have you with him again. “Tell me about your life in the last days, baby. Please? I feel like I haven’t seen you in years!”

There he was, the one and only drama queen Tate Langdon.

You talked about the tests, about how the teachers were being a pain in the ass (which clearly triggered in him the intense desire of hurting them because they stressed you), and… About a guy. The same guy from the library, with whom you spent the entire last week studying. He couldn’t stand it. He saw him as a threat to your relationship, especially since he was an old friend that you met many years ago.

As the days went by, you gave him more reasons to hate that jerk. Why? Well of course because you spent hours at the library doing homework or studying with him. Or even hanging out with him and other people.

In reality, you went out with him to a museum just once, and then skating with other colleagues. Nothing compared to the time you spent with Tate; in a week, you would hang out with him almost daily, and if you were way too busy, he would go to your place and spend the night there. He was so attached to you to the point he had to see you at least once a day. And that’s why he was so jealous of your friend. Tate couldn’t stand the idea of you sharing your life with someone else who wasn’t him or your family… And he also got jealous of them, but he was handling it.

Two weeks before today.

After Tate’s pleas, you decided to introduce your friend to him.

Probably a big mistake.

The date was really awkward; your friend tried being nice, and Tate acted surprisingly kind. Of course it was odd; usually, he despised all of your friends and treated them badly, yet this time was different. You were stunned, however, you tried to ignore it and instead got happy as he finally accepted a random person as your buddy.

Still and all, he hated that moron. It didn’t matter how much he tried liking your pal, he was jealous of him. He was getting on his nerves. He denied the fact that you had more love for other people that wasn’t him. Tate desired being your only one. Your number one. Your entire world. Because that’s what you were for him. And he was willing to do whatever to keep you with him.

Tate exchanged numbers with him and meticulously plotted a plan to ascertain he would never talk to you ever again. At first, it came out as a simple “I’m gonna scare the shit outta him”, nonetheless, it turned into a darker idea, very likely involving physical violence.

One week before today…

The last few days, Tate won Peter’s trust. Ah yes. That’s your friend's name. You were glad that he finally opened his warm heart and began to meet more people besides you.

You thought he needed a friend, an empathetic person who could support the blond when you weren’t available, that way he would feel less lonely and depressed.

They went to the cinema, to the arcade, even to a music store. Everything was going according to what he planned.

Eventually, he invited Peter to his place to play chess and other board games on a Sunday afternoon, before you arrived and had a date with Tate due to your anniversary.

Today, 16:00

Peter and Tate were eating pizza and having a great noon, talking about their lives and random stuff, like school and music. They both enjoyed Nirvana, and since Peter played the guitar, he agreed on teaching your boy how to.

If it weren’t for Tate’s twisted mind, they would’ve been best friends.

The guitarist wasn’t a bad guy. He was a great buddy that really appreciated you and the crybaby, but Langdon had something else in mind.

18:00

The men watched a movie. Tate didn’t even know its name; in fact, he didn’t even pay attention to it. Instead, he was focused on his next actions, plotting them carefully.

“Crap, mom’s gonna arrive soon…” Tate mumbled with annoyance, biting his nails and tapping his foot on the floor. He was lying. You were going to arrive, not Constance.

“Damn, bro. Well, I don’t have a problem. I wanna meet her.”

“Huh? No no no, you shouldn’t. That bitch is crazy.”

Peter scoffed, disagreeing with Tate’s rude manner to call his own momma.

“Hey, you shouldn’t talk like that. I bet she loves you!”

That pissed him off. “You don’t know anything, Peter. Your family is different. Your life’s different. You won’t understand!” He yelled, standing up from the couch and now pacing around the room, trying to keep it calm.

“Dude, calm down!

“NO! I fucking won’t!”

The screaming continued for a while. Tate revealed his unstable and crystal self. Even something so insignificant could drive him to the edge, like what happened today. That definitely surprised the other one, who used to think that Tate was a sweet boy. “I dunno why Y/N is dating you.”

“What did you say?” Tate abruptly stopped pacing.

“Y/N. Y/N doesn’t deserve you.”

“WHY WOULD YOU EVEN SAY THAT!?” He pounced on Peter, gripping his neck with one rough hand, applying enough pressure on the sides to stop the blood circulation in his carotids and make him lose consciousness.

Before passing out, Peter, getting pale, managed to croak out: “Because she deserves better…”

Soon enough, he fainted, giving Tate minutes to think about what else to do.

Your boyfriend wasn’t planning on murdering Peter today. No, he didn’t have time. He also was supposed to meet you.. But this was the perfect excuse! And not only that; he indirectly admitted he was in love with you! Or that’s what Tate interpreted with his delusional point of view.

Peter didn’t feel anything romantic for you, he was just worried Tate might be too unhinged to be your partner.

Thus, he went to his room and grabbed his backpack. Then, went to the garden shed and picked up the ax that belonged to his father, and a bottle of lye.

He had to get the job done quickly, nevertheless, he lost track of time.

18:30

Tate came back to the living room, just to notice that Peter wasn’t there anymore.

“FUCK IT!” Langdon got nervous. What if he escaped? What if he told you that Tate was crazy? He couldn’t allow this, not at all.

Thankfully, or maybe not, Tate found Peter crawling towards the front door, the poor dude still feeling dizzy after being choked.

Tate didn’t have any mercy.

“Where do you think you’re going, lil’ piece of shit!?”

18:38

Tate finally did it. He brutally murdered Peter, smashing his head several times with the ax.

He got rid of that little issue. He took him to somewhere clean.

Once he assured the other man wasn’t breathing, he dropped the weapon on the floor, making a loud metallic thud.

19:10

Tate was pinning you down on the couch, the same couch where your dead friend was sitting just an hour ago.

His hands were traveling all along your body, tracing sweet patterns on your skin.

Eventually, his fingers were clumsily pulling down your panties, not minding to take off your skirt. “Did you bring this for easy access, baby?” Tate chuckled and buried his face between your legs, holding your thighs in place; his lips plastered messy kisses over the warm flesh, biting it and leaving tiny marks after sucking.

Your reaction was alluring to him; he enjoyed listening to your pleas, to your whimpers. If it was for him, he would spend the entire day making you cum over and over again.

He finally got rid of your underwear, tossing it aside. Without further ado, the boy spread your folds with his large digits, and continued to lick your throbbing wet cunt.

“So fucking pretty… So wet for me, huh?”

His tongue lapped your small clit two or three times, then, traced a zigzag and circles on the sensitive nub. While he devoured you, he inserted his middle and ring finger, pumping them in and out of your cute hole, curling them and hitting the right spot to make you feel butterflies.

Tate could feel his arousal growing; his erection being restrained by the tight fabric of his jeans. He was desperate, yeah. But he always put you in the first place, and that included pleasuring you before him.

After a while, he replaced his fingers with his tongue, fucking your pussy with the agile muscle and now rubbing your clit with his thumb, applying pressure that sent electric waves through your body. He stopped using his tongue on you and instead looked at that stunning face of yours. He was delighted with your flushed cheeks, with every single gesture you did, with the way your eyes rolled to the back of your head. He wanted to take a picture of you to remember this moment forever.

His thumb increased the pace, while his free hand lifted up your blouse and tried to undo your bra. He couldn’t. You giggled when he groaned in frustration; he was too horny to think straight and that’s why you helped him to take off the garment.

Tate sighed and after that awkward and funny moment, he kept rubbing your bud, using your own juices and his saliva as a lubricant, intensifying the sensation. His left pinched and pulled your nipple, making you gasp and twitch beneath him, whilst his mouth abused your other one, greedily sucking on it.

“Tate, ‘m gonna cum! I-”

Tate cut you off by kissing you harshly; his tongue invading your warm mouth, exploring it and then nibbling your bottom lip until it bleeded. He licked the tiny drops of blood, savoring the metallic taste of it.

Unable to hold on any longer, you reached your orgasm, coming undone while Tate kept caressing your pussy, decreasing the velocity while you finally calmed down.

He left you panting; your heart beating so fast just like his.

You tried to sit up on the couch, breathing deep for more air, but the blond prevented you from going away.

“Where do you think you’re doing? We’re not done yet, you’re gonna cum again!”

Tate carried you bridal style and went upstairs straight to his bedroom. He threw you on the bed.

Without stopping looking at you, he unbuckled his belt and pulled down his jeans along the boxers; his dick already erect and throbbing, the veins thick and the tip leaking precum.

Using the clear liquid as lube, he stroked his shaft for a while, jerking off to the sight of you. He groaned and whimpered, closing his eyes as his hand pumped himself.

One of your hands went to your breasts, massaging them softly as your right went down between your legs, slowly teasing your womanhood and coating your index finger with your arousal, using it to rub your aching bundle of nerves.

Tate’s dark room was now filled with both of your moans; Tate calling your name several times and you begging him to fuck you.

He couldn’t stand this anymore. He NEEDED to be inside you, to feel your warmth enveloping him. “On all fours. Now.” You immediately obeyed, feeling as eager as him.

“Look at me, mhm?” He positioned behind you and rubbed the tip against your wet folds, teasing you for a bit. Afterwards, he slowly entered his cock inside your slit, moving it slowly at first. His thumb went to your clitoris, toying with it just like minutes before. He picked up the pace and fucked you fast and hard; his cockhead brushing your cervix. Grabbing a fistful of your hair, Tate pulled your head towards him, still with the deep thrusting. “Fuck, Y/N! You’re so pretty… So fucking precious, so fucking mine!” Moaned against your ear, voice raspy and agitated.

Panting, you stopped looking at him and instead looked to the bed. Why? Who knows, but you did it. And you saw Tate’s dirty clothes. Dirty with blood. A lot of blood.

You froze. Maybe it was red paint?

“U-uh, Tate?” You muttered, feeling already bewildered by the sight. You tried not to jump into conclusions, although you knew Tate and he has always been… Secretive.. And aggressive, of course.

After your boyfriend heard your shaky whisper, he stopped moving, even if he wanted to keep going. “Hm?”

“What’s this?” Tate sighed and pulled out from you, not understanding what you meant.

“What’s what?”

Without saying anything else to him, you grabbed the shirt and touched the weird stain. It was still fresh. You took your fingers to your mouth to taste it; and the metallic tang was too obvious. “Tate, what the fuck is this!?”

You threw it at him. Freaked out, you stood up and picked up your clothes, putting them on again, all meanwhile Tate connected the dots and realized he was probably going to get caught.

“Wait, Y/N! It’s not what it looks like, I swear, damn it!” He yelled and grabbed your arm, not wanting you to leave like this. He had to save his reputation, he couldn’t let you think bad of him even if you had all the right. Because, why the fuck the fabric was soaked in blood?

“Then what is it, Tate? WHY DOES IT HAVE SO MUCH BLOOD!?”

“CALM DOWN, PLEASE!”

You attempted to get away from his grip, struggling with him until, somehow, you managed to do so. However, you tripped with his dirty shoes and fell, realizing they were also stained with the red liquid. “Tate, what…? Why? What is this?”

“Nothing, I swear!” He didn’t have any excuses. Saying it was paint would’ve been lame. You were too smart and he knew lying wasn’t a good choice.

Feeling overwhelmed with the matter, you went downstairs, walking as fast as you could. Passing through the living room, a very familiar bag caught your eye. It was definitely Peter’s. You decided to grab it and realized it had his phone inside. Something was off.

Tate was standing behind you; fists clenched and heart beating like crazy. He tried to approach you, still thinking about what to do or what to say.

“Tate… What is this doing here? Peter’s here?”

“Huh? Yeah… He— He came earlier and had to go soon, he left this accidentally, yup…” You could see him fidgeting with that ring on his finger, again.

“Bullshit!”

Tate scowled and grabbed your chin, making you look at his dark orbs. “Tell me, Y/N, do you trust me or not, huh? Look me in the eyes and say you don’t!”

The struggle continued for what seemed eternity. You trying to run away from the house and he trying to make you stay. “Please, Y/N, just listen to me!”

“You did something to him, right? I know him, Tate! He would NEVER leave his phone like this! Is this a joke?”

“Why do you care so much about that asshole!? What has he done for you!? Tell me!”

“Oh my, you’re jealous! I knew it! All that crap about being his friend was a lie, right? Tate, you’re being delusional! I can have friends, I can hang out with whoever I want, whether you like it or not!”

Tate pressed your cheeks between his thumb and the rest of his fingers, squeezing the flesh with his veiny, big hand, pressing it tightly enough to leave the mark of his long digits on it.

“You can’t! You’re mine. Only mine. Since the day you were born you were meant to be mine. Not his, not anybody, just me.”

“Tate… We should end this…” You thought this was the best for both. Being in a relationship with him was draining; always being careful to not hurt him, make him jealous or mad. He was such a sensitive boy that always took everything too personally. He felt everything a little too much.

Since the beginning you knew he was unstable and that he had many issues, but you tried to see beyond his sick mind, you tried to understand him despite being so different.

Tate felt so safe with you. You were the only person who understood him, or at least made attempts to.

He felt rejected by the entire society, even by his own mother, until he met you and he had a minimum spark of hope that the world didn’t suck that much.

That’s why he clung to you. That’s why you were his everything. He would lose his mind if you leave him.

He felt like dying when he heard you wanted to finish the relationship.

He couldn’t breathe.

Some tears were now falling to the floor, his eyes puffy and an ugly frown on his face. His mouth twisted as he sobbed loudly, tugging the hem of your shirt while he begged you to stay. He was crying like a newborn, like a baby who had to be apart from his mother for a second.

“No no no no, you can’t do this to me!” He whimpered, his speech cracking as he tried to hold you close whilst you were stepping back. You were slipping through his fingers, you were leaving him.

“Tate, if something happened to Peter, I will never forgive you! Can’t you see you’re hurting me?”

Tate swore he would never hurt you, nor let anyone. But here he was, finally snapping out of it and seeing the cruel truth.

“You’ve been hurting me the whole time, Tate! I tried to understand you, I really did, I tried to help you, to save you from yourself! But it’s impossible. I’m losing myself here with you, I don’t even know who I am anymore! You don’t want help, do you? ‘Cause it doesn’t matter what I do, you’re never satisfied! You suffocate me!”

All those words were like daggers penetrating his skin, touching his nerves and making him die of pain. You were tearing him apart, just the way he was destroying you.

He finally let go of you, feeling a tornado of emotions. Tate felt depressed, mad, resentful, like he was going crazy. Though, he knew he had to leave if that’s what you wanted. He couldn’t bring himself to break another promise.

Thereby, he confessed his crimes to you. He explained he killed his mom’s partner a few days ago, and that now he had killed your friend. Why? He was jealous, he was scared you’d left him. You did it before you discovered the cruel reality, anyways. That’s why he told you. Because he couldn’t lose anything else.

The situation was utterly disgusting. Tate was sick. He murdered an innocent man and then proceeded to fuck you, as it was the maximum test of love, as if his life meant nothing.

You knew he wasn’t what people often considered “normal”. But this was definitely more than just being a “weirdo”. Tate needed psychiatric help… And being arrested, of course.

“You make me wanna puke, Tate! You’re the evil!”

