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#but I understand her to a degree and it just makes me want to die
httpsserene · 4 months
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hey can I request something that’s angsty to fluff and then smut for Oscar where reader gets a ton of hate for dating Oscar so she kind of ghosts him for a bit and they figure things out
𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐢 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐰/𝐨𝐩𝟖𝟏
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📖𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: oscar really just wants to hear you laugh again. 📖𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴: 18+ only. angst. fluff. happy ending. reader is exhausted physically and mentally. reader's internal monologue is not not nice. bad eating habits. bad sleeping habit. self-deprecation. don't worry she's back on her bs at the end. reader neglects herself (?) and her relationship. implied self-sabotage. people are mean. don't worry oscar is meaner. oscar piastri is a good boyfriend. emotional hurt/comfort. tenderness. intimacy. baths and pampering. crying (non-sexy). implied sex. implied bath sex. logan and lando as plot devices. no beta we die like my will to live during finals. 📖𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 5.1k words. 📖𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: oscar piastri x fem!reader 📖𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: oneshot w/ blurbs. 📖𝘀𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗸: best i ever had • drake
𝗽𝗿𝗲𝗳𝗮𝗰𝗲: sorry it took me so long, i've changed this fic like multiple times :/ hope it fulfills you request properly :))) this is not my favorite thing in the world, i feel like if i went on a smaller scale i would've enjoyed this more but what can you do. this is also not very black reader coded? idk but feel like it's lacking there. i also apologize for my inability to write an oscar fic without including lando, he's such a willing plot device though even if he's a little ooc. i also couldn't find the mental space to write smut but there's smth for you at the end. dedicated to us women in stem! i hope you have fun reading this because i didn't have fun writing it :)
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oscar is worried. you haven’t responded to his texts for a week, he hasn’t seen your face for two weeks, and he hasn’t heard your voice for three weeks. four weeks ago, you told him you wouldn’t be able to fly out to see him at the austin grand prix, like you promised. you sounded exhausted and incredibly guilty when you explained that your course load this semester is extreme, and finals are rapidly approaching. oscar understood; he won’t ask you to sacrifice your education for one of his races, there will be plenty you can come to in the future. what he doesn’t understand is how you’re still functioning. it’s your senior year of university at an american ivy league school, you're pursuing an engineering degree, and you’re also working nearly five days a week as a barista. oscar thinks the last time he’s seen you relaxed is before your fall semester started, you spent your entire summer break with him, making appearances at the only three races you’ve been to this season (silverstone, hungary, and spa). the last time he recalls seeing your smile and hearing your laugh is in august—it’s the end of october now. 
you’ve been ghosting him. oscar wants to believe that it’s unintentional, that it’s just a side effect of the amount of work and pressure on your shoulders—but he can’t accept that. if you were unintentionally missing his calls, facetimes, and texts, you’d spam respond to all of them with a voice message or paragraphs of texts before you went to bed or class. you would send him daily or weekly recap videos of how life is treating you, like you used to do. you would send him stupid videos of you messing around on your shifts during a pause of customers. you would send him thirty reels a day on instagram of brain dead shenanigans with little captions of how you reacted, or if you thought it would make him smile. you would send him fit checks every morning before you went to class, even though your outfit consists of a hoodie and sweatpants. you would send him tiktok edits of himself and tell him that he needs to stop being ‘so hot’ because you almost barked in the middle of class. you would ask him how he’s doing, you would respond to his texts the minute you could even if it's hours late, you would leave him voicemails if he doesn’t pick up, you would make an attempt to communicate. 
except, you haven’t. so, he knows that you ignoring him is intentional, and that your lifestyle right now makes it easier for you to disguise your avoidance of him as accidental. 
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you didn’t say ‘i love you’ back. 
“mate, what are you frowning for?” oscar jumps, eyes flying up from the phone screen and meeting lando’s. the brit is staring at him in confusion, the two of them are still in their race suits, tied around their waists. the sprint race ended an hour ago, and they’ve just finished celebrating oscar’s win.
“you’ve won a race, oscar—what could possibly make you sad after that?” lando says teasingly. but, the smile on his face is quick to fade as he must see oscar’s dejected mood.
the australian debates his next move for a moment, before deciding that telling lando isn’t a bad idea; they’ve been getting closer—they’re friends, oscar would say. he sighs, and hands his phone to lando, maybe he’ll tell oscar he’s worrying over nothing.
“oh,” lando says, eyes widening, “i’m sorry, mate.”
oscar brushes off lando’s words, and buries his face in his hands, “she’s pulling away from me. that was five days ago, and she hasn’t answered any of my calls. she’s only responded to my texts since then with one word answers or very dryly. she’s ghosting me.”
oscar feels lando fumbling for words, not needing to look at him to know that the older man has no idea how to go about reassuring oscar.
“look, mate, if it were me i’d go see her anyways.”
oscar huffs, “she literally said she doesn’t have time.”
“oscar,” lando stares at him in disbelief, “she hasn’t seen you in two months. i guarantee she’s probably dying to see you again, fuck whatever time she doesn’t have. she also can’t ghost you, if you see her face to face. you should go and try to fix whatever’s wrong, before you let her slip away.”
“maybe…maybe she’s just burnt out,” oscar suggests shakily, “i’ll go see her after the triple header–i’m probably just overreacting about this. she’ll be back to her usual self in time.”
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oscar is enraged. he’s pissed off at his fans for attacking you in a sick twist of ‘defending him,’ ‘protecting him’ and the supposed ‘ownership’ they think they have over him. he’s pissed off at you deciding to ghost him instead of confiding in him about the hate you receive. he’s pissed off that his flight to you has been delayed for four hours. he’s pissed off at his race in brazil, if you can even call what happened a race. he’s pissed off at the fact that you can’t make time to see him before vegas. he’s pissed off that you lied to him about picking up extra shifts at the cafe.
he stalked through your instagram the minute after he was allowed to escape debrief, hunting down your roomates accounts from where you’ve tagged them in an older post. he innocently made a group message to the two girls, figuring it would be kind and proper to inform them of his impending arrival to surprise you. and the two girls you shared an apartment with responded eagerly to his message telling him that you’ve been extremely stressed and almost depressed this semester, and that hopefully his appearance will break through to you in a way they are unable to. oscar asked them if they knew your work schedule for the week, since you never told him when you're working–and learned that you lied. you didn’t accept any extra shifts, matter of fact, you got all of your shifts covered for the next two weeks. apparently, all you have been doing is going to class, working, studying furiously, and crying. when he asks if there’s any reason besides the stress from work and school that has you crying, the girls decline to speak for you, and strongly suggest that he asks you himself when he arrives. 
oscar’s no longer pissed at you for lying to him or for ghosting him–he’s hurt, but, he already understands your motive. you don’t want to worry him, so you bottle it up and distance yourself to not make him aware of how you're struggling. he won’t let you carry the weight of the world on your shoulders alone anymore, he’s going to see you and he’s going to take care of you, and then he’ll sort out the ignorant people on the internet.
when he’s at your apartment, you’ll be coming home from your last shift before your time off. and then, once he has you in his arms, he can make everything right again.
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your hands are shaking; a result from the mix of stress and exhaustion that has been plaguing you for a few weeks. it takes you four and a half attempts to unlock the front door to your apartment—this is an improvement, yesterday it took you six times. a trembling sigh of relief exits your lungs as you shut the front door, triple checking that you lock the door properly. you remove all of your outerwear and slip out of your shoes, half-heartedly making an attempt to neatly place them in the organizer you have by the door. (you fail to register how there’s only two pairs of shoes stored away; yours and a pair of shoes that look too big to be one of the girls you live with—the usual sneakers the girls wear are nowhere to be seen.) you grunt as you tenderly put on your backpack and slowly make your way into the kitchen, off-handedly murmuring a “hi,” in the direction of the living room since you can hear the tv playing, but you don’t even spare a glance to see which roommate it is—you can’t stomach anymore human interaction today.
your walk is more of a waddle; your legs and feet are sore from working nine-hour shifts five days in a row, and also from going to class four out of those five days. you place your backpack on the small island, and continue to gently meander towards the fridge. your stomach aches at the thought of food—which is unfortunate, considering you’ve only had one meal today. regardless, you will shove a sandwich down your throat, you need the energy if you’re going to study for three hours before you go to bed. 
you pause before you open the fridge, a note is stuck on the door with a magnet. your roommates are gone; the two girls have spontaneously decided to go spend the weekend with their boyfriends—you’re not going to complain, you have the apartment to yourself. a brief wave of loneliness washes over you, you were kind of looking forward to venting about the week you had to the girls in the morning, and also, couldn’t they have texted you this earlier today? who leaves old-fashioned notes on the fridge anymore? you pull out your phone to send a text in your group chat wishing them a nice weekend, and see that they did, in fact, text you that they would be gone—three days ago. and, you never responded, because you never saw it. you shrug, and send the text anyways, you’ve been incredibly busy and you’re bound to miss a few texts (especially the eighteen texts from oscar that remain unopened). 
you're just going through a little bit of a slump, and you’ve had a bad day. you accidentally messed up three orders today (out of the hundred you fulfilled, so three isn’t really terrible), your running off of four hours of sleep (you’re more energized when you sleep less, anyways), and a customer accidentally bumped into you as you were walking to bring coffee to a table, causing the hot liquid to spill and burn a little spot on the back of your hand by your thumb. well, you know it wasn’t purely accidental, as the girl giggled to the group of friends she was with after she “bumped” into you. based on the way she was wearing a mclaren hoodie, you can make several guesses as to why she did it—you’re kind of shocked that she noticed you even though you wear a mask at work (you have for about a month, too many fans have noticed who you are), her hate for a relationship that’s not hers should be studied for science. 
incidents like these have made your coworkers start to…dislike you. the decrease in tips when you’re assigned to the register causes you to be forced to be hidden behind coffee machines the entire shift, only making drinks the entire nine hours you’re there. it’s better for you though, at least you can have a physical barrier blocking the prying eyes you feel are judging you the entire time. if anything, the recent atmosphere at work made you want to put in your two weeks—but, you have bills to pay. you’re just glad you managed to find a way to get two weeks off so you can focus on school and prepare for your exams—you can’t afford to fail, it’ll cost your scholarship and then you’ll need more than the job you have right now to finish school.
the buzzing of your phone pulls you back to the present—oscar’s calling. you squeeze your eyes shut for a few seconds, before you blink and silence the ringer. if you speak to him, you won’t be able to hide your troubles from him any longer; he reads you as easily as a kid’s picture book. he definitely doesn’t need to deal with your problems after whatever the hell happened in brazil. the noise of your phone startled you into a new thought, however. if the girls aren’t in the apartment, why the fuck is the tv on? who did you greet when you walked past the main room without a glance?