Without hesitating, you left Tate behind, running as fast as you could from that living hell.

You just wanted to cry, curl up into a ball and wake up from this nightmare. You wished it was merely a bad dream.

Tomorrow morning, you’d go to the police, but for now you needed to sleep.

Monday morning, 11:05

You couldn’t sleep all night. You spent hours thinking about everything, about how this looked like a cruel joke to you. Eventually, you fell asleep at 4AM, and didn’t wake up at what seemed almost midday.

An intense sound of police sirens woke you from your slumber. Startled by the loud noise, you rubbed your eyes and went to the window, trying to get a glimpse of what was happening outside.

Police cars and SWAT vans were going in a specific direction… Towards Tate’s street. It couldn’t be, right?

Did his mother find the corpse? Or perhaps something else?

You looked at the clock, realizing it was late and you had to go to class.

08:00

After the most painful night of his life, Tate decided today everything would be over.

He had to cleanse the world… To take people to somewhere else, to some place full of peace away from the piss and the vomit that runs down the streets.

He was doing this not only because of your breakup, but also because of many other reasons. Your split up was the straw that broke the camel and drove him to the edge.

10:40

After shooting the school, Tate left the place, looking unfazed about what he just did. He was unhinged.

He peacefully got into his place, went to his room and stayed there for some minutes.

The blond sat on the edge of the bed, leaving the gun right next to him and stared at nothing. His gaze was empty, but also there were some tears threatening to spill.

His mind was a whirlwind. Some part of him was satisfied, but the other was confused, wondering what was he thinking, what had he done?

What would you think of him now? Were you even there? Did he kill you too and he didn’t even notice?

In the end, he recognized he indeed was the evil you said. Damn it. You were right, again, as ever.

Tate wanted to hear your voice, to comfort him, to hear you saying everything was okay. That he’d be okay. He desired to hear “I love you” from you once more.

11:15

You went downstairs to find your family apparently mourning you.

They thought you were at school when the shooting happened. They believed you were gone, but here you were.

Eventually, they explained to you what happened.

The first thing that popped into your mind was Tate’s wellbeing, still unaware that he was the culprit. You were afraid something terrible could’ve happened to him, you were regretting your last words to him, but you also had to get him prisoner.

Your heart dropped when they explained to you he was the shooter.

No, it couldn’t be possible.

It was possible. After all, he had already killed two men.

Even if you despise what he did, some part of you still longed for him, still was in love with his once kind heart.

A terrifying feeling of dread filled your body, making you feel numb, as if none of this was real…

11:25

After running to Tate’s house and seeing it surrounded by the cops and the SWAT team, everything stopped. Constance’s distressed cries and pleas were heard from outside, followed suit by the sound of bullets. It was over now.

Tate was certainly a troubled individual who dedicated his entire life to searching for something, to feel something, to feel loved.

All he asked for was love, to be loved, to love. All he wanted was you.

But at the same time, your love led him to an never-ending obsession that ultimately broke both of you.

He became your biggest regret.

All he feared, all his nightmares came true. Everything he was so afraid of was him and only himself.

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lemonberry-soda · 3 months

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Do you ever think about the fact that Ted is hypersexual due to his childhood/teenage traumas or is that just me?

Like not only did he associate losing his first love forever with not being douchebaggy enough, but he also experienced the Lumber Axe and survived. With how quickly Peter was about to be murdered for looking at Ted’s old magazine you KNOW Ted probably had to deal with narrow escape after narrow escape himself. Ted literally suppresses the memory of the Lumber Axe entirely until bringing Peter to camp reminds him, and he doesn’t even take Peter with him as he runs away. He is FUcked up.

My guy went for the cat lady who cut off his fingers because sex is inherently dangerous to him in his mind. He goes for the worst options on purpose because sex isn’t safe unless there’s risk, and he goes for the best options just to lose them on purpose so they don't leave him first, as many times as possible until he's single and lonely at the wedding reception. He’s a sleazeball as a coping mechanism, and he keeps dying for it. One single safe relationship would decimate this dude, and it also wouldn’t fix him. Therapy would do wonders if he actually accepted how messed up he is. And tbh, if TInky wasn’t around there might’ve been a chance for him to recover.

Anyway another reason this dweeb is doomed by the narrative and fucked up beyond belief

#sorry to psychoanalyze the loser of all time again #starkid #hatchetfield #ted spankoffski #just a thought I had all of a sudden #this guy deserves as many days where he realizes he's traumatized and cries over it as it TAKES #and canonically he gets zero of those forever so #tbh I don't know what form of the Lumber Axe he'd have to deal with since the specifics are kinda shady but if the Axeman is 20 n he #grew up fast due to the forest then a 15-17yo Ted would be dealing with a teenage-YA Axeman (0-2 years old but magically influenced)#hey melissa #hucklefixation

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delicrieux · 2 years

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𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭-𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 | autumn features (october edition)

pairing—aemond targaryen x f!reader summary—a peak into the married life of aemond one-eye and his flower wife: on love, anger, and kin before the pillar of light (30) word count—2.1k

written for the october prompt list ♥ masterlist. ☕. autumn features. part 2. part 3. extra.

Aemond had once been of a gentler complexion he always tried to hide, though never very well. His nature, as Helaena’s, was made clear by his gait, his anxious blink faced with his brother’s ire, the hunch of his shoulders and the longing gaze for dragons he didn’t have. Believed, once, truly, that he never will.

Helaena did warn that he will close an eye. This exchange, to Aemond, seemed fair, and in retrospect, a small price to pay for such power. You never understood it - never possessed the capacity. When young, you had feared that only those born of fire and blood can understand one another. As you got older, you came to accept that fact to be true.

By all accounts, you had been an outsider in the Red Keep, with it’s dragons and high towers burning green. Born Tyrell and lavished in jewelry and picaresque views, your childhood was spent in a peacefulness that now could only be recalled in a dream.

You came to court when the King still had his hand and the Princess was yet to exile to Dragonstone with the promise to wed Aegon. Your father faced your demotion to Aemond with scorn. Helaena was a better fit for the future King - these conversations where held in whispers, tight, dark corridors, under the axe of treason. In a country divided, rulers of the same blood would fasten it strong, nourish it’s soldiers with loyalty, keep the peace that had not been there for too long.

It was necessary.

It was a terrible blow to the Tyrell pride.

You had accepted your duties with a polished smile. Aegon you could learn to live with, but Aemond you would perhaps grow to love. He had been gentle once.

But the years and their vapid tension had done away at that timid exterior, molded there something harsh and sharp instead. Nothing is ever easy with the Targaryens, though you would not be a Tyrell if you were not trained from birth to deal with fiery tempers.

The moon peaks behind silken curtains of your bedchamber. Candles drip red wax on the floor; burn in a haze emitting pleasant aromas that takes a fortnight to evaporate and months to prepare. Another end to an exhausting day of court drama that you can only discuss in Haleana and never in private. The dinner show for the dying King had promise, yet, as predicted, ended in disaster. The wound is too deep - as the King’s illness, untreatable. Much too late to salvage a family that has been kept cross for decades. No amount of drinking wine or peppered laughter, rehearsed conversations, and false jolliness would mend this.

He had been gentle once, and perhaps he’s trying to deliberately forget the fact, “...I don’t understand,” Aemond breaks the silence slowly, quietly, like ship crossing enemy borders in secret; he turns to you beside him, takes your hand in his - it’s warm, much warmer than yours, always has been, “Why not just be done with it?”

He’s much too intelligent to know why not and not crass enough to proclaim murder in your presence, even if he would speak freely in front of his family. An outsider once, and outsider still. The small upwards twitch of your lips is a thank you for his curtsy - you never fancied bloodshed, despised plots of murder even more.

Be done with it. What an elegant way to describe an act so cruel. Never bordering on the line of treason, never explicitly stating that Rhaenyra should be killed to end this fight for power. It’s a quick fix; a mindless slip of the blade; a minute of tears before, finally, prosperity.

You sit on the thought, let it digest. Then, you motion him to turn, and he does so obediently, so you could untangle his braid. You starts from the bottom, slipping away the woven thread that holds it together, “...I believe you must know already why, lord husband.” You mutter.

“Enlighten me,” He replies, “perhaps it’s something I can’t see?”

Despite Vhagar’s price, he’s still bitter. It festers underneath him, sometimes overflows in a fit of paranoia - that he’s unfit, unsightly, unworthy, and that you must loathe him. Out of all the things you could, it’s his appearance he insists that repulses you. That has never been the case, nor ever will. The truth of the matter is, you don’t detest him at all.

“You see fine, lord husband,” You continue in a playful tone, “though I sometimes wonder if all you see you take at face value, like your brother.”

He snorts, “Aegon doesn’t see at all.”

You raise a brow, “My point being, you fail to understand the...” You pause, search for a word, settle on something easy, “-history. Between your mother the Queen and Princess Rhaenyra. Or perhaps you don’t wish to understand it at all.”

“You speak in riddles.” But there’s a smile in his voice when he says it.

“If I recall correctly, you always fancied this trait of mine.” You hum, “When you were young, you often skipped practice to play chess with me. Do you remember those days?”

“Ser Criston was not happy.”

“When has he ever been?” Before he can respond, you shush him, “Don’t. I care not for the answer nor the man in question to continue speaking of him.”

“He’s a honorable knight. And a great teacher.”

“And I never argued the fact.”

“Yet you dislike him.” The braid is half undone when he turns back to you; his eye levels yours with scrutiny, “Is there a reason? Did he hurt y-”

“Your Ser does not so much as look me in the eye fearing the end of your blade shall be the last thing he sees.” You smile, “And I wish to keep it that way.”

He assess you for a moment, tilts his head, and when he speaks again, he brims with the same curiosity he had when he was younger, “...Does Helaena know?”

“A lady is entitled to her secrets.” You lace your fingers with his.

“Then she won’t speak a word.” He says with a sigh.

“Nor will you hear more from me on this topic, my husband.” Your response does not please him, but you know that mindless submission would please him even less. Aemond always wanted someone who could challenge him. It was Aegon that required an obedient, motherly touch, “Neither your father the King nor mother the Queen would wish harm on Princess Rhaenyra.”

“My mother despises Rhaenyra.” He states it as an all inclusive fact, an inarguable law of nature, “I know it. Rhaenyra knows it. You do, as well.”

You come to stand, place your hands over your belly, “How about,” You begin, mindlessly wandering about the room, “a thought experiment?”

“Another one of your riddles?” He says, leaning back to watch you. He enjoys watching you, enjoys trailing your movements - small, quiet footsteps, straight back, an effortless grace of a dancer.

“One I am certain a man fond of books would figure out quite quickly. Indulge me?”

“Always.”

“Then let’s perhaps take into consideration the lineage that came before us.”

“The history, as you put it.”

“Indeed, lord husband.”

“Why is it that you never call me by my name?”

“Would you prefer it?”

“It’s not about my preference.”

You smile, “...It is because I like to call you mine.” You admit softly, “Lord husband. My husband...I do like the ring of those, as I like being referred to as your lady wife.”

He tries his best to bite down the grin rising on his face, but even in the dim light you can tell he’s pleased. He raises a hand and motions, “Continue...my lady wife.”

“Then, the history that was before us...I have heard many a tale, you know. These walls,” You glance around, “they have ears. And servants fancy gossip more than leftover wine. You know I frequent these...meetings and tea parties and daily routines you do not bother with. The ladies at court speak often of your father’s reign. All in wonderful reverence, of course.”

“Naturally.”

“And what I came to learn is that there had been a deep bond between your mother and Princess Rhaenyra once.”

“That was a long time ago.” He utters, “Things have changed.”

“But there was, once, love.” You counter, though not unkindly, “...I don’t quite believe it is gone entirely.”

The air seems to still, as if you roused a beast not meant to be awaken. You’re threading into forbidden territory, that much you know. He sits up slowly, and his face is lifeless, waxen, “What are you implying, (Name)?”

Your name has never sounded colder. You would never let it show, “Only a thought experiment.” There’s a sharp smile on your lips. You don’t quite manage to hide the bite from your voice, “The silly musings of a housewife that has nothing to do. Pay no heed to it, lord husband.”

“Is this what you have been discussing with the court ladies?” His tone rises, as if he can’t believe it, “My mother’s affections to Rhaenyra, of all people?” He stands, approaches, and you quickly evade. He falters instantly, “If I frighten you--”

“You could never, lord husband.”

“Don’t lie to me.” His request is oddly paced - soft, unlike his previous timbre, “You know I want you to speak freely around me.”

You grind your teeth. Hold your head up high, “Very well. Sit.” He does so without protest, never once loosing sight of you, “So be it, I shall say it as it is. It’s obvious. As obvious as the fact that Rhaenyra’s children are not Leanor’s and never were. Your mother’s affection for Rhaenyra has never ceased, nor Rhaenyra’s for her. If the hate between your families was truly as strong as everyone pretends it is, one or the other would have been dead already, and your father would have done nothing to stop it. Or you, or Haleana, or Aegon, or I - killed, before I came to court and you got your dragon. They were friends, Aemond, good friends, inseparable, from what I was told. A bond as that does not evolve into hate without having a strong foundation before it. And times have changed, I do agree, but I don’t think it’s as simple as petty hatred for the Iron Throne.”

You press your hand to your belly, to the life that steadily grows inside it, your first one, and suddenly you feel choked up, unpoised. You inhale, exhale, steady yourself, “I know this because even if you were to do something...terrible,” You catch his gaze, “I couldn’t hate you. I would only hate the fact that I love you still.”

A cool breeze brushes past your shoulders. He seems thoughtful, “...How long have you been...thinking about this?”

“Long enough.” You admit, breath spent and voice rasp, “Not much else to do here when you hardly join me for chess anymore.”

“Haleana keeps you company.”

“And you should find her opinion no different from mine. Listen to her.” You continue, “You never do, yet you Targaryens may find some use in what she has to say.”

“You’re a Targaryen as well.” He reminds you curtly.

“Don’t make me laugh, Aemond. I’m not in the mood. I’m a Tyrell. I was born as one and will always be treated as one in your court.” You sigh, “Gods be good...” You mutter, pinching the bridge of your nose, “A war is coming. A war.” You look at him, “What am I good in war? I ride no dragon nor wield a sword. Or should you fancy me cowering in the Red Keep when the city turns to ash?”

Something clicks in him - it’s loud, aching, like shattering glass.

He pales, “...You wish to leave me.”

You must salvage this whilst you still can, quickly gather the pieces, stitch them together with blood if you must.

“I wish,” You state calmly, “to return home.”

He stands, “This is your home.” He stabs a finger into his chest, “Our home. You cannot abandon me-”

It’s what he’s always feared, always believed. He envisions it, awakes at night with remains of that nightmare plaguing him: he turns away for a moment and when he looks back you’re gone in a flurry of smoke. Sometimes there’s laughter and sometimes there’s deathly silence. He doesn’t know which is worse.

“I’m not abandoning you, Gods, do you even hear what I’m saying?” You pause, breathe in again, “You know what the maesters said. I’m of a delicate condition, Aemond. I am unfit for war. And I will not have my child born in a battlefield.”

His hands grip your forearms. You startle. His hold eases, apologetic, almost, “I,” He begins, trying to catch your gaze, but you stubbornly look over his shoulder, “I will protect you.”

Your brows pinch together, “When? When you’re on dragonback or slaughtering Rhaenyra’s soldiers?” You sigh, “Let me return to my family,” You try to appeal to that nature, that kindness that hides underneath a leather patch, “to the grandparent’s of your child. Wait it out there. And when it’s all done, and you’re victorious, we will return. Our child and I. We’ll be together, all of us.”

Your plea hangs in the air. The candles flicker. Aemond nods slowly, kisses your forehead, and when you close your eyes and lean into his embrace, you hear a soft but firm, “No.”

He will not let you go. He cannot let you go. He cannot do this without you.

You hear that word still, echoing among the dancing dragons and crumbling buildings, the screams and rubble and rains of ash. It could have been different. But as you sit by your bedside window and watch the city crumble you make your peace with it, as you did with a lot of things in life. Forgiven a lot of things, too, perhaps too many.

There’s a terrifying roar before the view burns in a pillar of light.

notes: babe wake up a new war criminal just dropped xx

#aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #house of the dragon #hotd #house of the dragon x reader #hotd x reader #game of thrones #got #imagine #imagines #aemond one eye #rhaenyra x alicent #i will die on this ship!#rhaelicent #one-shot #angst

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dragons-and-dwarves-are-nice · 7 months

Text

Request from @witheringpain - Could you make a headcanon of how all the autobots/decepticons would react if you died in a war (G1) ?

Will do 🫡🫡🫡

Sorry this is so late but I’ve got so much going on I’ve ended up going through my requests at a snails pace lol.

I haven't done transformers requests in 3-4 years so hello pls don't beat me up over this but here we go anyway:

Warnings: Character Death (Reader), Heavy Descriptions Of Gore And Violence, Themes Of Grieving And Depression

Autobots: (This is mostly Optimus-centred but I included most of the Autobots reactions because this first part was already too long to repeat for each separate character – I’ve also made it platonic)

Also PLEASE keep in mind that I’ve only seen short clips of G1, which is why I don’t write for them often, so the characters may seem a little OOC – if they are I apologise but it’s the best I could do

Ooooh boy, they’re not gonna like that

Let’s say you’re Optimus’s bestie (along with the other autobots ofc)

And let’s keep in mind that G1 Optimus is not as calm/ level headed as TFP Optimus and not as ‘death/kill/angry/rage’ as Bayverse Optimus

So he’s not gonna go round on the battle field murdering left right and centre

But he’s also not gonna just stand there

He’s more likely to turn towards the loud gunshot behind him and watch as your body hits the ground and take a moment

Like it’s not gonna click instantly

He probably thinks you’ve been shot in the leg and he waits a second for you to scream or writhe around in pain

But then your body lops to the side and he sees your eyes frozen wide in shock, with a gaping bullet hole still sizzling and steaming away in the middle of your forehead

And when I say it hits them all

It hits them

HARD

Optimus sort of just stumbles for a moment cuz he can feel every part of himself short-circuit

He also thought his audio receptors had stopped working

But no

It’s the battlefield

It’s dead silent

Everyone seems to have just stopped

He can’t see (cuz he literally cannot take his eyes off your body) but Prowl and Ratchet are nearest

And they’re desperate to run to him but the fact that he’s so still

Ratchet doesn’t dare go near you for a hot minute because it’s not normal for Optimus to be still for that long.

Prowl’s too busy trying to see who shot you, and eventually he spies the steaming barrel of the gun from across the field and he’s instantly seeing red

The decepticon that owns said gun doesn’t look any better

You can practically hear him from how much he’s shaking

Eventually, the dead silence is broken

“What did you do?”

It’s Megatron

He might be Optimus’s sworn enemy

But he knows when to not cross a line

As in murder Optimus’s closest friend

Megatron only murmured it since he was only frozen in place a few metres away

But it was loud enough to break whatever spell Optimus was under

Both decepticons watched in terror as Optimus’s head snapped towards them, his optics wide and glowing brighter than ever

And you know what’s even worse?

His face guard is gone

Sheathed away and full face on display

Now, let’s clarify that you, are the only person in the existence of ever, to know what he looks like under the mask

And the fact that everyone can see his full face right now shows exactly how out of control his emotions are right now

He’s heaving, he’s shaking, and there’s coolant streaming down his face because guess what cybertronians can cry

In his millions of years fighting wars, Megatron can’t recall a time he’s ever seen such despair on a bots face

Let alone on Optimus

The sounding of creaking metal brings everyone’s attention back on Optimus

And it takes a moment for everyone to realise where the noise is coming from but soon enough they watch as his servo tightens even more around his axe, the creaking noise becoming louder

And all of a sudden everyone’s like:

Oh shit

The decepticon that shot you is like

Shit shit shit shit

And Megatron accepts he’s gonna be a Con down after today because looking at the state that Prime is in he knows it’s not worth it

He looks to the Con who is pleading for help with his eyes and just shrugs

“I think you’re on your own now :)”

Megatron along with everyone else takes a step back as Optimus begins to move

He’s not running, no

Just walking

His optics not moving from the con in front of him as he strides over.

Eventually the con drops his gun with a cry and frantically runs into the woods behind him

But Optimus keeps his speed at walking pace

Which is even more terrifying

Megatron just moves aside raising his hands in surrender as he passes

Because a heaving, blank-faced, mask-less Optimus unconsciously dragging a weapon behind him is not something he wants to try and pester right now

Soon Optimus disappears into the woods after the Con

And everyone remains silent and unmoving as they listen

Pedesteps every now and again are heard from within the trees

Minutes pass and no one is yet to move, too occupied with straining their audials for a noise

Though it isn’t long until everyone flinches as a terrified shriek rips through the air, causing the birds to scatter

A string of frantic pleads of help follow

Until they are replaced with screams as loud clangs of metal on metal are heard

But soon the screams are drowned out by the clangs and soon enough the sounds of the Con are no more

But the clanging doesn’t stop

It just keeps going in a steady rhythm

Until one final loud smash reverberates through the air

And it is silent once again

Everyone else takes this as their cue

Megatron instantly transforms and takes off

And it isn’t long before the rest of the Decepticons follow, leaving the Autobots to themselves

The following silence is soon broken as Ratchet finally moves towards your body

Wiping the coolant that won’t seem to stop streaming down his face, he kneels down to scoop your lifeless form into his arms

Prowl drags himself over to you both, his pedes never feeling so heavy

With a dark solemn look on his faceplates, he stares at your corpse in the medics arms

After a moment, he slowly lifts his servo towards your face, where your face is still frozen in a terrified expression

And as gently as he can, he takes two digits and places them above your optic lids before sliding them closed

That seemed to be a tipping point for Ratchet as he broke down in heaving sobs

His frame trembling as he tried to keeps both himself and you balanced as everyone around looked at him in both surprise and pity

This is a first because Ratchet is probably the least likely to react so emotionally to death

He been witnessing it almost every day for the past few million years after all

But you were someone special

Someone he thought would be the last person to die so suddenly

Someone he thought he would have time to save, and time to grieve

But that’s what war does

It has no mercy with anyone

No matter who someone is and how special they are

And Ratchet thought he had come to terms with that idea

But the scene he gave showed everyone he hadn’t quite accepted it fully

Prowl wanted to break down too

He wanted to scream into the heavens and beyond, cursing out those who took you from them but also hoping you could hear him

A sign to show that you were still here with them

But he knew it would prove useless

And with Ratchet gone too far into his own mind

He knew it was his turn to be the level headed one

Now wasn’t the time to flip tables and punch walls

He didn’t want to show his emotional instability in front of the others

So he joined Ratchet by his side, a servo slowly soothing up and down the medic’s trembling back struts.

He noted that Optimus still hadn’t returned from the woods

But that wasn’t who he was concerned about at the moment

As if on cue, three sets of bouncing footsteps along with energised voices were heard as they got nearer

Everyone tensed at the sound, and slowly turned towards the outstretch of cliff nearby where the voices owners would soon be revealed

Prowl left Ratchet’s side after one last reassuring pat, leaving the now slightly calmer bot to cradle you

Turning the corner, he was met with two bright sets of yellow and one red

Bumblebee, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker had returned from their reconnaissance, playing and shoving at each other joyously after a seemingly successful mission, ready to hear what had become of the fight they missed

Though that all halted when they caught sight of a silent Prowl who was suspiciously not scolding them for returning so late

Coming to a stop, they eyed him, Sideswipe talking first:

“We just saw Megatron and his goons flying away! Did you flip enough tables to scare them off or something?”

That set the three of them into another fit of giggles

But coming to a stop again at the sight of Prowls door wings not springing up in frustration like they usually do

“Say Prowl, what’s got your tailpipe in a twist?” Sunstreaker piped up

Prowl opened his mouth, and got exactly one vowel out before going silent again. He did this several times before eventually giving up.

Ok this was different

Prowl always has something to reply with

“What happened.” Demanded Bumblebee

Despite being a joyous bot, Bumblebee knew when it was time to be serious, and Prowl being lost for words meant that only the worst could have happened

Prowl tried to reply again, but his voice box betrayed him for a second time

Without a second thought Bumblebee strode ahead, brushing aside Prowls outstretched servo and rounded the corner

At a first glance all he could see was every bot crowded around something, but when he called out they all parted to reveal something he wished he could never see

A pained cry of despair echoed throughout the forested valley, and Sideswipe and Sunstreaker didn’t hesitate for a second as they sprinted around the corner to their friend with Prowl hot on their heels

The sight before them was the one thing they never wanted

Bumblebee was being held back as he tried to reach for whatever Ratchet had in his arms, howling and crying out as he stretched his arm as far as he could

The two bots rushed to try and help the others in restraining him, but both stumbled in shock as they caught sight of your lifeless corpse

Soon the bots had to be divided as they wrestled the three young bots that were wailing in anguish for their friend

Bumblebee had given up at this point, his head on Prowls shoulder as he stared at you with a glazed unmoving expression

The twins were worse off, crying and screaming in everyone’s faces until their voice boxes gave out, demanding what had happened and why they weren’t able to save you, why Ratchet wasn’t able to save you, but all the bots and the medic could do was look down to not make any further eye contact.

Not long after the screaming match another set of footsteps were heard getting nearer, and a hush fell over everyone, including the twins after pleas from the others, as they all stared at the silhouette emerging from the foliage

As the bot moved into the sunlight, everyone’s optics widened at the sight

Optimus had returned, but he was barely recognisable

Well

You could still tell it was him

But his paintjob was almost unidentifiable

Blue and red peeked through the streaks and smears of pink and magenta, the energon from the unlucky con splattered all over his frame

The worst parts were on his axe and up his arms, his paintjob covered almost entirely with energon still dripping from those areas along with chunks of metal that slowly slid down his frame, looking suspiciously similar to the con’s paintjob

The most horrifying part, though, was his axe

Which looked like it had come straight out of a horror movie

Through the energon and bits of metal that covered the blades, one half seemed to have bent, the blade curving in a way that would fit a cybertronians head shape after hitting it with the force of a mountain

Which is probably what happened

It’s also probably what made that extra load bang at the end

But no one really cared about that

They were too busy trying to figure out what Optimus would do next

Which was a bit difficult considering he was just standing there not saying a word and just staring ahead into the distance

A beat passed before shuffling was heard and Bumblebee broke away from Prowls embrace and rushed towards the Prime

Despite everyone wanting to stop him, they were too scared of going near Optimus at this point

Reaching Optimus, Bumblebee threw himself around him, not caring about the height difference

This seemed to bring Prime out of his trance, half lidded optics looking down at the smaller bot

Though it wasn’t long before Optimus gently pried Bumblebee’s servos away, holding them in his own

The bots watched albeit tense as the taller bot stared down at his smaller companion

All it took was for Bee to look up whilst blinking back tears of coolant for Optimus to drop his axe with a clang and scoop him into his arms, their helms buried into each other’s neck cables, and Bumblebee’s sobbing started up again

After a minute, they pulled away from each other, and Bee tried to say something through the hiccupping of his voice box, but the Prime stopped him with a servo on his shoulder and a small smile that was far from reaching his optics

Which everyone could see since he had yet to re-engage his mask

But they made sure not to bring it up

Soon Optimus was back on his pedes and picking up his axe, gently leading Bumblebee back to the group

Reaching Ratchet, he placed a servo on his shoulder

“Let’s get them back to the ship old friend."

Decepticons: (This one’s a bit shorter I’m afraid – I struggled with coming up with anything for anyone else so this is more headcanon-y)

Warnings: Character Death (AKA YOU), Heavy Descriptions of Gore, Themes of Grieving and Depression.

Now with the decepticons it can be a little different

Depending on what kind of relationship you’ve formed and with who

The Autobots are all tight knit in some way

Whereas with the cons

You could’ve been working with them for eons

But if you’re just another soldier that has been recruited

Then those higher up aren’t gonna bat an optic

They might notice your posts being replaced

But that’s it

However

If you’re higher ranking and have formed some type of relationship with them

Then things are going to go down differently

Soundwave would be inconsolable for a while

The only ones allowed near him were his minicons

Who would scuttle out his berthroom to grab some energon for their robodad, before quickly disappearing back into the dark room

He wouldn’t come out until Megatron demanded entry

And the minocons along with a few others would wait around the corner in the corridor

Tying to get within earshot but failing nonetheless

Megatron then walked out, not bothering with the troops who scattered as soon as he appeared

It would be another day before Soundwave would emerge

But he wouldn’t answer anyone about how he was

He simply got on with his tasks as he did before

Overworking so much that he would have to be dragged to recharge

Life would resume as normal

But during his weekly spying sessions through the security cameras

Starscream would note the pauses the quiet con would take

Each time in the exact same spot

Standing in front of the doors to the comms room where you had worked

Staring in as if he was looking for you to spring out on him

But you never did

Speaking of Starscream

It’s a bit of a 50/50 with him

You could be any rank

And considering how desperate he is to overthrow Megatron and lead the Decepticons

There’s a chance that he could be so obsessed and caught up in his scheming

That he just doesn’t have the spare time to get to know you or basically care about you in any way

But if we went with the other half

And you were someone he had befriended and roped into his overthrowing plans

Then your death would throw him off track big time

It would take him forever to comprehend the fact that the one con he could trust properly on his ship was in pieces that were now drifting somewhere through space

To the other cons he was just being himself after your death

So just annoying

Complaining how he now had to figure out how to achieve the tasks he had set you for universal dominance as well as his own

But the heaving sobs and wails that echoed through the ships corridors late at night said otherwise

Ravage made the unlucky mistake of walking in on Starscream as he curled up underneath his desk

Though not much time was spent inside as Ravage high tailed it out of there, narrowly dodging something being thrown as the seeker screamed for them to get out

Skywarp and Thundercracker had a hard time as well

Feeling the immense grief flowing through the bond of their trine mate’s spark as they watched him brush you off as just another accomplice in front of everyone else

Now

Onto boss man

Megatron would practically explode

He would be throwing himself into every battle and every autobot he can get his servos on

The one commander, apart from soundwave, he could trust with his life

Gone

In a puff of smoke

Well..