“i was calling to tell you that i’ve got takeout from the asian restaurant you like, if you’re looking for something to eat,” oscar says gently.
it’s a testament to how extremely exhausted you are: you don’t scream, you don’t fight, you don’t run—you just flinch slightly, and turn around slowly to face your boyfriend…the man you’ve been avoiding for nearly a month. at the sight of him (his fluffy hair, his soft sweater, the confused and concerned glint in his eyes) your lip starts quivering, and your eyes start watering. oscar’s gaze softens into something sweet yet empathic, and he says, “i know it’s been a while since we’ve last talked, but i didn’t think you’d cry at the sight of me.”
you burst into tears with a sob, and in a second oscar’s got you wrapped up in his arms, one hand soothingly massaging your back, while the other cradles your head on his shoulder. your borderline hyperventilating, your tears have started to soak his sweater, and you’re sniffling every two seconds to avoid getting snot on him too. oscar doesn’t try to quiet your tears, he doesn’t ask about what’s making you cry, he doesn’t even try to tell you that everything will be fine—he just holds you as you cry it out and presses kisses into your hair. eventually, the flow of tears dries and you focus on pulling in shaky breaths of air to calm down. oscar switches to holding you to his chest with one arm while he uses the free one to reach across the counter and grab a tissue. wordlessly, he wipes the wetness off your cheeks and under-eyes, he even uses another tissue to wipe your nose, clearing away the snot that managed to escape. you almost start crying again at the tender treatment and the matching look in his eyes, but you muster enough strength to keep the happy tears from falling over the waterline. 
oscar nods once, deeming his cleanup complete, and clears his throat, “i’m going to heat up the food. then, we’ll eat and you’ll tell me what’s wrong and if that has anything to do with why you’re ignoring me.”
there’s no attempt from you to keep the façade up any longer, all you do is nod and step to the side so he can grab the food from the fridge.
oscar has already cleared his plate and you’re still picking through half of yours. the two of you are sitting on opposite ends of the couch, teen wolf is playing on a low volume, and your eyes are tunneled on the screen even though oscar can see that you’re not paying attention at all. one of the characters is screaming about having to get his arm cut off (stiles, probably) and suddenly you start talking to oscar.
“it’s been a shit semester. if i wasn’t graduating in spring, i honestly think i would’ve dropped out or taken a gap-year. and, i knew what i signed up for as an engineering major, and i knew that working was only going to add more on my plate—but, it’s not like i can quit my job, i have bills to pay. so, juggling school and work is difficult, and i was managing fine. but, i guess i made the mistake of scrolling through twitter—which is truly my fault i think—and everyone on the internet was calling me a ‘terrible girlfriend’,” oscar watches you scoff out a choked laugh, “and, i obviously didn’t believe i was. in the beginning, at least. i mean, it’s like they expected me to be at every race by your side, like i’m not working my way through a hellscape of a degree. i watched every practice session, qualifying, and race—they’re literally the only hours i don’t spend studying or working. i brag about you to everybody who would listen, i missed hours of sleep just to speak to you on the phone for five minutes, i work as hard as i can so i can finish this degree early so i can be with you as early as possible, and they say that you deserve a better girlfriend.”
you pause and rub at your eyes furiously, mouth opening and closing as you take time to find the words to continue. oscar quiets the flare of anger at your distress, and stays silent, not wanting to interrupt your speech, this is the most you’ve said to him in a month.
“the thing is: i-i i let their words get to me. i think it’s because i was being kicked while i was down—or whatever the phrase is. i was already mentally exhausted, and i already believe that i’m not doing my best this year, i’m disappointing everybody who knows me, i’m a shit student—and just seeing everybody agree, even though they’re just randoms on the internet, tore me down. i even deleted all of the apps off my phone,” your voice has shifted into something desperate, “so i couldn’t see what they were saying about me anymore, but it’s like once i saw it, it never left my mind. i feel like everybody is staring at me with condescending eyes, like they all think i’m terrible. and, logically, i know that’s probably not true. but, this semester has pushed me past the point of being able to rationalize properly. so as a result, i have become a ‘terrible girlfriend’ to you; like a twisted self-fulfilling prophecy.
“i avoid your calls, i leave you on delivered for days, i respond with one word, i lie to my friends and say i was up all night talking to you on the phone when i was really crying and studying at the same time, i hold back from bursting into tears in the middle of my shifts when one of your ‘fangirls’ spills their drink over me for the third time. and while doing all of this, i was hoping you’d do the hard part and just break up with me,” your voice rings out sharply and you refuse to look at your boyfriend, afraid to see the look on his face.
“because…” you whimper slightly, tongue flicking out to lick at your lips anxiously, “you do deserve a better girlfriend.”
oscar is lost for words at your conclusion; seeing you, one of the strongest women he knows break down, is a sight he never imagined. a sense of guilt builds within him, knowing that he’s added to the deprecating thoughts in your brain by postponing this intervention for weeks. you may think that he deserves someone better, but he hasn’t been the best to you either recently. if oscar was half the man you think he is, he would’ve never allowed you to avoid him in the first place. oscar stands up, collects your plate and his, and places them on the coffee table. he turns and drops to his knees in front of you, resting his hands on your thighs, and squeezes them gently to grab your attention. it takes a minute, but eventually you allow your eyes to fall to meet his, and oscar breaks further at the lack of light in your eyes.
“i think,” oscar starts quietly, “that you expect me to break up with you and leave—am i guessing correctly?”
you blink down at him and shrug, biting your lip to prevent it from quivering.
“i also think, that if i flew all this way to see you, and that if i listened to your heartbreaking recollection of how this semester and how the world has been incredibly unkind to you, and that if i sat here and still broke up you—it’s not me that deserves a better girlfriend; it’s you that deserves a better boyfriend.”
stunned, you stumble over your disagreement, but oscar steadfastly continues.
“you did the right thing by deleting your socials—and that would explain why all three hundred of the reels i’ve sent you have gone unseen,” he laughs lightly, “and even if their words took root, you prevented yourself from being able to see more of it every time you used your phone; so even if my pride is not needed, i am proud of you for doing that. i’m even more proud that you sat here and told me that you aren’t doing well, that you didn’t make an attempt to lie, and that i didn’t have to force you to tell me,” oscar says seriously, holding steady eye contact with you to make sure you're hearing him.
“i wish that you would have mentioned the hate you’re receiving as soon as it started, and that you would have told me your mental health was suffering too. you know i do everything in my power to avoid reading anything with my name in it unless it’s a credible article—so imagine my surprise, when i learned about what people were saying about you through a twitter thread logan, of all people texted me about,” you snort out a laugh at the feigned disdain in oscar’s voice when he mentions the american driver. 
“you know i have no issues embarrassing people on the internet for their incorrect claims—and i’d especially tear them to shreds for trying to drag you down. we’ve been together too long for you not to come to me about things like this, even if it’s something that mildly upsets you—i want to know, because then i can make it better, or i can at least try to. you haven’t complained to me about the grueling lifestyle once, as i worked my way up to f1; if anybody could be perfect, it would be you. so, let me try to be as perfect as you, and support you properly and thoroughly as you finish up this degree, baby.
“we’re soulmates, aren’t we?” it’s a question, but oscar states it like a fact, “and i know i can’t magically make the self-loathing disappear with one conversation, but i'll tell you that you’re the best girlfriend i’ve ever had countless times, until you believe me unquestionably.”
oscar watches your nose scrunch cutely as you sniffle, unable to stop the tears that leak from the corners of your eyes. sweetly, he catches them with his thumb before they fall. he stands up and tugs you to your feet, pulling you into a tight, warm hug. 
“i love you, kanga,” oscar coos as he kisses your forehead.
“i love you the most, roo,” you answer back, leaning up to press a kiss to the corner of his lips.
“i’ve bought some lavender epsom salt and an embarrassing amount of bath bombs. will you let me take care of you tonight?” oscar asks quietly.
he sees the mix of awed-disbelief and confusion as you stare up at him, like you can’t imagine why he’d want to love you tenderly tonight, and that hurts him more—the words of his ‘fans’ online have done enough damage to cause you to doubt him. maybe he can convince you to come to vegas with him so he can keep you close, but first, he needs to focus on caring for you here and now.
oscar grabs his duffle bag and smiles as you hold his hand to lead him to your room and the attached bathroom (rent is ridiculously expensive, but at least you don’t have to share a bathroom with your roommates.) oscar sends you to grab pajamas while he starts filling the tub, epsom salt already poured in. he fiddles with the temperature for a while before it’s set to the boiling-your-skin-off hot you enjoy. by the time you join him in the bathroom, he’s added the salts and soap in the water and has placed the bath bombs out for you to choose one. oscar can’t help the small smile that rises to his face at the sight of the serious furrow of your brow as you pick out your favorite from the bunch. 
oscar hums as you hand him the jade-infused bath bomb, and asks, “can i wash your hair too? or will it mess up your schedule?”
“i actually really need to wash it,” you murmur with a humorless chuckle, “i’ve been so busy that i haven’t been taking care of my hair properly.”
oscar blinks and continues non-judgmentally, “i’ll give you an extra scalp massage to make up for that—you can start getting undressed now, the water’s nearly ready.”
he turns around awkwardly, he’s seen you naked before but he feels like it would be slightly perverse to watch you while you’re clearly in a more sensitive state tonight. he fumbles with the faucet for a few seconds before turning it off, and drops the bath bomb into the water so it can start dispersing. oscar faces you again carefully making sure he avoids staring at your body and locks eyes with you, he beckons you forward with an outstretched hand and holds your hand as you submerge yourself in the water. once you’re settled comfortably, oscar grabs your hair products (he holds up any bottle he thinks you may not want to use tonight, and you give him a thumbs up or down to decide), and then kneels at your side.
he starts to roll up the sleeves of the hoodie but your hand halts his motions, the water splashing loudly at the quickness of your movement, “you’re not getting in with me?”
“uh,” oscar stutters, “i-i wasn’t planning on it. i just wanted to give you a nice bath.”
oscar pinkens as you stare at him wordlessly and when your unimpressed gaze shifts to a slight glare, he finds himself shedding his clothes and sinking in behind you at an impressive speed. 
his heart began to race as the two of you shifted into as comfortable of a position you could achieve in a too-small tub, but calmed at your pleased hum as you settled between his legs with your back resting on his chest. this may be the most romantic experience oscar has ever indulged in. sure, it’s not a candlelit dinner at an obnoxiously expensive restaurant but, it’s him detangling your hair, it’s him massaging shampoo into your crown, it’s him scratching softly along your scalp as the deep conditioner sits, it’s you playing with the water innocently, it’s you whispering every detail of your life that he’s missed out on, it’s you gently directing him through braiding your hair, and it’s him pressing kisses to your shoulder when he finishes. there isn’t a single moment where the two of you become unsettled during lapses of silence; the intimacy of his actions is loud enough to fill the gaps. oscar can’t imagine ever being this comfortable with anybody besides you, he hates that he almost allowed you to pull completely away from him. moments like these, where you allow yourself to be thoughtlessly vulnerable with him, are exactly why he’s completely enamored with you.
your body has loosened against him, muscles syrupy and lax from the effects of a toe-curling scalp massage, and oscar gently guides you to sit upright while steadying most of your weight with a single hand splayed against your abdomen. the sound of the cap of your body wash clicking open startles you into the present, and you shift around to straddle his lap. it’s amusing; he inaudibly chuckles at the sight of you struggling to complete your change of position without sending water over the edge. you make a triumphant noise when you’ve managed to turn around to face him, and oscar’s hands cradle your hips when you rest on his lap. 