More like an explosion

AKA you were blasted to smithereens before he could pull you free from the collapsing power reactor

He would be frozen in place, your decapitated servo still grasped in his own

Bits of wiring and armour plating surrounding him on the floor

Along with the pink flames of your energon that had ignited as it hit the burning debris

He doesn’t quite remember what happened next

All he could recall were flashes of the bodies of other autobots as he tore them apart

And he found himself sat in the medbay, glaring unfocused at the metal floor

And now, in his berth room eons later, he still finds himself staring at the floor

Feeling as useless as the glass case that sat upon his shelf

Where a single servo laid, refusing to rust

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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Thank you so much for reading! I will reopen requests at some point, but for now, I'll be posting what I've already written. See you soon!

Do not repost

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dpr-stay · 7 months

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Dino Slippers and Wooden Cabins.

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Warnings: she's unedited, omg so much crack. WC: ~2.6K

I wanted to write and yes, it's shit, and yes, it's crack, and yes, I hate it. but what can you do? it got kinda sentimental towards the end, but the closing lines terrible.

also don't do what the reader does, be safe when you're in a cabin alone.

A knock at your cabin door caused you to look up from the TV. The firelight cast from the fireplace danced around the wooden room, reflecting on your drawn blinds and making you blink. You waited for a second before turning back to your TV, wincing as you saw one of the main characters trip and fall.

You were quickly distracted from your show when the person at the door knocked again. Seriously? You take a week away from work in an isolated cabin in the snow to not be bothered by people and this is what happens. A random person knocking on your door in the middle of the night. In the middle of nowhere. While you were alone.

Maybe you should heed the warnings your friends had given you and not open the door, certifying that you wouldn’t be caught by some lunatic or something. That thought unnerved you, what if the person knocking on your door was an escaped prisoner or even a murderer? You shivered despite the warmth from the fire heating you.

Your friends had all exchanged glances when you’d told them of your holiday plans, side-eyeing each other so that one of them would try and make you not go. Lily, one of your friends since you were little, had sighed before standing up and saying that you probably shouldn’t travel solo. You had immediately protested, waving off her concerns and saying you’d take your mum’s dog, Popcorn, as sort of a guard dog.

Popcorn who now stood shaking in the corner, glancing between you and the door with wide eyes. Right now, you were unsure why you thought you could bring a Papillion as a guard god, but past-you had wanted to take this holiday so bad that you were eager to think that an axe-murderer could be dispelled by one of the ugliest, smallest, and most rancid looking dog’s you’d ever seen.

That was a joke, Popcorn wasn’t rancid, just crusty (as your mother lovingly called him.) The way spit hung from his jaw, wobbling everytime he shook made you breathe through your teeth, subconsciously wondering how Popcorn got on the family christmas card instead of you.

Another knock on the door made you sigh before standing up and making your way to the large wooden door. You placed a hand on the handle, turned the lock, and opened the door to a sight that was worse than you could have even imagined.

A head of wavy brown hair, slightly ruffled, tilted upwards to reveal stunning blue eyes. An easy smile settled over his face when you made eye-contact, his hands bunching in his pockets drawing your attention to his snow-dusted puffer jacket.

“Hi,” He said, his nose and eyes bright red, showing how the cold had been affecting him. You could only look on in horror as he shook his head, his hair whipping around as though he was in a movie, and a few dollops of snow cascaded from his hair.

It was worse than a murderer, it was a hot man.

You immediately felt a heat begin to rush to your face. You could handle a crazed, knife-wielding psycho, but you couldn’t handle attractive men. It was a well known fact within your friend group, you made a fool of yourself in front of every mildly-hot guy.

Whether it be tripping over your feet in highschool and falling flat on your face in front of a long-time crush or trying and failing to chat up a guy at a bar, you’d always return to your group of friends, tail securely between your legs and dragging your feet.

Hell, your friends had even tried to fix it for you. Lily had set you up on countless dates, none of them working because as soon as you made eye-contact, you couldn’t speak and you ended up being mute for the entire 30 minutes a guy stayed. Her boyfriend, Alex, found it to be the funniest thing, laughing at you (goodnaturedly, he’d assured you one time after you gave him the stink eye) everytime you recounted one of your increasingly unfortunate stories.

So now, out in the freezing cold and looking at one of the most beautiful people you’d ever seen in your life, you knew something would go wrong and you’d make yourself seem like a dunce. You didn’t have to wait long, as his eyes cast downwards and you were reminded of the fact the only pajamas you’d brought on your trip were a cheapie set that you’d bought for five bucks at some random retail store. The issue with them was that they were clearly designed for kids, dinosaurs decorating every inch of the fabric.

At the time you’d hadn’t minded that they’d probably been made for degenerate adults, only happy to snag a bargain, but now you were really regretting it. Regretting it even more as the man’s eyes dropped down to your slippers, accompanying dino claws that you’d laughed at when you’d put them on earlier. Now you were cursing yourself for your whimsy, eyeing the clearly expensive fabric that made up the man’s scarf wound so tightly around his neck. His eyes climbed you, reaching your face before he made eye-contact again.

“Uhm, my car broke down and this is the only place for several hundred kilometers. My friend Alex said that one of his friends was staying around here and that I could pop in.” The man explained, the friendly smile never dropping from his face. Holy fuck he has an accent as well.

As if timed perfectly, a ding sounded on your phone, causing you to reach for it. A message icon with Alex’s name was on your home screen, reading further when you opened it that ‘a friend of mine might show up for the night because of his car breaking down. I hope that’s ok.’ You could only stare at your phone. As though he was waiting for the read receipt to pop up, Alex then sent another message.

‘Thank me later.’

Having enough of that, you closed your phone and shoved it rather forcefully into your pocket. You plastered a smile onto your face and turned to the man.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realise you were coming. I probably would’ve… gotten changed.” You trailed off, the smile on the man’s face quickly changing to one of amusement. Trying to rationalise that he was laughing at your joke and not your outfit, you moved to the side of the doorframe and welcomed him in with a sweeping hand.

He took a few steps into your rented cabin before you closed the door, the coldness of the night getting shut out in place for the heat from your cabin. The man’s eyes took the place in, sweeping over the log walls and the tv that was still on. He nodded his head slightly as though agreeing with your choice of programming.

“Would you like a tea?” You asked, desperate to try and be in solitude for a few minutes. He turned to you and nodded with a thankful smile. Jesus that smile was about to be the death of you. You quickly scurried off into the small kitchen, boiling the kettle and then releasing a stream of air yourself.

Oh god. He was really, really attractive. How were you supposed to live peacefully, this was your holiday after all. You tilted your head back till you were glaring at the ceiling, before snapping it down and whipping out your phone.

When the kettle stopped boiling, you set down your phone, mildly satisfied with the amount of mean emojis and phrases you’d sent to Alex. The ding from the kettle made you quickly grab two mugs before debating on either earl gray or english breakfast, two of the complimentary items included in the cabin. Unable to decide because both contained caffeine, you reached into a cupboard and grabbed out two sleepytime tea bags. The good stuff, you thought affectionately as you bobbed the tea bags up and down, before grabbing both mugs and walking back into the living room.

The man stood up from the couch where he was sat as you rounded the corner and grabbed the tea from you with a ‘Thank you’ before sitting down. The couch itself wasn’t entirely fantastic, it was quite small and very hard. On the first day you’d arrived, you had launched yourself onto the couch in a small way of celebration that you had a holiday, only to roll off and a light bruise to form the next day.

“I’m Charles, by the way.” The man spoke up and you looked at him before nodding and smiling. He kept looking at you till you finally got the cue and jolted a little. You introduced yourself and Charles nodded, repeating your name while glancing around the space. He took a sip of his tea.

“Alex says that this was your holiday,” He mused before looking back to you. “In that case, I’m sorry to interrupt it.” He spoke calmly and you shook your head.

“No, it’s ok. It was getting a little boring anyways.” You promptly lied, if not just to make him feel a bit better. He nodded, obviously not convinced. You both sat there in silence before Charles made to take the puffer off.

You watched for a second before thinking it was too weird and taking a sip of your tea. Immediately you could tell that Charles had skewed tastebuds as you felt your tongue burn. Oh my god. You held yourself back from spitting it out or pouring it back into the cup, deciding it was too disgusting to do in front of Charles.

You looked around, only to see Charles, arms bared and looking at you curiously. Ashamedly, you weren’t exactly looking at his face, seeing the way his arms flexed around the mug. It took you five seconds before you started coughing on the liquid in your mouth, quickly standing up as Charles reacted. He stretched a hand around your shoulders, his eyebrows drawing.

“Are you ok?” He asked, rather simply as though he was unsure about what exactly was happening.

You only nodded, your face scrunched together before you finally swallowed. The liquid burned your throat on the way down. A gasp left you when you opened your mouth before you quickly started fanning your mouth.

Getting the message, Charles moved to where he assumed the kitchen was, returning with a glass of water. He strode towards you, looking strangely determined before that was completely wiped away when the sound of a yelp was heard.

Except it didn’t come from Charles. Not even when his eyes widened and he was suddenly slipping, going down and taking the glass of water with him. The water splashed up when he hit the floor, the only sound audible being the barking of Popcorn as he jumped around Charles. You were stood still, jaw on the floor as Charles groaned.

You took a second to regather the events. A stranger showed up at your door, you made tea, you burned your mouth, Charles took his puffer off, he went to get you water, he stood on Popcorn and then accidentally tipped a whole glass of water over his head.

After five seconds of silence you rushed over to Charles, variations of “I’m sorry!” slipping free from your mouth. You pulled him up into a sitting position, resting him against the wall. Your mouth felt completely useless, burnt to a crisp, while you placed a hand on Charles’ wet shoulder.

He took a second or two before rolling his head on his shoulder to look at you. You were crouched at your knees, looking at him in concern. He looked at your knees, taking in the triceratops front profile printed on both of your knees before looking at your face

“You know,” He started, his voice more subdued than before. “Your mouth isn’t the only hot thing in this room.” You rolled off your knees and onto your butt, completely gobsmacked. Was he flirting with you after your dog nearly killed him?

You could only look at him, jaw slightly agape as he made continued eye contact with you. A different look, one that hadn’t been displayed during his non-stop smile fest a few minutes prior, flitted over his face for a second. After a few more seconds of you sitting there in shock, he spoke up.

“I’m sorry, have I read the situation wrong?” He asked hesitantly and you could only look on in abject disbelief. What on earth was going on, why had this hot man who was friends with Alex shown up and started flirting with you whilst you were clad in dinosaur pj’s?

Alex.

You stood up. What were the chances that Alex had sent one of his friends to fuck with you. Probably very low, he was a nice guy, but there was literally no other reason this incredibly handsome man would take a look at you hand-fanning your mouth and decide to start throwing out pickup-lines.

Charles looked up at you curiously as you were silent. It didn’t make sense though, Alex wasn’t cruel. He always seemed as though he wanted the best for you. Maybe he was two-faced? But no, why would he fuck with you?

“I’m sorry, have I made you uncomfortable?” Charles piped up and you looked down at him. He seemed sheepish.

“That wasn’t my intention. You just seemed to be interested,” you both cringed, him at using that word, and you at the fact that he’d caught you, “so I thought I’d y’know. Let you know it was reciprocated.”

“Huh?” Was the only thing you could manage.

“Should I go back to my car?” Charles asked, placing a hand down to lift himself up and stand. You, in a split-second decision, shook your head. Charles looked at you.

“Uhm, you can take my bed for the night.” You decided to shake yourself off and completely ignore the events that had transpired.

Charles then shook his head. “No, I can’t take the bed. It’s your cabin.”

You really weren’t in the mood to argue and endure a back and forth so you just shrugged.

“Fine, let’s share it then.” Ignoring how forward that seemed, you just turned around and lumbered to the bedroom, opening the door to the kingsized bed. Charles followed after a second, he seemed to be collecting himself, standing in the doorway.

“I’m ready for bed so I’ll just hop in after I go around and turn everything off.” You said and moved through the doorway. You ignored his incredibly close presence as much as you could.

After a quick sweep of the cabin, turning everything off and closing Popcorn in the cage your mum had insisted you bring, you returned to the bedroom. You found Charles lounging on your side of the bed, under the covers and scrolling on his phone.

When you walked in, he turned it off and placed it on your side table. You chose not to mention that it was your side and just settled for the other. You turned off the light and made your way to the other side, slipping off your slippers and rolling under the covers.

A few minutes had passed of your staring into the darkness, Charles’ breathing cluing you in that the man hadn’t fallen asleep either.

“Charles.” You called out into the darkness and you felt the covers move a little.

“Yeah?” His voice called out.

“Did you actually mean it?” You asked.

A few seconds passed and you felt Charles roll over, causing you to roll over as well. You made eye contact, a small ray of light from the moon coursing through the blind and landing on Charles's face.

“Yeah.” He said simply, his smile stretched across his face. You nodded before starting to smile too.

“Cool.” You said dumbly and Charles laughed. “Yeah, cool.” He responded, the warmth that leaked into voice causing your smile to grow wider.

it's so bad but i wanted to post something so here it is

#f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #formula one x reader #f1 oneshot #formula one imagine #f1 imagine #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc fanfic #yipee!!

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rallamajoop · 2 months

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On Mia Winters, misogyny, and abuse

As should be pretty obvious by now, I love Mia Winters. I honestly think she’s one of the most compelling characters in this whole damn franchise.

But let me make clear: you don’t have to love her. Mia’s canonically done a lot of shady shit in her time, and her relationship with Ethan has real problems. There are perfectly viable interpretations where the only thing really holding it together is his own denial. Only I never seem to get to read any of those takes, because the most common characterisations Mia gets in fic are an irredeemable monster, or a cardboard cutout who exists only to be written out as quickly as possible. And to write Mia out to that degree doesn’t just do her character a disservice, it does Ethan a disservice, and a big one.

The amount of Mia-bashing I see out there in this fandom turns my stomach. It’s not just the slash fans who’d rather ship Ethan with another dude. I have seen Mia loudly bashed in tags on het or gen fic in which she does not even appear. I have seen male fans reviewing these games on youtube who treat her the exact same way. But it’s never more frustrating than when that hate comes from the same fans who’ll turn around and talk about characters like Chris or even Lady Dimitrescu (she who canonically abuses her and murders her servants, and, y’know, eats people without a shred of remorse) like they’re perfectly forgivable and have done no real wrong. And don’t get me wrong: I love Lady D, but I love her because she’s magnificently evil. Mia? Mia’s a whole lot more complicated.

But to really explain why this hate makes me so uncomfortable, I’m going to have to start with the start of Resident Evil 7, and Mia’s very first scenes in this whole franchise.

Let me quickly summarise the opening of that game. A man whose wife disappeared without explanation suddenly gets a message about her whereabouts. He travels to an isolated location, breaks in, and finds her. She denies ever sending him that message, and seems incredibly distressed that he’s there at all. They fight. It ends with him sinking an axe into her neck and shooting her several times with a handgun. But see, he didn’t do anything wrong! It was all self-defence! She started it! She was acting crazy!

If you didn’t spot it, the whole opening of RE7 reads uncomfortably like a story about a woman escaping an abusive relationship, then being tracked down and murdered by her ex.

Obviously, I am not here to tell you Ethan’s abusive. He’s not, we’ve got no reason to imagine he is. He was legitimately acting in self-defence.

But the fact the first thing Ethan has to do in this game is find the balls to kill his own wife ‒ that a whole new era of Resi games has opened with a sequence so easily read as a sympathetic justification for how a man might perfectly innocently track down his missing spouse and "have" to kill her – that made those opening minutes into by far the most uncomfortable part of this whole franchise for me. Shit like this really happens. I mean it, I will track down the fucking statistics on women who are murdered after trying to leave an abusive partner if I have to.

What happens to ‘Mia’ in the opening to RE8 isn’t much better: it's as textbook a fridging as any I’ve ever seen. Yes, it’s a fridging that gets retconned away later when she turns up alive, but the fact that’s even possible speaks to just how awful and confusing her death is. The game opens with Mia’s violent murder at the hands of this series’ longest running ‘hero’, and the event is framed entirely in terms of how awful it is for her husband. That's as frigid as a fridging gets.

The eventual reveal that the real Mia was just trapped alone in a cell being experimented on by a madwoman for god knows how long doesn’t actually make it better. The horror Mia goes through in both these games is a footnote, barely explored.

I bring these events up not to condemn the RE franchise, not to say that including these sequences was unconscionable, or that violence against women can never be shown in a horror title. A quick glance at my tumblr should demonstrate how much I adore these games. Tropes like fridging become problems only because they’re so ubiquitous they can come to define almost the only roles women get to play, not because any individual example is necessarily grounds for outrage. If anything, there’s just as much to analyse in all the hate thrown at characters like Ethan Winters (or his predecessor, Jonathan Harker) as a archtypical examples of sexism against men – backlash against the very idea of a male character in the disempowered role of horror victim, usually reserved for women.

But with this context in mind, my god is it uncomfortable to see people talk about Mia as irredeemable monster who deserves to suffer more. People who will valorise the likes of Chris Redfield, who didn’t even bother to stop to tell Ethan that’s not Mia, yet talk about Mia like being shot to death in her own living room was only what she deserved. That is just a whole load of yikes.

And given that both games open with Mia being violently killed by a male protagonist (twice in RE7, with the player in control), it sure is convenient how so many people have managed to ‘find’ the evidence that proves she’s the real villain. You don’t have to think too hard about Chris Redfield as a violent maniac or Ethan Winters being forced to kill his own wife if it’s okay to inflict violence on this woman. “Yes, but she shouldn’t have done [X]…” or even “But what if she’s the real abuser” is a narrative that gets thrown at real women in abusive relationships all the time – especially when the man is a friend of whoever’s casting judgement, or even a celebrity. Real world examples of this shit in the wild run the gamut from wild fan-takes on The Shining ‘proving’ that actually the abused wife was the ‘real’ abuser all along, right up to the ongoing hate campaign against Amber Heard. People don’t want to have to think badly of someone they admire, and will take any excuse to shift the blame. The stakes are infinitely lower when we’re talking about fictional characters, but the same pattern plays out.

And look, I do get it. It’s easy to go into these games and come out with a negative opinion of Mia. She’s the one who lures you into danger in RE7, acts all innocent, and then comes at Ethan with a chainsaw – and when you finally find out her big secret at the end, it turns out she was working for the people who created Eveline from the start! You’re really not given a lot of reasons to invest in Ethan and Mia’s relationship before she’s suddenly coming at him with a knife, and the fact she never does get to come clean to him in canon leaves a bad taste in the mouth.

It’s really easy to go into RE8, note all the glaring signs that Ethan’s relationship with Mia isn’t healthy, and draw your own conclusions about a woman we don’t hardly even see again for most of the runtime of the game. Half this goddamn fandom still seems to think Heisenberg is actually a lycan, ffs – most of what people think they know about Mia is more meme than fact, and the rest is pretty surface level. Basic media literacy is not exactly high out there in the tumblrweeds (let alone the rest of the internet).

But as for the idea that Mia’s responsible for all the horrors Ethan went through, people seem to forget that Mia herself went through so much worse. Ethan spent a day in the Bakers’ property, and a day in the village. Mia spent years trapped in the Bakers’ property, and days at least imprisoned in Miranda’s lab, knowing exactly how much danger her family were in, helpless to save them. She’s no innocent herself, but ye gods has she already suffered for her crimes.

So with all that out of the way, well, what’s the actual ‘evidence’ that Mia herself was abusive? No-one's coming into this one without some bias, but let’s at least give it a fair shake.

Right upfront, I want to recognise that in both fiction and reality, women can be abusers, and men can be victims. Abuse in heterosexual relationships is far more likely to occur with the man as the abuser, but the reverse does happen, and the fact culture at large can be so eager to cast the woman as the villain doesn’t make it any easier for the real male victims of abuse to get recognition and help. Society as a whole is still just really shitty about enabling or excusing real abuse.

But the idea that Mia was abusive has very little to back it up. Whatever you make of “her” interactions with Ethan at the start of the game, the fact remains: that’s not Mia, and the fact she’s acting so strangely is meant to be our clue that something much bigger than a little marital strife is going on here. Knowing all this doesn’t really make the scene where she’s violently executed less disturbing, but you can’t miss the hints we don’t yet know the full story.

So the question becomes, is there any evidence that the real Mia was abusive? I’ve dug into this one a bit before in my post about trying to figure out the timeline of exactly when Mia was replaced, but there are no definitive answers as to how long Miranda's been living in their house. To summarise a long post (and a surprisingly lively timeline of events from the days before the game begins): the most likely intent seems to be that Miranda’s been posing as Mia for less than a week, though a lot of the vibes of the scene give me the impression it’s been several weeks at least. Ultimately, that’s going to come down to your own interpretation.

The Mia mentioned in Ethan’s diary who blew up at him at the hospital could be the real Mia, but more likely isn’t: you can’t really use her to argue anything definitive, one way or another. The Mia from the flashback where Ethan gets the call from Rose’s doctor is the real Mia, but if you think getting upset when your husband brushes off your obvious distress over your daughter’s health makes you abusive, then nothing I say here is going to convince you otherwise.

The only ‘real’ evidence that Mia might be a problem is one line you might hear from Ethan while taking Rose to bed, and it is admittedly a red flag: your mother’s scary when she’s angry.

And to anyone whose whole hatred of Mia has been built backwards from this one line – especially anyone who’s grown up in a dysfunctional household themselves – hell, I get it. It is one really yikes thing for Ethan to say about his wife.

But in Mia’s defence, I can only point out that, well, yes, canonically, she is scary when she’s angry.

Oh, did I say angry? I meant fucking possessed.

And if Ethan’s bringing up the spectre of that time, even subconsciously, maybe that should be an even bigger clue that the Mia in this house right now isn’t Mia.

But what really shows this line for what it is is that we’ve seen the real Mia angry. We’ve seen her cold fury at Eveline, daring to go right back to asking ‘can we be a family now?’ within hours forcing Mia to assault her own husband with a chainsaw. We’ve seen her frustration at Ethan’s own denial, and we’ve seen her stalk out of the room when he blows off an important conversation for a call from work. We’ve seen her advance on Chris after he shut her down, demanding, Where is my husband? Where is my daughter?!

We have never seen her angry without real justification. Her anger is neither violent nor disproportionate. It’s consistently purposeful, focused, and contained. There is nothing scary about the real Mia’s anger, unless you’re threatened by the very idea she might have something valid to be angry about.

There is evidence of tension in the Winters’ marriage from before Miranda’s arrival, but it takes a very different form – most evident in the flashback scene where Ethan receives the call from Rose’s doctor. Far from Miranda’s brusque, dismissive copy of her, the real Mia is anxious and depressed, scared of what Rose’s results might reveal. Here, Ethan’s the one brushing her concerns aside (“We talked about this […] Rose is fine!”) He recognises there seems to be something Mia’s not telling him, says they should talk about it, but then immediately brushes the conversation off when he gets a call from work, while Mia storms out of the room.

You can certainly read Mia as a hypocrite here, getting angry at Ethan for not knowing things she’s deliberately kept from him. But it’s Ethan who decides a call from work is more important than a conversation with his wife – someone who is obviously distressed, canonically still on a regime of drugs after the traumatic events of RE7, very likely suffering PTSD along with Ethan, and maybe even some form of postpartum depression. We don’t know anything about Ethan’s work, so there’s no point in speculating about how much he ‘needs’ to take that call. Mia’s no clear villain here – quite the opposite.

Personally, I tend towards taking this scene as evidence that Mia has tried to talk to Ethan about what really happened to him, but hasn’t managed to get him to face the truth. For all that Ethan supposedly wants to talk about the past, it’s a defining plot point that he’s badly in denial himself.

Or they could both be at some fault here: Ethan unwilling to face the truth, while Mia is reluctant to force him to face something she knows will hurt him and bring him distress. Even when Mia says outright that she ‘tried to keep this a secret, but…’ to Chris at the end of the game, the implication is as much that she’s tried to keep it a secret from people like Chris, who might decide Ethan is dangerous. She’s lied to protect him before, and if she’s still lying to him about her past with the Connections, then the fact that knowing the truth will hurt Ethan is obviously among her reasons. Protecting Ethan has always been among Mia’s top priorities ‒ even at her own expense.

The only other real hints we get about Mia’s inner life come from the glimpses of her we get in Donna’s domain. But I’m hesitant to read too much into these, given how unclear it is how much is just a manifestation of Ethan’s own anxieties. If anything, the ‘Mia’ in these scenes almost seems to have some far worse secret than simply having not told Ethan something he really ought to have put together on his own, and I’d kind of love to see that explored too – at least as long as that goes somewhere more interesting than round umpteen of ‘and that’s why Mia sucks’.

But my point here isn’t that you have to read any of these scenes the same way I do. I do think it’s important to recognise that nothing written for a game like RE is truly character-driven; scenes exist to serve the plot far more than to reflect consistent character motivations or hold up to fridge logic (which, let’s face it, is the real reason for most of Chris’ horrific behaviour in this game, let alone anyone else’s). The result is rarely super consistent, and leaves ample space for multiple interpretations of anyone’s motivations. Regardless, the idea there’s any hard evidence that Ethan and Mia’s relationship is dysfunctional, or that whatever’s wrong is Mia’s fault alone, is going to be incredibly hard to justify.

Any assertion that Ethan and Mia are somehow on the verge of divorce also needs to be weighed against the masses of evidence of how much they love each other – the number of times Mia has said she loves Ethan, up to and including (yes, I’m bringing this up again) how ready she is to die for him in RE7. Her speech to Chris at the end of RE8 states explicitly that being together with Ethan and Rose is the only thing that matters to her. “Mia, I’m sorry, I love you,” are some of the last words Ethan ever speaks – and I can’t help but read into how the moment he finally pushes Rose into Chris’ arms so they can get away with him weighing them down is right after he learns that Mia is alive, and thus implicitly that Rose won’t be alone if Ethan doesn’t make it. And good god does that scene break my heart every time.

It’s worth recognising that the fact Ethan and Mia love each other doesn’t inherently mean their relationship is healthy, or that you have to love them together as much as I do. Like I said up top, you don’t have to like Mia, and you don’t have to justify not liking her if you don’t. I would genuinely like to see fics where Mia and Ethan’s supposedly-necessary break up feels in character. Where Ethan loves her but just can’t deal with the resentment and the fallout over all the lies she told him, where he's been clinging to his 'happy ending' with Mia after surviving the Bakers so hard he can't face the fact things just aren't working, or where he’s having to face that their relationship only ever really worked because she was away so much. It will break my heart, but fiction is allowed to do that.

But god, it would be nice if people could just take the bashing below an eleven around this place. The number of times I’ve had to sigh and back-button out of reading something, because yet another author has decided to project their own hatred for Mia onto the husband who’s still reeling from watching her being violently murdered in front of him… it gets fucking old, y’know?

I would really like to think that in the year of our lord 2024, fandom would be a bit past this thing where they bash the canonical female love interest in the name of shipping the hero with another dude. People will bend over backwards to try and cast Heisenberg and Chris as guys who really care about consent and worry about Ethan getting hurt, because heaven forbid anyone be caught shipping something slightly problematic. And yet misogyny still somehow gets a pass.

You do not have to love Mia. You don’t even have to like her. But ye gods, the hate she gets is baseless and absurd.

Hasn't this poor woman suffered enough?

(And on that note, I promise I am finally done soapboxing in defence of Mia Winters, thank you for bearing with me for this long.)

#Mia Winters #Ethan Winters #mithan #Resident Evil Village #Resident Evil #Resident Evil 7 #RE lore #meta #Mia Winters week

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blueteller · 8 months

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Finally figured out what's wrong with Harol's design

So – ever since Harol's design came out in the manhwa, it's been driving me crazy, and NOT in a good way.

The problem is this – I took one look at this guy and thought: "That's not Harol." And I couldn't get rid of the impression since then.

I couldn't pinpoint what was exactly wrong. There didn't seem to be anything particularly wrong... Only that there wasn't anything right about it. The design was definitely missing something.

When I pictured Harol before this moment, I kinda pictured him looking similar to Hilsman, except maybe younger? And a bit more rugged, with a some facial scars or something. A labcoat, maybe. Some bloodstainds. Definitely a more "soldier from the battlefield" look.

Remember: this character didn't show up to this meeting from a peaceful environment. The Whipper Kingdom's army canonically fought a very bloody battle immediately before this. There is no way he'd look this clean when showing up to meeting Cale, even if he DID try to clean up to meet foreign guests.

Finally, a discussion with someone on discord helped me realize what is exactly wrong here.

This Harol... looks every bit like the aristocratic world of mages that he hates.

Think about it. If this was Harol in the past – it would make sense. A scientist, working for the goverment. One of the intelligence class. A clean slate. But underneath, a rage at the abuse of power and human experiments would be boiling. A thirst for blood. And eventually... this clean-looking, civil man, would utterly SNAP, grab a freaking axe or something and start murdering magic users alongside many others, in an attempt to erase all of them from existence.

This Harol does not look like he went through that yet.

He doesn't look like a man who abandoned civility, who murdered aristocrats, who planned to do so to other mages in the future. This character does not look like he has blood on his hands, like he thought through brutal battles. He should have been stained, with a lot less polished hair, definitely stubble – don't tell me they bothered with such personal hygiene on a battlefield?? – and most importantly, a savage look under the thin vail of civility shown to Cale as a potential business partner.

If Harol looked like this later in the story – after he settled down, started rebuilding Whipper Kingdom, cooled down his bloodlust et cetera – he could have looked like this again. But at this point, it doesn't make sense at all. He has no excuse looking this clean. He's a human, not a Whale of a Dragon.

You see, Toonka wasn't supposed to be handsome in the book, but his design at least makes sense. It still feels right, because it's wild and aggressive. Not so with Harol.