“can i–”
“shouldn’t you–”
oscar bursts into laughter and you into giggles, at the interruption of each other's sentences. it’s definitely not that funny, but oscar’s heart skips a beat at the sound of your laugh–he hasn’t heard that sweet noise in what feels like forever. he motions for you to speak, ever the gentleman, and eagerly awaits for our question with a smile still stretched across his lips.
“shouldn’t you fuck me before we wash up? so we don’t have to clean up twice?”
oscar chokes on his breath, his grip on you tightening in surprise, and he babbles, “what? no-i mean, yes, i mean—wait. i didn’t do all of this just to have sex with you, you know that right? i genuinely just wanted to pamper you–”
“oscar,” you cut him off, intentionally this time around, “after the semester i’ve had, and the less than kind words i’ve heard and thoughts i’ve had describing myself–i really do appreciate the bath, i feel reminded that you love me. however, i really think that having sex would help…solidify your devotion for me.”
oscar blinks up at you, he wasn’t quite expecting you to return to your normal sassy behavior as quickly as you did. but, he is thankful that you’ve opened up to him with no further hesitation–it’s actually incredibly attractive of you, how you’ve resumed complete comfortability in expressing exactly what you want to him. at least, that’s the excuse he’s telling himself to cope with being half-hard already.
“...at least let me take you to bed, then?”
“no,” you whine down at him, your hips sneakily twitching forward, oscar moans lightly at the light grind, “too far! saves time later if we don’t have to come back to shower.”
“you’re right,” oscar hums distractedly, moving his right hand off your waist to slip between your thighs and brush along your cunt, “i’ll fuck you here as long as you let me do all of the work.”
oscar’s blood heats at the sound of your whimpering moan and he takes his other hand off your waist to grab at your chin and he pulls you down for a kiss.
oscar groans when you pause before your lips touch his, and he feels the breath of your giggle ghost over his mouth, “mmm, i’ll never say no to that—and, didn’t i agree to let you take care of me tonight?” 
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tabithatwo · 11 months
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are we ready to talk about shauna's barely hidden but somehow very ignored psychosis and how it, like a ton of her other qualities, is brushed aside by both those around her and the audience? like, i think its clear that a central focus of the show is the way lottie is the only one who got stuck in a facility (and natalie in and out of rehab being the next closest to reckoning with her shit) when the rest of them are very clearly not okay. as a certified Crazy Girl, i've been weary of how they'll handle lottie's story line (blurring psychosis and the supernatural is a very delicate and tricky thing and thus far i've been sort of just waiting to see where it goes). our data on and understanding of mental health is incredibly limited for a lot of reasons (but that's a rant for another time) but there is a large mainstream misconception of when hallucinations and delusions can happen. psychosis isn't just something that happens in schizophrenia and its very complex, so if you want to learn more there's plenty of info out there i'm not going to get into it here, but it happens in a lot of other cases. psychosis is, most simply put, a loss of contact with external reality. ptsd can cause psychosis, especially auditory and visual hallucinations.
so shauna is shown to have these experiences and i didn't realize that they were being so heavily overlooked by a large amount of people until the reaction to the scene where she beats lottie nearly to death. shauna is introduced in s1 as having hallucinations of jackie 25 years later. she is shown to disassociate. in 207, she both holds the baby's body and believes the delusion that they ate the baby. the episode shows her fighting the delusion until she can't anymore. meanwhile, adult shauna tells lottie she keeps callie at arms length out of "fear that she would die...i guess? or maybe that she was never even...real to begin with." then she adds "i think something is broken, lottie." implied: she's broken. something is wrong with her. this is the is the most honest about her mental state we've ever seen shauna be.
why? because lottie has always been and likely will always be perceived as crazier. lottie is the one they pin it on, lottie is the cult leader both then and now, lottie is the scapegoat, lottie is the one who got sent to switzerland. i think there's something to be said for the effect lottie has on people (again, a whole other post) but honestly, that alone is enough. shauna is feeling vulnerable for a lot of reasons and she can tell lottie that she thinks she's crazy, that she's never quite sure her daughter exists, that she's constantly afraid she'll die to the degree that she doesn't let herself interact with her in a real, tangible way, because it's always safer to tell the crazy girl you're crazy, too.
and lottie knows. shauna knows that. lottie clocked her psychosis almost immediately, when she was in the meat shed for all hours. the other girls were shocked by the makeup, and their shock was so fucking strange to me when i watched it, but now on reflecting i'm realizing maybe its the lottie effect. like, have i done the shit shauna has? abso-fucking-lutely not lol. but does my mind work in a way where i immediately would assume shauna was doing something along the lines of the shit she was doing out there, because to me its like...what else would it be? yeah. like sees like, in a way. lottie knows what this looks like at baseline, even if its coming out way different in shauna. even if in shauna it looks like aggression and violence a lot of the time. lottie gets it.
jeff doesn't get it, he thinks strawberry lube is too wild. taissa gets it to a degree, and we see shauna be the second most open with her, but tai suppresses and hides it a degree that she wouldn't dare step foot in a therapist's office (this is yet another thing that makes me crazy but is a whole other post lol). shauna's main goal in this life she's created is pretending to be normal. and she's like, impressively bad at it. but people let her, because what else are they going to do? addressing the clear issues is taboo, because we categorize people so heavily. she masks better than lottie, but it's fucking wafer thin. you see this when she interacts with people who aren't her family or the other yjs. the way she speaks to the taylors? to adam? shauna is only sometimes masking passably when she's in her set world, where she has a routine, and is surrounded by people she only has to half-convince of her sanity.
if shauna is honest about the level of psychosis she experiences, she knows she'll end up like lottie. and i think there's an argument to be made that the people around her (which at this point in her life is pretty much just jeff because she's done another common thing and insulated herself from other people, re: the way she behaves being clockably off to others who won't overlook certain things or can't relate) understand that too. it can't be addressed, because then in their minds there must be action of some kind if it is. (taissa yelling you're acting crazy, shauna is one of the most purely terrified moments we see of her in relation to shauna, because she knows she's admitting something. jeff yelling something to the same effect after the carjacking, same thing.)
the person we see try to get shauna to open up about it is callie. her teenage daughter, who bares the brunt of her difficulty maintaining reality, (who knows that shauna has never accepted her fully as her child, and seems to actually sense that there is a deeper reason for that), asks her to open up. she tells her after the club scene that she knows something is wrong. she even mentions jackie directly. she spends all of s2 trying to relate to shauna, to get her to be open with her about everything. there's no way shauna's trauma and psychosis and general issues have gone unnoticed by callie. daughters always know. they see it in their mothers before they even have a concept of the world. so we're watching a 16 year old try to get her mom to open up, because she doesn't understand fully why that's so dangerous to shauna. to callie, it may even be a secret she thinks other people are in on that she's being left out of. i think maybe she's realizing that it isn't personal and that shauna is guarded like this in general, and we're watching that happen.
callie is learning to care for and relate to her mother and she doesn't see why shauna won't let her in, because to her it's an innate truth that she'll be by her side no matter what (if only she'd let her be). she has unconditional love for her mother and that is the scariest thing in the world to shauna, because the last person who had unconditional love for shauna died because shauna didn't know what to do with it. a baby she never got a chance to meet in reality could've replaced the love that jackie gave her, and shauna was maybe starting to look forward to that, but that ended before it began. so twice shauna has killed that figure in her life. the one who loves her wholly and for who she is, which is terrifying to shauna in it's own right (she tried to take that away from jackie in their last moments, maybe you never really knew me, because that would be easier. shauna can't handle someone really knowing her because she can't handle really knowing herself because, again, that means addressing things that go unaddressed). and she doesn't plan on killing that figure again.
(if callie's even real, because the baby wasn't real when she met him and jackie wasn't real every time she's talked to her in the last twenty-five years, so who the fuck is to say callie is real?)
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sempersirens · 2 months
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the fig tree | rotten
pairing: therapist!joel x f!reader
warnings: 18+ mdni. discussion of heavy and potentially triggering topics such as sa, self-harm, infertility, various mental illnesses, self-hatred and drug use. these topics are only mentioned and do not occur in real-time.
chapter summary: a twenty-something, seemingly lost cause, meets her match in the form of psychotherapist: dr. joel miller.
dividers by @saradika-graphics
updates: @sempersirenswrites
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Maybe it was time to accept you were never as good as you'd always thought you'd been.
For four long years, you had spent most of your waking hours dissecting epic poetry and papyrology.
Still, the most your degree had done for you was rouse a satisfying disappointment from your mother’s side of the family when they realised you weren’t actually going to be that kind of doctor.
Not to say such in a self-deprecation; you hardly suffered from any semblance of an imposter syndrome. Your mother used to frequently remind you that you were far too vain to not believe in yourself.
It was more of a philosophical framework. Platonic realism. Knowing your muted beauty could earn you a free drink from below-average men who felt their trousers tighten when you addressed them through your eyelashes.
But it wasn't an obvious enough beauty for the attention of the men you imagined exchanging bodily fluids with between stops on the underground.
Besides, you had been a student of Classical Studies; a degree that doesn’t require the intellectual strain of learning Latin or Ancient Greek. The inclusive way for people like you, having attended a run-down state-funded school, to get a glimpse into the Bullingdon boys' and grammar schoolgirls’ fallback plans.
It wasn't even that you disliked Classics; you'd borderline gotten off on reading plays written by men about wicked women; but that was because the brilliant women were always the wicked ones.
You particularly enjoyed the assumptions men made about the female condition – how women were too wet, too porous; couldn’t keep their wombs from wandering. And assumptions they were. No Greek physician ever sliced a woman from chin to cunt to confirm their hypotheses. Although, ancient men hadn't been all too familiar with the insides of a woman anyway.
Sometimes, you thought you would quite simply die if you were reduced to only understanding people through your assumptions of them.
It was just that you could never stop thinking about what people thought. It was all you could ever think about. You wanted to peel people's skulls apart and scream at their horribly grey frontal lobe:
Are you ok? Have I done something to upset you? Do you still love me? Do I look like someone that has been raped? Do you think that girl we just walked past has a firmer ass than me? Do you like my new bangs?
For a short period of time, you'd been desperate to know how your therapist felt and thought of you. There is a sick irony in baring your bones to a stranger in the reclined chair opposite you who never even takes off their cardigan.
You needed to know if your traumas made him sad, or if he saw things that made him think of you outside of your sessions. You supposed he both pitied and admired you in a twisted, surrogate-daughter kind of way.
Then again, he probably wouldn’t have been a very good therapist did he not pity his clients.
At one point you thought you might be in love with him.
You'd met weekly in his high-ceiling office on a busy street. It was a romantic setting to unload twenty-four years of trauma to a kind man wearing a knitted cardigan. The sun would peak through clouds and shine onto the both of you through two large windows, between which sat a Japanese peace lily.
You soon realised he was just the first man to let you speak uninterrupted.
You spoke at him mostly, finishing observations that had been years in the making with “Does that make sense?” Even though you knew it made sense. You were certain, actually, that everything you had articulated came from somewhere deeper inside of you than any man could reach. You just couldn't leave it hanging there like an exposed nerve.
Maybe it was because he didn't speak much that you liked him. Sometimes he would offer anecdotes or remedies for PTSD-induced panic attacks that you both knew you would never use.
In most sessions, you had simply basked in the divinity of being listened to. You wondered if this was how devout Catholics like your grandmother felt at confession, or perhaps it was how all of your ex-boyfriends had felt.
You weren't even particularly attracted to him. He had been ten years older than you, and when your sessions first began, you'd been casually fucking someone a year older than him – but he didn't need to know that.
There were a lot of things you'd decided he didn't need to know. Like the fact you snorted cocaine until your nose bled, sliced into your thighs a couple of evenings a week, and let men use your body to masturbate as a feeble attempt to reclaim your sexuality - as if it had ever been anyone's for the taking.
Had he known the dirtier parts of your life, you feared he would have crossed out the word victim in his black Moleskin notebook and replaced it with bystander.
Maybe he would think you were a pathological liar and diagnose you with a personality disorder. This was something you'd been warned about by the first friend you had made at university.
“My mother is a therapist, you know. Don’t tell them you cut yourself or that you’ve told anyone you cut yourself – they’ll diagnose you with BPD.”
“But I’ve told you.”
“Trust me. They’ll put you on an SSRI and you’ll never be able to orgasm again.”
You were freshly eighteen and had never had a real orgasm anyway, but this terrified you enough to reel in your catalogue of symptoms for the GP appointment you had scheduled later that day.
In the end, you'd buckled and sobbed as the doctor sat adjacent to you. You didn’t mention the self-harming or the suicidal thoughts, but did tell her that you didn’t know where to go from here.
She'd slid a leaflet from the university's self-help website across the table before pushing her chair back and motioning toward the door.
“Call 999 if things get worse," she had said. "But let’s just hope it doesn’t get to that point. A&E is very overwhelmed at the moment.”
So you got on with it. Boats against the current, or whatever. You made the hurt so small and buried it so deep within you and swore you'd never let anyone get close enough to pick at the stray thread to your undoing.
And for a little while it worked. You became what you knew you should be; you presented your face for fucking and never let the door slam on your way out.
These days, you'd felt as though you were slowly becoming rotten.
It started on the surface; a bizarre case of adult acne that no dermatologist could diagnose for love nor money. Blood tests, topical steroids, antibiotics, potentially-baby-deforming drugs. You tried them all to little avail. In the end, it was simply the passing of time that had rid you of the rot.
Next, it had been your womb. Decomposing from the inside out. Your body had made the decision for you that goodness couldn't form in your guts.
The final straw had, embarrassingly, been your heart.
You hated to say it aloud. So much so that you hadn't. But it had been a quiet promise of yours; one you'd kept quietly close to your chest - that your suffering would never turn you ugly.
But here you were, alone and swearing at the wind, the rage beneath your skin growing like a tumour.
You hated it.
You hated yourself.
You hated that you were angry but had never been taught how to be angry, because anger wasn't a pretty emotion; it was one that should be starved and kept in the corner of your wardrobe to rot like black mould.
So here you stood: before a Victorian townhouse with your scarf furiously fighting the wind, droplets of rain threatening your freshly straightened hair, scanning various names scrawled on the building's buzzer.
S. PHYSIOTHERAPY
A & R SOLICITORS
J. MILLER PSYCHOTHERAPY
You bit the inside of your cheek and ducked further into the doorway, pressing the buzzer for the last option.
A voice had answered quicker than you'd anticipated, soon followed by a harsh buzz of the intercom.
"Come on up."
Dr. Miller's office was on the third floor.
You huffed, struggling with the combination of the stairs and attempting to wrangle your wet coat from your back. Amidst your struggle, you hear a door open somewhere above you, followed by a couple of soft and slow footsteps.
Your chin instinctively lifted toward the source of the noise, feet carrying you round and round the spiral staircase.
Light poured around his silhouette from the window behind him. It was ridiculous, actually. The sight was almost holy.
Neither of you spoke as you made your way up toward him. You felt as though you were on your knees beneath him, transfixed in supplication.
The sleeves of his blue cotton shirt were haphazardly pushed up just before his elbows, arms outstretched and fingers wrapped around the wooden bannister.
You were supposed to be actually trying with this one, not fantasising about the ways the veins in his arms probably bulged with his hand around your throat.
After being politely let go by your previous therapist, you'd promised yourself that the colleague he'd recommended to you, Dr. Miller, would be the one to fix you for good.
"Hello." He nodded, not quite managing a smile.
He reached a hand toward you, which you shook with the little strength left in your body.
"Hello." You tried your best to imitate his stoic cadence, your hand still tightly in his.
You let him break the handshake first, playing a petulant, one-sided game to see how quick he would be to scare.
"After you." He gestured to the room behind him. "Take a seat wherever you feel most comfortable."
"If there is any cowboy paraphernalia in that room I am not paying for this session."
"Excuse me?" His eyebrows knitted together, no sign of humour registering on his face.
"Your accent - it was a joke. I mean, I paid already anyway." You fumbled your words awkwardly. "Jokes are always much funnier when you explain them."
He cocked his head slightly. Hesitant to embarrass yourself further, you saw yourself into his office.
The room was dim for a space endowed with Victorian-style floor-to-ceiling windows. It felt like you could get lost in it, hide away, tuck yourself into a corner and be lost for days.
"I have your notes from Dr. Hughes." He said.
"Anything juicy?" You asked, still surveying the room.
You couldn't put your finger on the specifics of his scent, but it was familiar; like passing a man in the street wearing the same aftershave as your father, or a boyfriend you hadn't seen for years.
"I'd like to figure that out myself."
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You'd eventually settled on the armchair positioned opposite his own.
You had briefly wondered if this was a test, that he would be psychoanalysing whether you chose the armchair or the adjacent sofa.
Maybe you'd failed already.
For the majority of the session, you'd gone through the necessary motions of admin, confidentiality, and what you eventually wanted to get out of therapy.
"I don't have the ability to fix you, y'know that right?" His question had caught you off guard.
"I know that." You'd replied meekly.
"It's just, I don't know what kind of promises Dr. Hughes made you. We trained together, you see. He had always been more, how do I put this, hopeful than I am."
"Oh wow. Forty minutes into our first session and you're already hopeless?" You were only partly joking.
"I'm a big believer in transparency, and I can see you were meeting on and off for a few years. I'm just intrigued as to what your end goal here is."
You bit down on your cheek, swallowing the ember of rage that was burning in your throat.
"Do you think I do this for fun? Carve out an hour a week to relive my deepest, darkest traumas?"
"Not at all. I just find it interesting that after almost three years of therapy, you still can't use the word rape. You've referred to it as the thing that happened four times already."
The rot crept up your throat, threatening to pour out of your mouth and fill the room with the ugliness that grew inside of you.
"What is this, some kind of tough love therapy?" You scoffed. Was he trying to get a rise out of you?
"It can be whatever you want it to be."
He was kind of annoying, actually.
The two of you sat in silence, defiantly holding eye contact with one another to see who would be the first to break. And when he finally spoke, it was more of a statement than a question.
"That's time. I'll see you at the same time next week."
"How are you so sure I'll come back?"
He smiled for the first time that afternoon.
"I'm not."
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Dannymay 2023. Day 7. Weapon. DPXDC.
The Justice League is trying to figure out Danny’s identity, and he’s not happy about it.
~Words hurt more than weapons~
~~~
Wonder Woman: You’re bound by the Lasso of Truth. No more chance of hiding secrets, ghost.
Danny: Are you kidding me?
Batman: Who are you, Phantom?
Danny: "I am a 400-foot tall purple platypus bear with pink horns and silver wings."
Captain Marvel: Wow, you don’t see many Fire Nation princesses these days.
Danny: Hm, at least someone with good taste here.
Danny: Have you even read the Fenton articles? Batman? Anyone? No? Remember. Ghosts will always find a way to lie. Your ribbon has no power over me.
~~~
Danny: ..I have a few words for you too, Batsy. Martha says hi. And she wants you to know that " ..if I see a damn clown in the immediate vicinity of one of my grandchildren or if I find out that you or any of the family are on patrol with broken bones, I’ll spank you as soon as I meet you on the other side. Obey Alfred. With love, Mother."
Flash:..Batman, why are you so pale?
Batman: Someone sprayed the fear toxin. Check the ventilation.
Flash:..
~~~
Superman: Stop it! Listen..
Phantom: I liked you when I was a kid, you know? They say it’s better to never meet your idols. Now I see it's truth.
Superman: You shouldn't be doing this alone. We can help you.
Danny: What makes you think I need your help? Don’t be a hypocrite. Why don’t you take off your glasses at the Daily Planet office? And why do you think that you can tell me what to do with my secret identity?
Danny: Don’t worry, I’m dead but my family is fine. I’m not like you, Big Blue. I will not sacrifice the people I love for my murderous secret.
Superman: What are you talking about?
Phantom: Don’t play dumb. In the land of the dead, people like to talk about the past, you know. You told Jonathan he wasn’t your father, and then you didn’t even try to save him. It’s cruel. But you can be happy, Jonathan doesn’t blame you for his death. I do.
The temperature in the room dropped a few degrees.
Superman: I.. I listened to what he said. He was trying to protect me.
Danny: So, how does it feel? Letting him die in front of you, knowing you could have saved him? Do you blame youself?
Superman: How dare you.
Danny: Of course, you do. Because no matter how many lives Superman saves, the most important one to you..You’ll never got it back. Afraid of being a lab rat? Superman is not special. I am not special too. 
Danny: Don’t look down at me just because you have more experience behind you. Revealing my identity should be my choice, not yours.
~~~~
Danny: Stay out of my grave. *turns to Batman* You should stay away from your son’s grave too. Leave the past behind.
~Hairstyle. Sharp tongue. Physique. This Insolence.~
Batman: Jason?
Danny: Wrong ghost, old man.
Batman: ...You’re the one who said a ghost would always find a way to lie.
Danny: Pride and prejudice! *shit, I’m starting to swear like Mr.Lancer, It’s time to finish my english essay.*  I’m not your Robin. Sorry bout that.
~Jane Austen? No hint more obvious. Jay doesn’t want to deal with the League? Well, Bruce doesn’t mind playing along.~
Batman: I understand.
Danny: Thank Ancients! Anyway, I’m leaving. Don’t look for me.