So here's the problem. Harol's manhwa design doesn't reflect his current characterization. In fact, it goes directly against it. And I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one who felt that way.

#tcf #trash of the count's family #lcf #lout of the count’s family #cale henituse #harol #tcf harol #book vs manhwa #this is not the harol i know #harol is a minor character but that doesn't mean he didn't have a defined personality #it was described pretty clearly in the book #how can you mess that up??#this is the glutton's tree all over again

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jacevelaryonswife · 1 year

Text

I’m hunting you down tonight

You began to imagine him panting beneath your body, strong hands on your hips as you rode him fiercely. In some daydreams, his image was bloodied after you brutally hit him in the face with a axe.

∴pairing: Ettore x Fem!reader

∴warning and a note: mature content, mentions of murder, porn, smut, carnal activies, indecency and all the synonyms. By the way, I know Ettore is a piece of shit, but is Ewan Mitchell so… boom, fuck that. English isn’t my first language.

The option of being sent into space was not at all attractive. It was an experimental mission, it didn't take a genius in aerospace engineering or any shit like that to figure that out, after all, why would they choose someone like you for a glorious purpose? The account didn’t close. There was no light at the end of the tunnel, just a dense black hole swallowing your hopes of a minimally decent life every day spent on that ship, although you knew that not a single hair of yours deserved peace or happiness after what you did, especially for never to have regretted the harm you caused. It was innate to your nature. Still, you quickly agreed and submitted to the experiment — or were transferred to another prison — when the proposal arrived. Anything to get out of that disgusting hole where your confinement resided. However, the last few days have been too suffocating with the prospect of the future. There wasn't one on earth and there wouldn't be one on another planet, even if at times your optimism lit with a minimum portion of faith. Only to be trampled by the terrifying reality.

That was worse, everything on that ship was worse. Your thoughts turned violent, yearning for an axe to kill every motherfucker who shared the same air as yours, the memory of the blood in your body too vivid to dissipate. Until one day the air was absent from your lungs and a violent crisis took over your body, leading you to unbridled tears. You hated such vulnerability and fear, maybe even a little regret for your past actions, which was almost pathetic to think about, but if there was anything to be gleaned from it, it was the fact that none of your peers saw the situation, which you were mortally grateful. Maybe the extreme condition finally started to get to you, or maybe you were going crazy. Maybe both, but in a moment of awareness you recognized two options: succumb to madness and be soon murdered by some member of the mission, or fight to stay sane.

You've seen fit to walk the threshold between the two.

Over the next few days you developed a hyper focus on trivial activities to try to fend off some of the inner turmoil. The first victim was the floor, which you spent hours compulsively cleaning — and taking out a good deal of your fury. The final feeling was relaxing, although your arms ached from the aggressive scrubbing of the floor. It worked for a good few days, but the euphoria started to rebuild and you suddenly felt more stressed than ever. That night you almost punched your mate, however it seemed less detrimental to your stay to choose to leave the room and wander the aisle to take your anger out elsewhere. That's where you saw him.

Tall, thin, dark blond hair and a few tattoos along his body. You didn't know his name, you hadn't even paid attention to him before, but now he was all you could see. Him and his toned, deliciously exposed arms, his back to you as he masturbated to the disgusting sight of Dr. Dibs. Maybe that was the biggest proof of how reality could affect people, but you didn't care, especially when a low moan was emitted by him, making your pearl vibrate. That was the first time you wanted him, but not the last. For the next few days your focus was entirely on him, or as you recently found out: Ettore.

He had a reputation for not talking much and almost begging for sex from any pussy he saw. He wasn't nice or nice, but then neither were you. Mostly observant, horny and stupidly hot. The heat between your thighs wasn't common, you didn't used to be a sexual person, but then again, the reality lived before is no more, just a black hole about to drive you crazy. You began to imagine him panting beneath your body, strong hands on your hips as you rode him fiercely. In some daydreams, his image was bloodied after you brutally hit him in the face with heavy metal. A truly interesting dichotomy.

But if there's anything to point out, it was almost funny how he hadn't noticed your insistent, scrutinizing gaze. You were like a mouse: fast, good at hiding and could slip through dark places unnoticed. In fact, you were one of the few prisoners who didn't tend to draw attention, which was a plus point in pulling you away from any existing focus on the ship. And as a result, that night, you had reached the limit. It was time to hunt.

You knew he was out most nights to prowl the ship, especially to watch the girls' room like a fucking pervert. He wore only a pair of black shorts to cover his body, walked slowly down the hall until he saw you, his icy blue irises immediately confronted you as you stood sideways against the wall with an almost soft expression and seductive eyes. It wouldn't be that difficult to lure him, you thought, shifting off the wall and strolling back lazily, swaying your hips and turning for one last conscious look. Message given and understood, as he followed you slowly to the small room where the cleaning materials were kept.

Pausing at the entrance, Ettore peered into the room before closing the door, slowly approaching and placing his hands on your waist. Grasping his chin, you brought him closer for a warning:

“If you cum inside me, I'll rip your cock off with my mouth and burn your balls.”

He tried to lean in more, but you stopped him, waiting for the answer.

“I fucking understood.”

“Good.”

You turned against the door and brought him with you, attacking his lips hungrily. He was quick to reciprocate, holding your body impossibly close as he pressed you to the door. There was no romance or shyness, just an insane need for carnal contact burning through your body. He was quick to grope your breasts through your blouse, cupping, kneading and rolling them both in his palm desperately, pulling away from the kiss to remove the fabric and expose your skin to his needy touch. He seemed mesmerized by the naked part of your hot body, rhythmically touching and squeezing every bit possible. It was no different for you as your hands traced every pattern possible on his defined abdomen, leaning down to plant kisses and licks on his deliciously smooth and smooth chest. Immediately he stopped touching your breasts and pulled down his pants to reveal his semi-hard cock, raising your hands above your head and kissing you hard, grinding his cock just above your pelvis. You let go of one of his hands and cupped his jaw, before threading your fingers into the hair at the back of his neck and making him moan softly.

He slipped his tongue into your mouth and cupped your breast again, massaging and pulling between his fingers, reaching down with his other hand to cup your ass. You sighed into the kiss and bit his lower lip, giving him room to pull away and pull down your pants and panties at the same time, fully exposing your body as he knelt in front of you and held your waist, smelling your inner thighs and warm pussy, licking a long swath before sinking fully into your shell like a starving man. A long, high-pitched moan left your throat, tugging at his hair and pushing your back further against the door. The heat of his tongue along with his sharp nose against your clit was pure bliss, and all you did was spur him on by moaning his name like a horny bitch, bringing him to his feet almost immediately after one last sloppy lick all over your pussy and the kisses and bites down your stomach, lashing and sucking on both your breasts. You turned and braced your hands on the wall, spreading your legs and pushing your ass out so he could thrust his warm cock into your wet folds, pushing your ass further so he was fully inside.

“Fuck,” he moaned before he gripped your ass and waist possessively and began to fuck you deliciously. The rhythm he moved in and out of you was deliciously steady, the smallest of thrusts and touches on your body making you tighten around him. “So fucking good,” he smacked your ass, rushing to cup your breast as he brought your back to his chest. Your head fell back against him, closing your eyes to sink fully into the way his cock fucked your soft walls so well and the obscene sounds of wet flesh slamming together filled the room. The hand that was on your chest latched onto your neck and moved up to your jaw, forcing you to look up at him.

“Give me more, Ettore,” you asked.

And just like that, he let go your face and backed you up against the door to smack you like a dog in heat, gripping your hips to thrust harder every second, making it almost impossible not to moan freely as you'd like. Your hips began to move together, chasing the hot delicious length. When your back straightened, providing a more vertical angle, his cock brushed against your sweet spot and had you clenching and shuddering against his cock, moaning in response. He squeezed your ass again, thrusting deeper and more unrestrained before rubbing his palm against your pussy, spreading your wetness and stimulating your clit in time with his movements, buildin your orgasm in such a rush that white light blinded your vision temporarily as the coil burdt, your body vibrating and squeezing his cock as you milked him.

“Fucking hell,” he pulled out of your pussy quickly and began to jerk off close to your ass, coming in with a throaty moan as he spilled his seed onto your skin.

When your breathing normalized, you stifled a satisfied smile, the chill of the door bringing a nice jolt against your breasts. From your position, Ettore grabbed your ass and pulled you close, kissing and smelling your hair and neck, just to ask:

“When will we see again?”

——————

“fucking” reads “fooking” in Ewan Mitchell accent.

@tssf-imagines @arcielee 👀

#ettore high life #ettore #ettore x reader #ettore smut #smut #ewan mitchell #ettore x you

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wistfulwatcher · 1 year

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misty quigley is a lesbian; a comphet reading of her deprivation tank "realization"

in rewatching misty's deprivation tank therapy, i'm more convinced than ever that misty is a lesbian suffering from compulsory heterosexuality. the entire scene, from start to finish, is about misty accepting that walter has feelings for her (not the other way around), and learning to push through her discomfort with that fact.

the deprivation tank scene begins by establishing that misty is afraid. we see quick transitions and hear bubbling water and see a terrifying fish coming at the camera with sharp teeth. followed by a slightly softer stream of images of walter, interspersed with memories of crystal, and of caligula. misty is thinking about three key relationships in this moment: walter, who is actively pursuing her; crystal, whom she loved and hurt and misses; and caligula, who is the only creature that both loves her, and she loves back.

love is the concept that ties these three together: walter is who she could love, crystal is who she did love, and caligula is who she does love.

and so the memories fade into her fantasy sequence, led by caligula, and he begins to soothe her. this creature that represents real (platonic, obviously) love to her (in that it is true and reciprocated, more than she feels it is with any human) tells her "shake off your blues/i'll set the mood for ya". caligula is acknowledging her fear and her loss, and telling her that he can fix it. that he has an answer that will make all of her problems go away.

which is when walter appears, looking like the leading man in a classic musical; an idealized romantic interest, one her fantasy has turned from a real man into a fictional character. and what does he do? performs for her. misty (per the directions of the song, to just "sit right down") sits and watches. she does not interact with him, because she (and her attraction) is not a part of this. one element of comphet is the inability to picture yourself in a fantasy with a man; misty does not put herself with walter, she does not join him.

and while he and caligula perform, three items float around the screen: the plane axe, a syringe, and the black box (which fluctuates between intact and exposed). these three items are such a fascinating choice, because they, 1) all relate to the actions she took in her need to be useful and appreciated, but 2) also represent some of the ugliest things she has done (at a time when she has recently been thinking about what kind of person these things make her). she is thinking about these moments (her behavior with ben, murdering jessica, and stranding the team/breaking crystal's trust) that cause her great discomfort, at the same time she is trying to convince herself that walter is what she needs. she is comparing the discomfort she has with walter's interest and the validation she would feel from a relationship, to the way she's felt about all of these other bad things she's felt compelled to do.

while these items float, caligula sings, "now sit right down/let your troubles melt away/and you'll be sitting pretty in the moonlight gaze". continuing to tell her to push through the discomfort; just let it go. and if you do? "moonlight gaze" is such an interesting choice, because the moon is most strongly symbolic of women. if she lets go and has this relationship with walter, the other women will think she's normal. (especially after just a few hours prior to this, natalie had said, "we're all like this, aren't we?" this is her chance to prove nat wrong, for misty's own sake and/or for nat's!) this is not the first time misty has displayed behavior suggesting that it's important to her that natalie (and other people in general) see her as desirable as a romantic/sexual prospect: telling natalie about her dates on the road trip to travis, "i bet he thinks we're hookers!" said with glee in the jail, "i have a secret boyfriend, too," whispered to natalie in '96. if she decides to accept walter's interest (a man who is so into her that he is literally fine with her being a serial killer!), then maybe the other girls will see how worthy misty is of affection and attention.

once the dance number is over, misty immediately goes to speak with caligula; again, in her fantasy about loving walter, she doesn't interact with walter. instead she seeks caligula out, because he is the one she feels a real connection to; he is the one who knows her and can reassure her - the one whose reassurance will mean something. (walter, a man she barely knows, has been nothing but a concept to her in this fantasy, and that doesn't change.) misty's conversation with caligula is emotional; she is clearly bothered by the idea that other people see her as a murderer. but caligula doesn't give her an emotional response or solution; instead, he tells her she's a "closer". he points out that, even when things are rough (i.e., even though she doesn't like how walter makes her feel), she can persevere and accomplish her goals. it is this reminder that causes misty to transition the scene to to the final piece.

and oh boy, is that final scene a goldmine. because it begins with a close-up on misty's childhood phone. the phone that becky called her on back in 1992, to tell her that she was disgusting. that no man would want her, and that she would never find "a victim" to sleep with. that moment was foundational for misty's issues, for her desire to be wanted and needed in '96, and her deep need to receive validation from men in '21. this scene is so crucial to understanding misty's relationship to comphet, because one of the key facets is wanting a man to see you as desirable, because that is a woman's value in a misogynistic society. this hits misty so especially hard because she's not just lacking interest and validation from men in school; she hasn't been getting recognition from anyone. (for her to break the black box after just a few hours of receiving positive attention? she was starving for it.)

and so walter calls her on the phone - their backs to each other, literal and emotional distance between them - and starts to tell her that he loves her. but he doesn't say the words. instead he uses morse code to send "uoyevoli": "i love you", backwards. a fascinating choice, because it could be argued that the morse code is representative of their shared love of puzzles as crime solvers. but why backwards? surely the symbolism of the puzzle connection has been satisfied by the morse code.

it's because misty doesn't want to hear "i love you." she wants the implication of walter's desire, she wants to know she has value, but she doesn't want the actual feelings. she wants him to say i love you in a way she can't feel. she wants him to call her and turn his back so she can do the same. she wants to "get the ball over the goal line" and to do that she needs this level of distance.

so this scene with walter? it isn't about walter; it's about recreating that brutal memory. it's about rewriting her past. in her fantasy, walter calls her to prove that becky was wrong, that he is choosing misty because she is desirable. that he does want her. and this is so key because this whole scene is about how walter feels. that walter wants her. in misty's "realization" that she wants to be with walter, it isn't about her feelings at all. the purple flowing line of love comes from walter, the words "i love you" - twisted as they may be - come from walter. misty's only role in her fantasy is to "sit right down" and accept her role; surrender to the fact that walter is the right choice.

and when she does, when she finally, finally comes to the end of this moment, she still doesn't interact with walter. the natural progression of a love confession is physical contact. a kiss, or a relieved embrace. misty seeks neither! in this fantasy of hers where she can have anything, she makes no effort to acknowledge walter at all. instead, she turns to caligula, representative of her real connections. and she celebrates her victory with him. misty can close this deal, can get through this decision she's made, by clinging to the people she does actually care about.