~~~
Tucker: Wow, Danny, when we told you to take care about the League, we thought you’d do it, like, without turning all of them against you.
Danny: Not all of them. And I didn’t do anything wrong. We talked.
Jazz: Danny, believe me, sometimes a conversation with you can cause more damage to your enemies than your ectoblasts.
Sam: Not just to them. Sometimes I also feel like his ideas are melting my brain.
Danny: Hey! Actually, you should be on my side.
Sam: We should?
Danny: Never mind. But if JL set foot in Amity Park I will sic on Wonder Woman her grandfather.
Tucker: But her Grandfather is Kronos. He’s a creep, trying to eat all his kids. Where do you even know such a monster from?
Clockwork *puts a cup of tea on the table and coughs to attract attention*.
Tucker: Wait a minute...
Tucker: Oh mY GOd, Mr. CLocKWoRk I’m sO SorRy, please don’t kill me.
Sam: Now you’ve changed your mind about importance of a healthy vegan diet, Tucker?
Tucker: ..No, I’m not that desperate.
~~~
~At the same time,somewhere in Ghost Zone~
 Martha *teaches Jason to do a choke hold*.
~~~
~At the same time, in one of Amity Park’s alleys.~
Maddie and Jack *discuss ways to capture the Phantom*
Batman *appears behind them*:DoN’t toUcH my the сHiLd.
~~~
Jazz: Don't you think that mentioning Superman's father was too much?
Danny: Maybe.But..when I think about you, mom or dad in dander I can't imagine what would make me freeze and.. It just doesn't make sense, okey?
Jazz: You're still thinking about Dan, right?
Danny: Every.damn.time.
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valeskafics · 6 months
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"Only Hope" - Sith!Aemond Targaryen x Jedi!Reader (Part 4 of 5)
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a/n: catch up on this fic HERE.
Summary: Aemond takes you to meet the Emperor.
TW: profanity, innuendo, canon typical incest, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, angst, violence, fingering
Word Count: 2,010 words
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.
Comments, likes, and reblogsare never required but are immensely appreciated ❤️
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Before the sun rises on Hoth the next morning, you leave the Rebel base, your mouth set in a grim, determined line. Your hair is braided, your face covered by a mask as you ride your tauntaun toward the lone TIE fighter in the distance. Black. It’s cliche, you think, that the color of the Sith, of the Empire, is black. The color of the Dark Side. Black isn’t even a color, it’s the absence of color. The absence of Light.
As you draw closer to Aemond’s ship, your father’s words ring in your ears.
“You’re our only hope.”
It’s a heavy burden, the fate of the Rebellion, placed squarely upon your shoulders. But the way Aemond touched you, the way he reached out for you, it makes you think that maybe he isn’t beyond redemption. You wait with baited breath as the landing gear is lowered and you hop off of your mount, walking closer and closer to Aemond.
“You’re in white,” he muses, removing his mask when he sees you, “I think black would suit you better.”
You remain silent and simply stare at him, “I’m here. I kept my word. Are you going to keep yours, Aemond?”
“I will,” he says quietly, “I’m to take you to my master.”
“Of course you are,” you reply, narrowing your eyes, “You fell to the Dark only to become the Emperor’s lapdog. It’s pathetic.”
“Don’t,” Aemond snaps, crossing the room, grabbing you by the nape of the neck and pulling you into him so that the two of you stand chest to chest, “You don’t know the power of the Dark Side. You wanted to take my hand. When I came to you through our bond.”
“I wanted to take Aemond’s hand,” you emphasize, “Not that of Darth Perzys. You know that.”
He sighs, pushing you toward the cockpit, “Sit down. We’re leaving.”
“Back to the Death Star, no doubt,” you say quietly, “He’ll kill me.”
“No,” Aemond shakes his head, “Grandfather promised-”
“Your grandfather,” you cut him off sharply, “Not mine.”
Aemond clears his throat and speaks again, a bit more firmly now, “The Emperor has said no harm will come to you if you reveal where Daemon is. He knows that the two of you spoke. My master knows all.”
“Then your master also knows that I would die before giving up my father,” you turn to Aemond as he starts up the engine, “I can sense it in you, Aemond. The conflict. There is good in you, I know it-”
“There is no conflict,” Aemond says with a degree of finality as he makes the jump to lightspeed, “It is too late for me, little dragon.”
“It’s never too late.”
Aemond ignores the meaningful look you give him as he continues piloting the TIE fighter through the vast expanse before you. He’s so close to you, and yet so far away, just out of reach. You only hope you can reach him before it’s too late.
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You’re surprised when Aemond doesn’t take you to the Death Star. Instead, you land on Mustafar. It’s said, long ago, your ancestor Maegor Targaryen, one of the most powerful Sith of all time, dwelt nearly a hundred years past. It’s a lava planet, and your family is said to be the blood of the dragon. It’s fitting that they once called this their seat of power. What you don’t understand is the Emperor, sitting on Maegor’s Iron Throne, a smirk on his face as he watches Aemond lead you to him.
“Jedi Master Targaryen,” he greets, almost mockingly.
“Your Highness,” you reply coolly, “Perhaps it isn’t the sulfur from the molten rock I smelled when we landed on this planet but your foul stench.”
“Charming as ever,” he hums, “You have grown in power. I can feel it. Your raw, untapped potential. You could be the greatest Force user of all time. Greater than your mother, your father. You just need to give in to the Dark Side. We could do great things.”
“Great things?” you narrow your eyes, “Let me guess. Bring the Outer Rim territories into your Empire? Subjugation and brainwashing? I have seen your idea of what great is, Emperor. Turning a vulnerable young boy against his family. Playing on his insecurities, making him think you were the only one who was there for him.”
“Oh, but my dear,” the Emperor gives you a condescending smile, “I was the only one who was there for him. Your father pushed him into my grasp. And now look. Here he stands. Darth Perzys.”
“You used my cousin because you’re too weak to have taken the Republic on your own,” you hiss, “You used him and you continue to use him. There is good in him and he won’t surrender me to you.”
“There is no need for him to surrender you to me if you just tell me where to find Daemon. You will become a Sith, you and Aemond will both stand at my side, girl.”
You let out a derisive laugh, lips curling up into a sneer, “You are wrong, Your Highness. I am a Jedi. Like my father before me. I’ll never turn to the Dark Side. I’ll die first.”
“So be it,” the Emperor says, regarding you for a moment before spitting out his next worth with as much vitriol as he can muster, “Jedi. Aemond, bring me her head.”
You turn to Aemond as two of the Emperor’s praetorian guards force you to your knees. You gaze up at him as he ignites his saber, holding it above his head, preparing to strike. Tears sting at your eyes as you bow your head, ready to accept the consequences for being loyal to your father. To Rhaenyra. To the Rebellion. You wait for your cousin, the man you love, your sworn enemy to strike the killing blow.
Only, it never comes. You look up in confusion as he ignites the second blade of the saber and quickly beheads the two guards. He unclips your saber from his belt and tosses it to you before taking aim at the Emperor. He uses the Force to guide his aim and cleanly severs his grandfather’s head from his body. The praetorian guards all descend on you at once and you fight by Aemond’s side, dispatching them. Aemond bends down, allowing you to roll over his back and swipe at the legs of one before he lifts you back up, the two of you fighting harder than ever before. You’ve never felt more alive than you do at this moment, working with Aemond, fighting in sync with him. You don’t need words. The bond, this Dyad in the Force that the two of you compose, lets you see his every move before he makes it, and for him to see yours.
Soon, the guards all lay dead at your feet, your and Aemond’s faces streaked with blood, bodies littered with bruises. He turns to face you, resting a gloved hand upon your cheek. Aemond leans in, his forehead pressed against yours. You close your eyes, the two of you simply soaking in each other’s presence for a long, heavy moment before he presses his lips to yours. It’s a desperate, passionate kiss as he holds you close to his body. A kiss of two lovers who nearly lost each other, who nearly lost their lives. You gasp as he grips his glove between his teeth and removes it, tossing the leather garment aside before snaking his hand inside the fabric of your pants, stroking your cunt, feeling your arousal begin to pool on his fingertips.
“Your body responds to me so quickly,” he coos almost mockingly, “You were made for me, little dragon. Made to be claimed by me, fucked by me, loved by me.”
“Yes,” you whisper softly, your hands grasping at the fabric of his shirt as he begins pumping his fingers in and out of you, slowly at first but then faster and faster.
“No Empire can keep me away from you,” he declares as he curves his fingers just right so that they hit that spot deep inside of you that has you mewling his name, “I’d destroy planets to keep you by my side, burn entire systems if it meant keeping you safe and warm. I’d travel across the stars and back to find you. I love you.”
“I love you too,” you admit, reaching your peak against his fingers with a cry of his name.
Aemond’s hand moves to thread in your hair, his lips pressing to yours again. He holds you tightly and yet with so much care that it seems he’s afraid that you’ll break at the slightest of touches.
“Let us take the throne for ourselves,” he whispers, “The new Emperor and his Empress.”
You stare at him in shock, “Aemond, no…”
“Yes,” he urges, “We can bring peace, freedom, security, and justice to our new galaxy, my love-”
“No!” you exclaim, pushing him away, “Aemond, my allegiance is to the Rebellion! To democracy!”
Aemond pulls you back into his arms, his lips pressed to your neck in an ill-fated attempt to lessen your resolve, “I’ll make you my Empress. The crown will look so much finer upon my head than it ever did on his. Think about it, my love. Nothing will stand in our way. Everything will be ours.”
Your eyes water as you shove him off of you, igniting your saber once more, “Only a Sith deals in absolutes, Aemond. Do not make me do this. I beg of you.”
“You could never harm me,” Aemond smirks, “Let alone kill me. You’ll be by my side, as my Empress or as my prisoner. The choice is yours, little dragon.”
“Aemond,” you whisper, “You’re breaking my heart. Don’t do this. Don’t go down a path I cannot follow. The Light calls to you. Answer it. I beg you-”
You don’t know if it’s your imagination, but you swear that golden eye of his flickers between yellow and blue as he circles you, the low humming of both of your ignited lightsabers filling the room. You begin circling him as well, ready to attack at a moment’s notice, closing your mind to him, to your bond. Aemond’s grip on the saber tightens as you lunge at him, the sounds of your blades clashing like thunder in your ears. You hold your saber up as he presses his down against yours, coming dangerously close to your face. You can feel the heat coming off of it as Aemond’s eye stares into your own, the light from your blades shining in his crystal.
“Give in to me,” he whispers, almost seductively, his tone a low rasp, “Give in to our bond.”
“Never,” you snarl, using the Force to push him off of you, sending him flying backwards so that his back is pinned to the wall, “I will never join the Dark Side,” you pause before repeating the words you spoke to the Emperor, “I am a Jedi. Like my father before me.”
Aemond laughs to himself, still staring at you with his golden eye, “He’s poisoned you against me. Your father.”
You shake your head, dropping your hand and letting him fall to the ground, “You have done that yourself.”
You turn to leave as Aemond catches his breath. You cast one last glance at him before you leave the throne room.
“You were everything to me,” you say, choking back tears, “I loved you.”
Aemond watches you walk away, boarding the TIE fighter, leaving him to deal with the fallout of what has just happened. He takes the Emperor’s crown and places it upon his brow before grabbing a fallen guard’s holopad. He hears you board the TIE fighter, no doubt returning to Hoth to tell the rest of your friends that it is time to move bases. He can’t help but smile to himself.
“Fly all you want, little Jedi. I will find you. I will always find you.”
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cowgirlcherrie · 9 months
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hiii :) i was wondering if you could do headcanons of modern! ellie
Hiii lovie of course!!!! ♡♡
a/n: this is kinda drabble-ish but would love to do more of these, so keep requesting them LOL! This is a little sporadic but I love it, so I hope you enjoy <3
warnings(?): not really much mostly fluff sfw, with slight suggestive undertones but really if you squiiint
modern! Ellie headcanons
˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*
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♡ Ellie would definitely be in college, part of her doesn't know fully why she applied but she was giving it a shot
♡ totally an undecided major, science? teaching? psychology? She really doesn't know at first but settled on psychology so she could get her degree
♡ makes you wear a necklace with her initial on it (totally possessive)
♡ magically always had weed, which was also confusing at first but she just had that good of connections around town with local plugs and dispensaries.
♡ always has a blunt tucked behind one ear
♡ makes you trim her hair because she doesn’t trust anyone else touching anything on her body.
♡ always loosing her lighter so you bedazzled it and she literally never lost it after that, she would rather die before losing that lighter now
♡ if you have stuffed animals, she tries to remember their names but gets them wrong every time
♡ A few months into dating when labels were now on the relationship, would gift you little things and act like it wasn't her.
♡ once gifted you pre-rolled blunts and you were definitely confused but before you could give them back would kiss your cheeks before saying "No take backs"
♡ keys jingle when she walks, and it's loud asf too!!
♡ whenever you can't find her she's definitely in the gym
♡ low-key would get addicted to going in her free-time ( gym rat ellie ?????)
♡ definitely rubs your back while you are studying or working from home, keeps one arm rubbing circles in your lower back and another on her phone, she enjoyed the comfort of being close even though you kept shushing her. (she’s definitely playing subway surfers or scrolling on tiktok)
strong believer that she would accidentally get tiktok famous, but everything she would post after that one thirst trap would be just videos of you
♡ loves dressing you up, quite literally sits at the edge of the bed while you try on different clothes leaning back as you come out of the bathroom,
"Twirl for me doll,"
" I love that color, you should wear that more often"
♡ one day when you see her playing guitar and beg on her lap that you want to learn, Ellie will literally take you to the guitar center the next day to get you your very own
♡ spoils the crap out of you!!!!!
♡ lovesss teasing you and resting her hands on your upper thigh especially when you wear something revealing like skirts or shorts, she tucks her hand way too close up.
♡ touchy touchy touchy! always has to be touching you somehow
♡ leaving kisses on your neck 24/7 because of the way you jump when her lips touch your skin
♡ skincare nights go so crazy, took a lot of convincing, but will be right next to you with a facemask on while you watch a good show
♡ definitely dominant 80% of the time
♡ pet name Warriorrrr ( baby this...doll that) she literally doesn't stop
♡ if you ever go to a party together definitely shares alcohol with you so you don't drink too much
♡ if you are drunk after will take your make-up off and do your night time routine for you
♡ wakes up late as fuck!!! totally wakes up at 2pm like its nothing
♡ definitely mean to everyone else but you.
I'm talking about glaring at people 24/7, crazy attitudes, and people basically asking for permission before they speak.
♡ whenever she catches you doing your natural hair, begs to help which results in her wanting to do it every washday
♡ at first, Ellie didn't understand the hype behind matching fits but does it just for you
♡ overall Ellie is just a simp for you like literally only cares about you, weed, and getting money
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gevivys (beauty) │ Chapter 5: Resolve
terms of endearment ‘verse: see my Masterlist for the correct series order!
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Chapter 1 │Chapter 2 │Chapter 3 │Chapter 4 │Chapter 5 │Chapter 6 │Chapter 7 │Chapter 8 │Chapter 9 │Chapter 10 (COMPLETE!)
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Synopsis: Daemon returns to King's Landing after ten years in exile, intent on rekindling his affair with Rhaenyra. He wasn't expecting you - the revelation changes everything.
Hello, all! I know, it’s so soon! But this one is a cobbled-together piece of stuff you’ve already seen, just padded out a bit more. I figured I might as well push it on out now, so here ya go! Featuring Jason Lannister for the very first time, to finally bring all this shit together a bit more cohesively. As always, thank you to my boobear @ewanmitchellcrumbs​ for reading though this and reassuring me it isn’t total shite!
TRIGGERS: incest, purity culture, age gap, general Daemon grottiness, allusions to non-consensual sexual situations.
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According to most, Daemon Targaryen is a man in possession of little capacity for feeling beyond what is required to partake in lechery and barbarism. He knows himself; his disparagers are not entirely wrong. Except for one important, essential truth—he would die for his family. He loves his family.
Love, as he understands it, is what he has always felt when looking upon his brother, upon Rhaenyra. No matter the strife that has torn him from his kin time and time again, he can freely acknowledge that such sentiments will remain everlasting.
A kicked hound is one most loyal, he thinks with no small degree of bitterness. Or perhaps the meanest hound is more loyal. Either way, I am the hound—and my master, the King.
Love is what has wrenched harsh and twisting in his heart whenever he laid eyes on you, a toddling girl-child eternally eager for the cossetting attentions of your uncle, your kepa—and he had always been kepa, never Viserys, no, your father had never received an honour beyond being called ‘papa’ like any common pauper—now a stranger in so many ways.
The garden and the morning repast had served to ignite the wellspring of all his wildest desires, delivering to him seemingly all he had ever wanted in a prospective bride; young and beautiful, obedient and good-tempered, Valyrian of colouring and of status. But you had seemed smaller than your younger self—trapped in a prison of your own making, hidden beneath layers and layers of chaste courtesy and painstaking banality. And then, accompanying you to the Dragonpit had given him a curious glimpse into the power you kept hidden, the ancient strength of your lineage slipping through the cracks in your genteel veneer.
Regal. Arcane. These are the words that had come to mind watching you interact with your mount, none other than the famed Cannibal himself; something of the majesty of the Conqueror lay within you, waiting for the necessary spark to kindle the flame. Your exchange with Athfiezar—your silent fearlessness, your devotion to your savage beast, your unassuming poise—reminds him that, for all your equally meek and mild-mannered nature, you are still Targaryen. You are still his sweetling.
It is this that elicits a consuming curiosity to know more.
You are an interesting puzzle, a strange contradiction, one whose buttermilk skin and pert teats and spit-shine lips should herald as a welcome to sample the delights hidden by the fabric of your darling little gowns. Yet, you act not as a silly young thing learning of her sway over men—teasing with fluttering lashes and bit lip and lilting tone as Rhaenyra had—but as a docile girl disinclined to press the limits of propriety as all maidens do. You ride the most savage dragon in the known world, and yet there is no such quality in you that echoes your mount’s disposition; instead, a loveliness that is near to cloying, pure and unadulterated and surely too good to be true. You are a fucking princess, and yet you are perfectly content to fade into the periphery, drawing little notice to yourself and seeking none from those around you, not even your own blood. A scholar, quick-witted and erudite, but somehow still so sweetly unknowing of the depravities that rule the minds of men who lay eyes on you.
You fascinate him. And his newfound realisation does not lessen his temptation to fuck you—to ply you with praise and charm and no small hint of avuncular affection (the reminder of your shared blood thrills him to the bone as always) so that, over time, you might be swayed to give your maidenhead to him—but, rather, that it results in a metamorphosis, a muddling, his longing mingling the base needs of the flesh with a rekindling of his fondness for you.
Which is why he cannot stand the presence of Jason Lannister.
“Why are you entertaining this farce?” Daemon asks, fists clenched at his sides. “A pompous fuck like him has no business anywhere near her.”
“Whatever is the problem, brother?” Viserys says distractedly, hunching over his miniature of Old Valyria and studying the replica of the Targaryen manse on the outskirts with intent. “Jason Lannister is Lord Paramount of the Westerlands. By any standard, I would think he is the best contender for her hand.”
That fucking model of his. Daemon resists the urge to smash the King’s stone city into rubble, though doing so might grant him the attentiveness he is sorely lacking from the man. “Are you not hearing me? He’s an arrogant cunt. He’d bore her in a sennight, let alone whatever hellish span of time an entire marriage would last.”
Viserys hums noncommittally. “She will make do”—he waves Daemon off—“as all noblewomen must when their fathers command them to marry. That is her lot in life. Besides, Lord Jason is one of the wealthiest men in the Realm, and I am told he is rather pleasing to a lady’s eye. She could do worse than he.”
His brother’s remark is a fair one—of the trio, Jason is the preferable choice. And what a fucking miserable choice it would be.
He rolls his eyes. This is going nowhere. “And Tyrell? Your idiot son? Are they the ‘worse’ you speak of?”
Between that foppish peacock, his spiteful little twit of a nephew and the prancing Lion, the latter just barely scrapes by as the best of the bunch.
“Enough, Daemon.” The King sighs, finally deigning to look up from his pile of rock. “These are the suitors she herself has chosen. I care not for the particulars; only that the girl should be wed before her eighteenth name day. Each of them possesses some quality I am sure she finds worthwhile…”
At that, he pauses, brow furrowing. He squints up at Daemon. “What is your interest in the matter, anyway? It has naught to do with you.”
Shit. Daemon makes an evasive comment—something about sullying the purity of their noble lineage—and departs as quickly as he can, eager to escape the risk of Viserys’s suspicion falling on him. It would not do for the man to suspect his intentions toward yet another of his daughters.
He does not intend to seek you and the Lord out, truly; but it nonetheless does not surprise him to realise that, upon freeing himself from the wrathful spiral of his own musings, his feet have taken him to the very same garden where he had first laid eyes upon you again after so many years, where you are now enduring the attentions of the insufferable Lannister patriarch. On this occasion, Cole is nowhere to be seen, and the entry is instead guarded by one of the Cargyll twins.
Daemon spies you on the path just inside, a careful distance placed between you and Jason. Though he cannot make out your expression from his vantage point, he observes well enough the flourishing bow the lord proffers in your direction, the polite curtsey you extend in return, his smug prancing step as he leaves your company. He sees the manner in which your shoulders droop, your head bowing as you turn to wander past the great tree and out of sight. My poor girl.
And then his view is blocked by a garish wash of red and gold.
“Prince Daemon,” Jason says with a haughty simper. With a curt nod, Daemon wordlessly returns the salutation. His lack of warmth is noticed; the Lannister lord hesitates for a moment before returning to his condescending civilities, forcing a relaxed stance. “I was most glad to hear of your return.”