#misty quigley #yellowjackets #yellowjackets meta #yellowjackets spoilers #misty x crystal #crystal x misty #(just a little)#mistynat #(also just a little - i do think there is a specific mistynat argument to be made about caligula's similarities to nat #and an argument about misty viewing nat as a bird this season but that would need its own post)#mine #wordles #~#meta #that fantasy scene was fucking WILD and i feel like we learned SOOOO much about misty so here's this slice of it bc misty's gay!!!!#now all that being said do i think all of this is intentional? no #but it works!! and i DO think that at least 40% of it was intentional even if they don't mean for it to be read as her being a lesbian #just her having ~issues with walter that will be unraveled soon #anti wisty #to be safe but this really isn't about him or their relationship

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scintillyyy · 3 months

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and actually, while there are certainly a lot. Lot. of criticisms to made re: dixon & his writing of steph and the sexism therein (although, it's very prevalent and like 'yea that's bad' but also sometimes it's like. well, it's not actually necessarily significantly more or out of the ordinary than most other 80s & 90s media in comparison) (listen i grew up taking out jem and the holograms vhs's from blockbuster every week, there is actually no amount of bullshit that can ever top the jerrica/rio/jem bullshit for me, i am highly desensitized here (two of those people are the same person. one is a man who, for unexplained reasons, really, really, really hates liars in any way, shape, or form)), i do feel that because he's such a reprehensible person there's a lot of. hm. malice retroactively attributed to him re: his writing of steph on account of the way that she was treated after he stopped writing her that is not actually there in the text & in fact is completely at odds with his long-term plans & ideas & hopes for her story & the fact that he was very vocally unhappy with the direction editorial took with her after he was removed.

like he did not write her as messing up & being reckless & being as less skilled because he didn't like her or he wanted readers to dislike her or anything. (i'd argue it's the opposite, actually). her story through his writing is one where she would have eventually received the full acceptance she deserved, which is why he eventually wanted to culminate her success into temporarily becoming robin, the ultimate reward, & in fact his plans for that story is that she would be so super amazing at it because of her determination and hard work and the only reason it wouldn't have worked out long term is because bruce would want to protect her. it's why towards the end of his run writing her she finally was receiving the full acceptance he felt she deserved from both batman & the birds of prey, she was finally in the know as far as tim's secret & getting more integrated into the batfam as a whole, & she was finally gaining tentative acceptance and mentorship from dinah which would put her on more equal footing with cass & tim. a classic rags to riches story.

it was murderer/fugitive and the removal of his influence for her character where things actually start to go south for her, under editorial directive. if you're thinking her finally being completely kicked out over one minor mistake vs just chided but in general allowed to continue regardless, you're thinking devin grayson in gotham knights. if you want to talk about a batman who thinks that steph is a weak link who's going to get hurt with her recklessness (and that gets reinforcedby the narrative by her continuing to act reckless, and lying to tim about a lot of things) you're thinking lewis. if you're thing just making her abjectly terrible at things for the explicit purpose of justifying her being not good enough and undeserving at doing this, you're talking about willingham & dc editorial deciding to axe her character. in comparison, if you look at her being dropped by the birds of prey, written by dixon, you get dinah giving her a talk about how talented steph is, it's just that dinah is not her mentor & can't give her the attention she needs (probably the absolute kindest rejection she gets in that era where dixon is being transitioned out and i think it's notable that he wrote such a kind rejection in comparison to everyone else's at the time).

#anyways. i think i'm done thinking about this for now.

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lunar-years · 3 months

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Imo, Beard was warming up to Jamie but then after Man City/ Beard After Hours he appointed himself unofficial watchdog for Jamie and decides that he needs to know where Tartt Sr is and make sure he is away from Jamie. Because everyone saw the locker room incident, Jamie looking like a terrified little kid, but Beard is only other person who knows how truly dangerous Tartt Sr can be and the reality of what that kid went through. He barely escaped with his life and hes not going to let Tartt and his two cronies anywhere near Jamie again if he can help it. Also if Beard ever found out about Amsterdam they'd find him sharpening axes and booking a train ticket up to Manchester

definitely! obviously Beard's got the most firsthand knowledge of anyone at Richmond (apart from Jamie himself) of what James is capable of based upon the up close personal experience of James nearly murdering him. And also I agree with the assessment other people in the fandom have made that beard shows signs of having his own history of abuse/child abuse. So I think he does understand Jamie on a certain layer no one else can, not even Jamie's closest friends, Roy, Keeley etc...by virtue of similar circumstances.

As an aside, I sort of hope for Jamie's sake he never found out what James and his cronies did to Beard. I think there's a side of Jamie that feels like he can "handle" the abuse his dad dishes out because it's confined to Jamie himself, but if his dad ever hurt one of Jamies friends or coworkers, just by their association to Jamie, it would really break him badly and be much harder for him to heal from. The fact that Beard got hurt specifically because he stepped in to HELP Jamie when he was being abused? Kind of a Worst Fear Confirmation to Jamie. Anyone he lets get close to him winds up worse off for it. The people he cares about and who care about him in turn get Punished for it, and it's Jamie to blame, which is proof he should have never let anyone care about it to begin with it. Just kind of a truly horrific worst case scenario for him, I think.

#coach beard #jamie tartt #ted lasso #tw abuse

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sihtricfedaraaahvicius · 1 year

Text

warnings: (angst/fluff) mention of blood, loss, alcohol, abuse, hints of depression.

pairing: Sihtric x you (f)

summary: you had loved Sihtric since you were young, but a lot of things happened and changed since then.

word count: 4k

Note: requested by @lady-targaryens-world, I hope I did some justice to your idea and didn't go overboard too much. Also This isn't fully in line with the series timeline I think, but hey. Oh, it's nearly 3am, I can't see straight anymore so forgive me for any errors.

taglist: @clairacassidy @finanmoghra @uunotheangel @bathedinheat @hb8301

'You are nothing like the boy I fell in love with.'

'What are you smiling for, little sister?' Uhtred asked.

'Nothing,' you smiled.

'I think she likes a boy,' Thyra teased.

'A boy?' Uhtred taunted, 'without our permission?'

'He's just a friend!' you said and stormed off, cheeks red.

What did they know? The boy was your friend, your best friend. He was just as old as you were and you had met him in the forest, as you were pretending to be a warrior on a hunt. You were just a little girl when you first met, but now you are getting to the age of becoming a young woman. And yes, you liked him. You liked him a lot. But no one could know because the young man, who you met as a little boy, was Sihtric. Sihtric Kjartansson.

And everyone knew that Kjartan and Ragnar did not get along. As you both grew up, it became harder to see each other and keep it a secret from everyone else. But countless nights you had both escaped your families and you'd spent the night together in the forest, hidden away, talking about everything you could think of. There was always laughter and sometimes tears were shed too. And if one was wounded, the other would take care of it.

It felt like an unbreakable bond until that one night.

You were woken by screams and the smell of fire. You had managed to sneak out of your camp as Kjartan and his men had set it ablaze, killing everyone, and those not dead were captured. You had managed to run into the forest, hoping you'd find Sihtric as you always felt safe with him and desperately wanted to have his arms around you now. But you never saw him that night, or any night after that. Uhtred and Brida did find you in the forest as your family was murdered, and they brought you to safety. You all mourned your family but you also mourned the loss of your best friend, who seemed to have vanished. And you mourned the fact that your brother, young Ragnar, had no idea about all this and Uhtred would have to tell him once he came back from his journey.

Uhtred and Brida took good care of you ever since and taught you how to fight. Uhtred had made you one of the best shield-maiden he had ever seen and said you were a natural. But Uhtred didn't know that Sihtric had taught you a lot of things about fighting. Sihtric had said he taught you how to protect yourself, for maybe one day he couldn't be there to protect you, and you always wondered if he knew what his father had been up to and if that was why Sihtric had never shown himself again.

-------

And so years went by, but you never forgot about Sihtric, you just came to terms with the fact that he was gone. You often wondered if he was dead, and it always made you sick to your stomach. The thought would always occur during a battle. You feared that you would look down at the man you had just brought to his knees with your axe into his chest, only to see Sihtric's duo coloured eyes look up at you, as the life would fade out of them. But it never happened. You somehow always hoped you would find him as your eyes darted over the surviving warriors after a battle. But that also never happened.

You had looked for the company of other men as years passed by, hoping they would sweep you off your feet and make you forget all about Sihtric. But that too never happened. No one made you feel like he had done, and you always told yourself he was your best friend, but as you got older you knew he had been your soulmate. And no one could ever take his place in your heart, even if he was dead.

---------

'Sister!' Uhtred called across the town, and he gestured you over.

'What?' you hissed.

'Go to the stables and keep an eye on my new servant.'

You frowned.

'Not really a servant,' Uhtred rolled his eyes, 'we captured him and he attacked Halig.'

'What? Halig?'

'Halig is fine,' Uhtred said quickly, 'the young man didn't want to hurt Halig, he wanted to offer me his sword for his life. He has sworn loyalty to me and he can help us with our revenge on Kjartan,' he smiled.

'Kjartan?' your eyes grew wide.

You knew Uhtred and Ragnar still wanted revenge, and so did you, the plan was just never solid enough.

'I know how much you love to take care of the horses, and I need someone I trust to keep a close eye on him for a while, until he has proven his loyalty. So, go.'

You sighed and knew you wouldn't win this, so you went to the stables. Uhtred knew you were too good for this kind of task, but Uhtred knew you were good at observing people. And if the man was to try anything, you'd slit his throat in a heartbeat.

When you reached the stables you saw the "servant" with his back turned to you as he was brushing one of the horses. You watched him for a moment, several paces away, as he was unaware of your presence. You looked him up and down and smirked at the sight of his muscular arms. You were happy that Uhtred finally took in someone who might be a pleasure to the eyes, instead of the other men in his crew. You were curious about the man's face and you took a step closer.

'So, you wish to serve Uhtred then?' You grinned as you had startled him, causing him to drop the brush and freeze, his eyes looking at his feet, his back still turned to you.

'Y-yes, my lady, I have given Lord Uhtred my word.'

'Lord Uhtred,' you giggled, 'and what is your name?'

'Sihtric, my lady,' he said, and you froze to his words.

Sihtric? Your Sihtric? The one who knew all your secrets since childhood, the one who just disappeared when you needed him the most?

'Is… is something wrong, my lady?' he asked after a while of silence, still not facing you.

You took a deep breath, 'Sihtric Kjartansson?'

The man turned around. Both your jaws dropped and eyes grew big at the sight of each other. You felt your heart skip a beat, and so did his, and you couldn't find the right words. He was incredibly handsome, he grew up just fine, and you were so happy to see him alive. But you were also still hurt about how he had just left your life. You didn't know if you wanted to hug him or punch him right between his mismatched eyes. But honestly, you could never punch Sihtric and the sight of him in front of you made you feel butterflies in your stomach.

'I,' Sihtric started, but he got interrupted as Uhtred appeared.

'Sihtric, I need you to tell me all about Dunholm, now.'

'Yes, lord.'

Uhtred smiled and nodded at you, 'Check if he cleaned the horses well enough,' and he walked away. Sihtric followed him, but not before he stopped right in front of you, looking deeply into your eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, but Uhtred once again interrupted.

'Sihtric, stay away from my sister!'

'Yes, lord!'

And so he did.

--------

Weeks had passed and Sihtric had only looked at you from afar. He had promised Uhtred to not get close to you, but he also felt ashamed and guilty for what had happened to your family. Sihtric hadn't been aware of his father's plans until the day itself and he hadn't been there when it happened either, for he had tried to sabotage his fathers plans, but was caught by his brother, Sven. And Sven had beaten him unconscious and locked him up before they marched. When the men came back days later, Sihtric was beaten and tortured by his father and brother, and they proudly told Sihtric how they had set fire to your camp.

Ever since that day he assumed you were dead, a feeling he could barely live with, but simply had to all this time. He mourned you, every day, causing him to rebel against his father even more, which made Sihtric's life a living hell. But he felt he deserved all the beatings and degradings for failing to protect you. You were his best friend, his only real friend, and he had told you how Kjartan abandoned him as he was a bastard, and he always ran to you when he was younger after he had been beaten by his father.

You were the only person who Sihtric allowed to touch him, as you mended his wounds, and he never told you, but he really only felt safe in your arms and he had felt lost ever since that brutal attack. But now he knew you were still alive and felt he just couldn't face you after everything. He felt he had abandoned you, because he never went looking for you, and he felt that his heart still jumped at the sight of you, as it had always done. He always told himself you were his best friend, but deep down he knew you were his soulmate, and he could never love anyone the way he loved you. But he felt you were distant, and he didn't blame you. He thought it was better to leave you be. You deserved happiness and he felt he was not deserving to be a part of that, he didn't deserve you. And so he'd find himself in the alehouse each evening, trying to drink away his feelings for you. And when that didn't work he'd go to a brothel, trying to find a woman for the night who could make him forget about you. Yet he always found himself looking for a woman who looked like you, but he never found her, because they weren't you.

------

A lot had happened since Sihtric's arrival. Uhtred and Halig had been sold as slaves, and as time passed you and Sihtric only grew apart more. Sihtric had proven himself loyal to Uhtred, being part of the plan to free Uhtred and Halig, and you had to give him some respect for that. Unfortunately, Halig never returned, but Uhtred did and he came with an Irishman named Finan, who you quickly grew fond of.

------

You had been visibly upset lately, even more so than before. Uhtred and Ragnar kept asking what had happened to you, but you never spoke the whole truth. You told them that you felt anger and sadness, for there soon would be revenge on Kjartan and were nervous about Thyra. Uhtred told you a while ago that Thyra was still alive, as Sihtric had told him, and she was held captive. You had been kept in the dark about their plan to attack, as your brothers insisted, they knew you were a fierce fighter but they didn't want to involve you as they worried about the state you were in and saw it as a weakness. Which you told them also had hurt you. And that wasn't a lie, but you couldn't tell your brothers that you were also heartbroken by the fact that the man you had always loved had been within arms reach for a long time now, but he wouldn't even look into your eyes. You felt as if you were nothing to him, as if you had never been anything to him. You felt as if he purposely got drunk in front of you before slacking off to a whore, one he had apparently married at some point, which you only recently found out, causing you to spiral even more.

Sihtric made you so angry and it pained you so much that he didn't seem to understand that he didn't need to numb himself and hump his frustration out with a stranger. It broke your heart that he never considered sneaking off with you, into the woods close by, like you had done when you were young. And you thought he was just too dumb, like any other man, to understand that you wanted to be the one who would kiss his worries away and make him feel good. And when you saw Sihtric tonight, as he stumbled out of the brothel once again, you got up and followed him.

'What are you even doing?' you scoffed as you had followed him into a narrow, empty street.

'Hmm?' Sihtric hummed as he turned around.

It was dark, yet you could tell there was still a tipsy glance in his eyes, but he wasn't fully drunk anymore, at least humping a whore had probably sobered him up a little.

'What happened to you?'

'What do you mean?' he frowned.

'Really?' you scoffed again, 'you are dumber than a pig's arse. What happened to that boy I met as a child?'

'A lot of time has passed since you met that boy,' Sihtric spoke with a soft but stern voice, slightly slurring here and there.

'Yes, there has. And so, what, you just come here after all those years, back into my life without saying a word to me? Only making me watch you get drunk and hump nearly every night? Such a good friend, you are, after all that time,' you spat as you stepped closer to him.

'And that's all I am to you!' he hissed, before suddenly raising his voice, 'a friend! I'm just your friend!' You watched as Sihtric sighed and looked down to his feet. Then he chuckled and shook his head, before he stepped closer and looked back up at you, 'What do you care about how I spent my nights… and with whom?' he nearly whispered, but his face was so close to yours, that you could hear every word clearly.

'Because I care about you!' you snapped, 'because we used to share every secret with each other! Yet now I have to hear from the other men that you married some… some whore! Because she said she loved you?! After how much silver did she tell you!?'

'She loves me!' he suddenly yelled.

'Oh, Sihtric, does she really?' you scoffed and rolled your eyes.

'She does! She does love me!' Sihtric's voice broke as he yelled, 'she says she loves me! And no one else ever told me they loved me!'

You watched how Sihtric stepped away from you as his lip trembled and tears formed in his eyes, 'you don't even love me,' he spoke bitterly.

'Sihtric,' you said calmly, trying to keep your voice steady as you fought your tears, 'you are nothing like the boy I fell in love with. He would've known I always loved him. That I still love him. But I guess he really did die somewhere, just as I had feared.'

You turned from him and walked away, calmly, as tears rolled down your face. And you cried yourself to sleep that night, not knowing Sihtric did the same, after he had thrown his wedding ring somewhere into the bushes before he dragged his feet home.

-------

Several days had passed and Uhtred had informed you that tomorrow they would march to Dunholm. You insisted on going with them to which Uhtred and Ragnar eventually agreed, but made you promise you wouldn't fight. At first light the next morning everyone was ready to go and so the three day journey started. Uhtred informed you of their plan during the day, even if you wouldn't fight, you had to know what would happen. Brida and Ragnar soon separated from the group with their own troops, and you stayed with Uhtred and his men. Soon the sun would set and you all stopped to make a camp. Uhtred told you to stand guard for the night which you agreed to. As darkness had taken over you sat far from the camp, but not too far, to have a good look out. Uhtred told you he would have someone take over from you during the night, and not much later you heard someone crouch down next to you. You sighed quietly when you saw it was Sihtric, the last man you wanted to see now, and you both sat in silence for a while.

'I divorced her,' Sihtric suddenly said quietly.

'What?' you snapped your head towards him.

'You were right,' he said, but he didn't meet your eyes and then he chuckled, 'everyone was right. She didn't really love me.'

He turned his face to look at you, 'no one really loves me,' he said with a weak smile and he clenched his jaw.

'That is not true,' you whispered, and you studied his scarred face. He was still beautiful, despite whatever pain was once inflicted on him and left its mark.

'You know... I hoped to find you in the forest that night, when… when… my family,' you stammered.

'I tried to stop Kjartan,' Sihtric gently interrupted, 'but Sven fought me and locked me up. Days later I heard what they did and I assumed you were dead. I should've looked for you eventually, but I never did. And I have carried that with me ever since. I wanted to be there for you, that night. But I… I was chained to a wall.'

A few tears escaped your eyes, and Sihtric gently wiped them away before he cupped your cheeks.

'I have never stopped thinking about you, and I mourned you. But then when I suddenly saw you again,' he paused, 'I couldn't bear looking at you. I failed you, and I will never forgive myself.'

'Sihtric,' you hushed him, 'you never failed me. At least you tried to stop Kjartan and you deserted him. But I assumed you were dead too. I hoped to find you in a battle, to know you were still standing, but I never saw you. Until you arrived with my brother.'

You sighed and Sihtric gently pressed his forehead against yours, to which you closed your eyes.

'Many days I wish I had died,' he whispered, 'until I saw you again. But I don't deserve to be around you. That is why I did what I did. I hoped the ale would make me forget you, and I clung onto the first woman who'd tell me she loved me, because I knew you would never be the one to say those words to me. I only tried to distance myself from you.'

'But I do love you, Sihtric,' you suddenly said, 'I love you. I have always loved you. And I know I always will. I have also looked for love in the wrong places, but no one could make me forget you. I could never love anyone the way I love you. And when I saw you behave the way you did, it just angered and hurted me. And I distanced myself too.'

'You love me?' Sihtric asked, he looked into your eyes and you found a shimmer of hope in them.

'I love you,' you said again, and felt a smile curl onto your lips as you watched Sihtric's expression soften, but he quickly frowned again.

'But I don't deserve you,' he said weakly as he shook his head.

'Sihtric,' you placed your hands onto his nape, 'you deserve all of my love, if you want my love, that is. But I will be your only woman and no one else will interfere with our love again if you will have me. And if you love me the same.'

'I want you, I mean, I, I,' Sihtric stammered, 'I love you.'

And he impulsively brought his lips to yours, locking you in a long, desperate kiss. And you kissed him just as desperately. You have wanted Sihtric to be yours since you were young, and now, here, he finally was yours. And you fell asleep in his arms as he continued to guard the camp the rest of the night.

You woke up just before dawn and kissed Sihtric passionately, before anyone else woke up, and you made your way back to your tent. The rest of the journey to Dunholm, Sihtric stayed close to you, but not too close to make it obvious to Uhtred, who would probably kill him for not staying away from his sister. You kept giving each other sweet and flirty smiles throughout the day, and as everyone had fallen asleep later that night, Sihtric came over to your tent and asked you to come with him. Without alerting Finan, who was now guarding the camp, Sihtric took your hand and sneaked you out with him further into the forest.

You giggled as you felt that sudden rush of excitement, sneaking away from camp with Sihtric, just like you had done when you were younger. But now you were a grown woman, and Sihtric was a grown man, yet you both giggled like youngsters. Until Sihtric pulled you close and guided you backwards until a large tree forced you to stop. You leaned back against the tree as you felt Sihtric's hands on your waist, and you brought your hands up to his shoulders. You both chuckled before he leaned in to give you a quick, soft kiss.

'My love, will you have me tonight?' he whispered, after which he kissed you again.

'Mhm,' you hummed and smiled against his lips, and you felt how Sihtric lifted you up into his arms, and after that night you knew you never wanted anyone other than Sihtric.

After you had woken up in your tent the next morning, alone, you knew today was the day to avenge your family. Sihtric had told you he would be happy to see his father die, and that you didn't have to worry about him, but you still did.

Sihtric had protected you when all hell broke loose in Dunholm later that day, he looked more secure than you'd ever see him before, and he insisted you stayed close to him until it was safe. You hadn't left his side when suddenly the square was made for Ragnar and Kjartan, and you felt anxious for Sihtric. As the two men fought, until death, you saw how tense Sihtric became and he shouted at Ragnar to kill Kjartan. Then Kjartan was suddenly on his back, and Ragnar stood above him.

'Sihtric,' you said, grabbing his hand, 'you don't have to watch.'

'I want to watch,' he growled, and he squeezed your hand before he pulled you into his chest, 'but I don't want you to see this.'

'I am a shield-maiden, Sihtric,' you smiled, 'I can handle this.'

Sihtric looked down at you with a tired smile, but his eyes grew big and head snapped back up as Ragnar was about to give the final blow to Kjartan. You heard everyone cheer, but you never saw Kjartan getting killed. Not because you didn't want to, but because you wanted to keep an eye on Sihtric, making sure he was okay. It was still his father, despite everything.

And at first Sihtric was ecstatic, there was pure joy on his face. But when Ragnar kept stabbing into Kjartan and the crowd slowly became silent, you saw how it all dawned on Sihtric. You watched his face drop, becoming almost deprived of emotion, and you wrapped your arms around him as he flinched.

'My love,' you whispered, 'you have seen enough,' and you gently pushed him backwards out of the crowd, which he allowed you to.

And later that night, when everything around you was safe and sound again, you took care of his wounds just like you had done when you were young. But this night you knew it was the last time any harm would befall Sihtric due to his father. It was also the night Sihtric promised you he would never leave your side again, and it was the same night he asked you to marry him.

#sihtric x you #sihtric x reader #sihtric kjartansson #sihtric #sihtric fic #sihtric kjartanson #the last kingdom fic #the last kingdom

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lilac-rose-writes · 3 months

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i've got @charismabee and i's reverse kindergarten au on the brain again so i'm gonna ramble about it <3

essentially, everyone's personality is the opposite of what it is in canon. for example, reverse-cindy is an absolute sweetheart with no interest in relationships; this carla is a goodie two shoes; applegate loves her job, etc. they're all trapped in a time loop, which everyone is aware of but the new kid.

this results in a lot of wacky hijinks as each of the k1 and later k2 students in turn go to kid for help with something. the time loop still ultimately ends whenever the principals' experiments are stopped, but a lot of elements are changed. take the first principal, for example, who still conducts illegal experiments but does it in the name of the "greater good". his son hates him, so he tries to bond with him through drugs (it doesn't work). monty wants to go unseen, so the principal secretly makes something to make him less noticeable, but it goes a little too far and now everyone keeps forgetting monty exists. nugget is being used as a test subject for the antidote. the mp kidnaps billy as an assistant to help with his experiments to avoid the truth getting out.

we planned out every one of the 150+ possible character dynamics in a separate doc. here, have some of the most chaotic lines from them-

Why is his arm broken? Danner blames science.

Billy doesn't care for the blond twins. He has more than enough twin in his life already.

Like it or not, Kid's a danger to the people around him even if Buggs is aware he's just being used, like a knife. And everyone knows bringing a knife to school is the worst idea ever.

Nugget has told Bob that Billy and Lily in particular are just The Worst, so Bob really doesn't like him, scoffing at the fact that Billy couldn't escape a basic kidnapping orchestrated by a mellow, middle-aged man.

Kid is so good at helping, he's gonna murder Felix so well. He loves being told what to do so much [:

Ozzy's like Cindy but dirtier. Lily is about ready to knock him out, only she's unwilling to touch him.

Ozzy doesn't like Bob. He's mean and rude and hits people with cleaning supplies and one time an axe.

Ridiculous! Cindy couldn't even be bullied right.

Monty is uncomfortable with all this love and validation.

the wip is 35000 words long, we have successfully traumatised and therapised everyone in succession, and things are going great :]

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retshirou · 11 months

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local egomaniac experiences pure unconditional love and devotion and doesn’t know how to process it

rambling about their relationship below the cut

Betrayus has always been kind of an enigma for people to place on how he’d handle romance and love in general, especially since he flip-flops so often between just being a manchild with massive insecurities and a guy who literally committed war crimes. for me, i think he IS lonely and DOES want adoration and care given to him, but at this point has only registered these things as things you have to earn, either through respect or (in his case) fear. he GREATLY exaggerates just how much he “suffered” growing up, but does still have the mentality that kindness is just a tool for manipulation, and that love is something that you have to fight your way to get, and even then any who shows it to him does it for superficial reasons. it’s both sad, but also a good reflection on the fact he himself is a dishonest and selfish person, balancing it out so its not TOO sympathetic.

that’s kinda where Paz comes in. she’s also kind of an enigma when it comes to love. compared to Betrayus, she is FULL of it, much more than any desire for evil or to cause harm. if she loved someone normal, she’d be seen as a very kind and compassionate person who’s a bit quiet and keeps to herself. but she doesn’t love someone normal, it’s BETRAYUS. all this compassion and pure unconditional love that’s held in her tiny heart is focused on this guy, this annoying high-strung and arrogant supervillain. and when her love is focused on someone, it’s loyal and dedicated to a detrimental degree. really, the things shes done for him should classify her as just as evil, if not more. but it’s weird, as its not exactly like an axe murderer obsession kind of love…

she genuinely cares about him and his happiness. she’s genuinely tired of seeing him angry and upset at the world 24/7, and wants nothing more than to put a smile on his face. she’d never force him to do anything he didn’t want, and she doesn’t even really mind if he never loves her back that way, as long as he’s got her as support. the populace gets terrorized by ghosts, and she performs problematic-to-terrifying kinds of spells for his plans, but all purely with the intent of making him happy because she loves him. it’s a weird situation of evil actions all with an endgoal that, by itself, is extremely wholesome and well-meaning. it reflects a weird detachment in her brain that as long as it makes Betrayus happy, its necessary. she can probably be classified as insane for this.

and Betrayus’s reaction to it… once it slowly registers with him just how deep this loyalty goes, he’s stunned. even if i think he both exaggerates and lies about HOW “cruel” everyone treated him in life, i do think the experience of unconditional love outside of his family is a foreign one to him. especially love he never had to earn. he’s done much more to logically prevent someone from ever seeing him in such a light, but here was Paz, ready to fight the world and Pac-God himself just for him. it wasn’t even someone loving him for their own benefit at the expense of his comfort like Ghoulasha, or because they wanted something out of him. for once, its someone that for whatever insane reason, just wants to see him happy and content and that was it. no strings attached. such a simple goal that, despite his superego, still perplexes him greatly.

there’s probably a nugget of self awareness deep inside that ego of his that he’s definitely the Worst, and everyone thinks this. so interacting with even just one person who disproves that opens that self awareness back up, and Betrayus is left completely bewildered. how is someone managing to say such sweet and sincere things to him? how is it they don’t want ANYTHING from him but his happiness? normally he’d be suspicious its all an act, but for what other endgoal there’s no clue for. everything Paz has done has always proven to be sincere, as she barely gains anything just for herself from the experiences working as his assistant. but still, her patience never weakens, and she still gives him that same adoring smile no matter how much he screws up or acts obnoxious. so as a result, for the first time he actually has to reflect and really try to absorb the kindness someone shares with him. to figure out how it makes him feel, and how to properly respond to it. does he have to be kind back now? he knows its his nature not to be. but the sincerity of it is infectious… and a small part of him actually wants to meet her love with his own positivity, to create more of this feeling. which of course has him feeling like he’s going soft/crazy. but eventually, he does realize this IS a feeling he enjoys having, of being loved unconditionally and wanting to give that love back.

considering what he learns of Paz’s own insecurities and her self-image issues (read my fic for more context), her love for Betrayus could partially be some kind of coping mechanism, to feel like she’s making a difference with someone by giving them something the universe deemed didn’t fit its system for them to have. but that’s just a small part, she really DOES love him and all his little obnoxious mannerisms. once Betrayus does catch wind of her low image of herself though, that and his growing enjoyment of sharing in her kindness gives him that FINAL push to actually step out of his ego and focus on bringing someone else up other than himself. an out of character move that has realistic motivations and development for it!

in the end, i DO think even a war criminal like Betrayus is capable of love, as he’s shown to have a lot more sad and kind of pathetic emotions going on beneath the bad-guy shtick. its something he wants deep down, but just needs to figure out how to handle it and respond to it so it doesn’t die immediately, and with Paz he’s given the patience and loyalty to figure it out on his own terms. and in turn, he realizes the person who loves him has ACTUAL problems of her own regarding her mental health and self esteem, and his ultimate act of understanding love is to help her with that and make her feel loved. so it comes full circle, and what was once a possible unhealthy coping mechanism becomes a healthy realtionship for both. 💖

so yeah. sorry that was so long, they just make me think too much

#pacman and the ghostly adventures #pmatga #lord betrayus #fanart #fan character #pacman oc #pacman sona #oc x canon #selfship #my art

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