He doubts that. There is little love lost between him and the lord. Jerking his chin toward the garden, he asks, “Leaving so soon, are we? I had thought the entire afternoon was devoted to this little outing.”
Jason chuckles awkwardly. “Well.” He scratches his beard. “The Princess has another engagement to attend to. Something about a tutor.”
Thank the gods for that Lysan fellow. They had never met, but Daemon is certain he’d like the man well enough.
“Doesn’t concern you?” he asks, scarcely bothering to conceal the scepticism from his tone. At the confusion on Lannister’s face, he clarifies. “That she’d rather spend time with her tutor than with you?”
“Why would it, my Prince?” is the answer, self-assured as ever. “He is old, and frail. Best for her to spend as much time with him as she can before she leaves for Lannisport.”
That genuinely irritates him, and not simply the notion of you being shipped off to the lurid monstrosity that is Casterly Rock. Even he knows that your meetings with your tutor are less obligations and more gatherings of friendship—your spirit would surely crumble if you were denied your dearest companion after being coerced to marry.
Daemon suppresses a sneer. “Your confidence is… admirable.” If misplaced, he wants to add.
“There is little competition to be found,” Jason says with a toss of the head. His tawny hair rustles in the gentle breeze, giving him the appearance of the sigil his House has claimed. Fucking ridiculous. Then, the man has the audacity to clap a palm against his arm. “Never fear—I shall take utmost care of her. She’ll want for nothing as my lady wife.”
He shrugs off the over-familiarity, stepping out of reach. “For a time, perhaps. And in a decade? Two? A Princess of the Realm has no business playing nursemaid to her husband in his dotage.”
He is older than I, he thinks. And if she is truly considering him above the others, then…
“I might be the eldest of her suitors, yes,” the man says, a tense smile disguising his offense poorly. “But I have a rather substantial inheritance, unlike the Prince Aegon; and my constitution is more… pleasing than the Lord Tyrell, I’m sure.” His mouth curves into a knowing smirk at that, leaving Daemon with no uncertainty as to what he really means. That little—“I would not dismiss Jason Lannister from the competition just yet. She will choose me; I suggest you accustom yourself to reality, Prince Daemon.”
He grunts dismissively, incensed. There is no reply he can give in this moment that won’t incite the Lannisters to break faith with House Targaryen; and so, he chooses to remove himself from the odious man’s presence entirely, stalking past with nary a word of farewell.
You sit where your younger half-sister had a scarce moon’s turn ago, eyes fixed toward your lap, turning an ornament about with your small fingers. As he nears, the lion salient glimmers in the sun, gold against gold in dazzling vulgarity. Of course, he’d gifted her something with his own fucking sigil on it. What a worthless bequest.
When he calls your name, you hardly react. Your gaze flickers up to him for a mere moment before falling once more, resuming your surveyance of the item in your grasp. There is a pensive expression lingering in your frown, the crease in your brow. It tells him all he needs to know of your true feelings for the Lannister lord, regardless of the man’s own delusions.
“Why—you look positively miserable, sweetling,” he says, settling himself beside you. You glance up at him again, sullen pout puffing out your lower lip. Though your disposition is so downtrodden, it is tempting to press his thumb to that lip, to push inside and feel the wet warmth of your tongue pulse against his flesh in a coquettish tease. “Not enjoying being courted? The gifts, the attention, the romance…”
You take the bait beautifully. Starting at his reference to the pendant in your hold, your nostrils flare exasperatedly. “No. No. I—I just—” You stop, shaking your head. “Never mind.”
“Go on,” he cajoles gently, lowly. “Tell Uncle Daemon.”
It is all the encouragement you need. “There is little romance to be found in this—this charade.” You sigh, eyes fixed on some minute detail past his head. He’s struck by the melancholy in your voice. “These men—Lord Jason, Lord Denys, Aegon—they do not want me. They want an idea of me; a Targaryen bride with pale hair and Valyrian blood. One who will give them children they shall make little effort to raise, a silent doll to clasp onto and show off at feasts and balls… as though possessing me is somehow meaningful. They do not—they do not see me.”
It’s here your voice cuts off strangely. He wishes it hadn’t, for he finds himself enthralled by the mournful monologue that paints a picture of the loneliest girl in King’s Landing. There is something yearning and haunted in that saccharine stare of hers, he thinks. A babe with her arms held out, wailing at the world as it leaves her abandoned in the crib. It’s an eerie echo of a conversation that took place a decade prior, though the lead role lacks the infantile petulance of the previous star.
He finds himself retracing those steps almost without realising.
“Idīnnon dēmalio syt verdilla mērī issa. Dīnakson toliot, gaoso gaomagon kostas.” He is testing, prodding, waiting for what might result from his efforts. Marriage is only a political arrangement. Once you are wed, you can do as you like.
The words make your cheeks flush fetchingly and your brow wrinkle once more, glancing back at him apprehensively. Pretty pink girl with a pretty pink blush; how far down does it spread? You swallow; pause; look away, wrestling with a thought. You peep back up at him.
“Se skorverdon jessivo aōt kesrȳsi jiōrtas?” you ask with surprising cynicism. You exhale loudly, staring at some fixed point in the distance. “Ābrazȳri buttā, riñar daor, mērpāves… Tolī jaelan.”
And how much joy did this bring you? you say. A wife you hated, no children, loneliness… I want more. The quiet longing in your voice is palpable.
He grimaces at the mention of his bronze bitch—he’d rather not know how widespread the knowledge of the circumstances around her… accident… had been in the wake of his departure.
“What is it you want, then?” he asks, switching back to the Common Tongue, the corner of his mouth already contorting in anticipation of the naïve response. True love, a happily ever after… We don’t get to have happy endings, he thinks to himself.
“I want someone who loves me,” you say, pressing on crossly at the huff of laughter that escapes him. “I never said I would love him!”
The pessimistic elucidation takes him aback. Again, it is not exactly what he had been expecting. Full of surprises today. He tips his head consideringly at you, inviting you to continue.
You hesitate for a moment.
“I… They say my father loved my mother. I believe it, but—” You swallow, the corners of your mouth turning down as you mull over your words. “They say he had a choice when baby Baelon was born. That he could cut her open to get the babe out, but that it would mean her certain death.”
Gods above. Where in the Seven hells had you learned that piece of information? Viserys had kept the circumstances of Aemma’s death under tight wraps, never even deigning to mention it to his own brother. It was pure happenstance that one of the maids he enjoyed fucking at the time had been present on the unfortunate day.
Your eyes glisten as you speak, limpid pools of lilac glowing like fire in the light. “I do not think I could ever choose my own life over my child’s—but they say he did not even ask her, that he just… held her down while they—How could I ever trust a man to raise the babe I bore him if he would be willing to butcher his own wife in her childbed?”
He watches as you clench your eyes tight, set your jaw and exhale a few shuddery breaths. When they blink open, they are no longer so tear-bright. Daemon suddenly admires you for it, for the way you so ruthlessly suppress weakness. He wonders how often you’ve been made to force back your own pain for the good of your family.
“What happened to your mother was a terrible tragedy, sweetling.” He reaches forward to finally grip your small, pale hand in his. It is cold and dwarfed entirely in his own. “But you cannot live in fear forever.”
You make to pull your hand away. He closes his grip tighter upon it, coercing you to look up at him properly.
“When hope is gone, what choice left is there but fear?” It is a whisper, carried on the breeze, and the thinly veiled misery pains him in the chest.
I thought that beating thing was black and dead by now, he thinks to himself.
You shake your head, smile. The picture of the melancholy maiden fades from view as you affect an appearance of energy once more, gentle and muted as it is. “I know my father loved my mother, and so love is no guarantee of loyalty; but it would be helpful, I think.”
“You see love and loyalty as intertwined, then?” he cannot help but to ask. He is intrigued by this rare showing of spirit, of vitality, a resurrection of his baby niece from long ago. It is you, finally; his little girl, only now you possess the curves of a gold-gilded whore and the thousand-year gaze of an ancient, arcane being.
“Do you not?” Your head is tilted like an inquisitive bird’s, artlessly assessing. “You cannot have one without the other. Loyalty without love makes for an easy traitor, and love without loyalty makes for an unhappy marriage.”
He laughs again at the latter part of your pronouncement. A sweet, trusting little filly waiting to be broken in.
“There are many ways to love someone, Princess.” He ogles you shamelessly, savouring the affectation of outraged bewilderment painting your countenance. “I imagine you’ll find few of them in the marriage bed.”
He waits for you to question him—to ask him what he means, to ask him to explain, to teach you, show you—but instead, you pull back, taking all the warmth from his palm with you.
“I dislike your implication, Uncle,” you say stiffly, returning your hand to your lap and nestling it between your thighs to retain the heat.
Fuck.
He backtracks raising his hands in a jesting show of defeat. “I meant nothing by it, gevivys.”
Beauty. It is an apt title. an underwhelming one, even. Surely there is little else more beautiful than the sight you make here, now, a rich blush spreading along the unblemished expanse of your chest—regrettably enclosed by pale damask just above the protrusion of your tits—the planes of your throat, not quite travelling up to decorate your cheeks.
You sigh. “You never do.”
Daemon lets the conversation lull, deciding to instead look upon the little revelation before him. You are an interesting puzzle, one whose decorum in the face of his gentle compulsion—that same persuasion he had so often utilised to get fetching girls to strip bare for him and show off their equally-as-fetching cunts—had instead left him lacking. The body of a slut and the mind of a scholar, all wrapped up in wide eyes and honey-sweet words and wild hair the shade of Old Valyria. Of home.
A wild thought seizes him. If he leans forward, he could do it. He could grip you by the back of the neck and pull you to him, press his lips to yours and coax you past your panic and fear and into a hot, sweeping rhythm, a push and pull of tongue and teeth that would set you both alight. And from there, how simple would it be to murmur pretty praise as he lowers you down, raises your skirts up, cleaves you open until your blood wets his cock with the proof of his claim, incontestable, not even by the King himself? The deed would be messy, perhaps distressing and no doubt painful, but it would solve several issues at once. He would be free to do as he likes with his lascivious desires after you are made to wed him, and you would be free from your pitiful suitors and given a husband worthy of you. In time, the hurt and shock and fright would fade, he knows it.
He could. He could. He—
The spell is broken. Your attention is diverted by the squeals of a dark-haired boy as he bowls his way to you, throwing himself across your lap with a cry of your name. Daemon tries not to glare at young Lucerys as he tries to roughhouse with you. Having somewhat learned the schedules of his family, it baffles him somewhat that the child is not at his daily lessons. Should Laenor not have him now?
The thought must conjure the man himself, the Velaryon scion appearing seemingly out of nowhere. Laenor’s expression is forbidding as he strides over to you and his son, silver locs swinging with the velocity of each step. With his glare affixed to his face, he reaches a hand down to you in silent command, staring daggers at Daemon all the while.
What the hells is his problem?
You take hold of your goodbrother, bewildered, and allow him to tug you gently from the bench beside Daemon. Lucerys slides from beside you with a rustle, easily revolving around to dart toward the grass. You are already grabbing at the boy’s hand to stop him running off.
Daemon watches Laenor attempt to rearrange his countenance into something less violent. “Would you take Luke off to the training yards, sister?”
A look of vague incomprehension cross your face at the question.
At least she senses the oddity, too, he acknowledges.
Laenor’s head turns down to where he sits, and it is then that it dawns on him that his nephew-by-marriage had very possibly been watching him stare at his baby niece’s tits for longer than he could claim plausible deniability of.
Ah, shit. The darting, mistrustful gaze suddenly makes sense.
“Of course, Laenor,” you say sweetly, biddably.
Daemon cannot help but wonder what else you might comply with if gently persuaded. He glances up at you from where he sits, smirking playfully as you turn to him.
“It seems we must part for now, sweetling,” he tells you. He ignores Laenor’s grimace from behind you.
“It does.” You shift lightly. It is clear to see that there is something about your shared conversation that has unnerved you. The notion sends a trail of perverse excitement through him. He wonders what other reactions he might prompt out of you with gentle teasing. “I—thank you, Uncle. For listening.”
The words are honest, free of artifice. It is surprisingly warming to hear. When you make to depart, he calls you back.
“What—no goodbye kiss for your beloved uncle this time?” he asks, hoping he’ll bait you into action. He determinedly disregards Laenor’s huff, eyes trained on you as you swallow with trepidation before quickly making the short few steps back to him.
Your knee settles on the seat beside him, clearly meant to be no more than a brief resting place so that you may carry out his implicit request and leave—if not for the way in which your skirts gather around your leg in a manner assured to result in your toppling over should you attempt to rise without fixing them. Daemon turns his head to yours as you free yourself from the tangle. Up close, closer than he would ever dare get usually, he can see each lash that frames your eyes, the hairs that sprout from your brows, the slick cherry bloom of your mouth—a whisper-sweet gather of plump, plush fruit he wants, needs, to take a bite from.
Would you let me, little girl? he wonders.
You gasp, a short little breath of surprise, and lurch away lightly at the closeness. A brave little thing, you return to him, pressing those precious petal-soft lips to the skin of his cheek. Your covered breasts press involuntarily against his arm.
Fucking hells.
“Sȳz bantis, kepus.” Good evening, Uncle, you say in that light little accent of yours, an unintended provocation of his basest yearnings.
With that, you bundle the boy up in your capable little hands and make for your destination, the Cargyll knight falling into formation behind you.
“Care to explain—well, all of that?” Laenor asks.
Oh—yes. Daemon pushes himself from his seat, deliberately stalling while he thinks of a response that isn’t what the fuck how the fuck when the fuck and why.
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” he says idly, slyly, glancing over at him.
“No!” His goodnephew leans forward into his space. He is taken aback by the vehemence in his tone, uncharacteristic of the bumbling, affable man. “You don’t get to do this to her; not this one, not this time.”
“Whatever do you think I plan to do to her?” Daemon laughs, wondering at the answer himself.
Whatever would she let me do to her?
Laenor sighs, steps back. “Look.” He lightly nudges him to walk alongside him as they make for the garden’s entry. “She’s not one of your whores, Daemon. She’s just a girl. She’s not the type to play your twisted little games, so leave her be—please.”
He is warmed by the defence of your goodbrother, an admission of familiarity and care that is sure to have flourished since the man’s entrance into the family some years ago.
“What makes you think I have any intention of—how did you put it—playing games with her?” If he were a little less honest with himself, he would be affronted by the manner in which Laenor had jumped straight to an accusation. But Lord Flea Bottom’s reputation is inescapable, even after so many years. “Perhaps my objective is pure and wholesome.”
“Right.” Laenor snorts, shaking his head as he folds his hands behind his back. “You’re far more likely to fall in with her horde of suitors than to believably claim familial interest.”
True. And yet… why not? He’s conceived all manner of plots to satiate his wants, from drunken fumbles in the dark to his half-baked impulse from but a moment ago. Unlike his previous conquests, though, he doubts the need will dissipate after a single fuck. You are too important to him—his precious girl turned darkest desire, the only woman he could ever deign to carry on his line with.
Viserys has been pressuring him to seek out a bride. He mightn’t be happy with the prospect of his brother asking for his daughter’s hand, exactly, but there is surely no debate that he is the best contender. Not Jason. Not Denys. Not fucking Aegon. Daemon. And, well, if the asking should go poorly—how simple would it be to whisk you away to Dragonstone, to speak the vows and seal the deed before it can be undone? There is no risk this time, no Iron Throne to lose, no treaty or agreement that cannot be broken…
He can see it now. Your sweet little face peering up at him, marked with his blood, lip dripping red with the pledge of entangling your souls together in savage Valyrian custom. Your pretty little eyes wide with maidenly shock as he breaches your untried cunt, tight and pulsing and hotwetwarm, binding you to him irrevocably. The slow waddling of your gait as you round with child, his child, his sweetest babe bringing forth life of her own, belly ripe with seed and leaking his spend—
“Laenor,” he says slowly, eyes glinting as his lips upturn in a wide grin, “I do believe you have the best ideas.”
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Read the story on AO3 here:
https://archiveofourown.org/works/42100623/chapters/120880855
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super-paper · 8 months
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Do you think Hawks will die to save Toga?
Personally, I wouldn't like it if either of them died. Like, the potential narrative payoff here would be strongest if both of them lived, imo. I would rather see a situation where Keigo donates just enough blood to stabilize them both, rather than a situation where one person completely exsanguinates themselves and leaves behind a rash of trauma and unresolved feelings in the person they "saved."
I'm definitely not the best when it comes to Hawks meta, but I'll try my best to break down my personal feelings on why I feel both Keigo and Himiko need to live in order to "break the cycle":
1. You Can Start Over. I'll Help You.
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This one's the biggest, most obvious point in favor of them both living imo. Hawks made an offer to help Jin start over, but rescinded that offer and immediately went for the kill the moment Jin showed signs of resistance. This was Keigo's biggest failure as both a hero and as an individual, and something he has yet to atone for.
In turn, Himiko believes there are no second chances-- that her only options are death or being locked away forever. So, she chooses death. She needs someone to offer her a third option.
The set up is there.
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There's also the matter of Keigo and Himiko both stating that they want an "easier world" as their core motivation, and both of them state that they want to be the ones who help make that world.
Their goals only sound simplistic on the surface and serve as a mask for their respective traumas, but... ultimately, a world that's easier for Himiko to live in (where she is consensually given blood by someone who loves her and she is allowed to give her blood back to the world in return) is a world where heroes can finally take it easy-- because it's a world that nips the endless creation of its own "villains" in the bud, through unified acts of compassion and understanding.
Both characters have caused others intense pain and hurt others in their attempts to take shortcuts to the creation of an "easier world"-- Hawks is the hero that's "too fast," and Himiko is also associated with her near-supernatural speed. They're both too impatient and want the quickest possible results. Having both Himiko and Keigo living and learning the "right way" to create their ideal world-- and then, getting to be a part of that world as they both continue to atone-- feels much more meaningful than having one or both of them die before they can see that future reach fruition.
2. The Big, Suicidal Elephant in the Room
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The majority of the LOV members all struggle with suicidal ideation-- Touya wants to set everything Endeavor ever chose over him ablaze, and he wants that inferno to also serve as his funeral pyre. Tomura has got a dissertation's worth of issues regarding his own mortality and self-perception/identity, and his whole "let's-just-destroy-it-all/we-don't-need-a-future-actually-lol" schtick has always been a symptom rather than a legit proposal for a cure. Himiko wants to disappear into the identities of the people she loves, because the world treats her a little more kindly when she isn't "Toga Himiko." The LOV trio's arcs all revolve around "death of the self" to some degree. (That said... resurrection and rebirth are also heavy themes within Tenko, Touya, and Himiko's arcs, soooo....)
Keigo also struggles with suicidal ideation and places the worth of his own life far, far, faaaaar below that of everyone else.
This has already been said, and shouldn't really need to be said in the first place, but-- people have every right to feel uncomfortable and criticize a story that attempts to validate suicidal characters by portraying their suicide in a noble/redemptive light.
Next!
3. It's All About All Mi-- Err..... Tomie?
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"I was fine with that-- not saving her, turning my back on her. Me, who claims he wants to help people." - Hawks, about Tomie.
"I tried to go about things the right way" is a good line that touches on one of the core conflicts of Keigo's character: He suppresses so much of his natural instinct to do good so he can do "right."
Keigo knows in his heart of hearts that "the right way" doesn't save people like his mother, it didn't save Jin, and it's not going to save Himiko. He's been groomed into upholding the society and status quo that caused him and Tomie to nearly fall through the cracks in the first place-- and I've always found it both fascinating and sad that Keigo seems to equate choosing "the right way" (i.e. becoming a hero) to abandoning his mother. Keigo effectively being *sold* to the HPSC is what took Tomie off of the streets and gave her a roof over her head-- it gave her "a chance to start over." But Keigo doesn't seem to view this as true saving. With that in mind, his attempt to "save" Jin by essentially giving him the same offer the HPSC gave Tomie was always doomed end in failure.
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Keigo: "My mother feared punishment for harboring a criminal, so she took me and ran."
Tomie first ran out of fear of being arrested after Takami Thief was captured-- which led to both her and Keigo being homeless for an extended period of time. She ran again after Dabi/Touya threatened her for information on Keigo, this time out of fear of her son-- a son who had became synonymous with "the law" she feared so much in her eyes. She can't bear facing him after her betrayal and implicitly fears punishment/condemnation from him (even though Keigo had *no* intention of punishing her)-- Tomie readily leaves behind the "normal" home and "normal" life that Hawks obtained for her through "doing things the right way," bc the imaginary threat of punishment and condemnation is something that comes across as worse for her. This only further convinces Keigo that he failed to save his mother, even though he's the one who's being betrayed and hurt by her.
I can't help seeing similarities between Tomie & Himiko's decisions to run out of an intense fear of punishment/imprisonment, and how this inevitably ties to Keigo. Keigo subconsciously realizes that he can't truly save people like Tomie, Jin, or Himiko as "Hawks" because "Hawks" is part of the problem. He longs to save others as himself-- as "Takami Keigo" (which is why the loss of his quirk kind of has me like "👀 👀 👀 whatcha gonna do next, turkey boy...,,..👀 👀 👀" )
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As an aside, I seem to recall that transhawks made a few meta post where they talk about how there are traces of Jin's design in Tomie (esp her eyes, which have the same dead-eyed thousand yard stare) and that their resemblance is likely intentional (edit: link to one post pointing the resemblance out)-- It's not as overt, but imo, Himiko also resembles Tomie (just a little!) when she has her hair down.
Anyway! Both Jin and Himiko dying after Keigo A) has spent his whole life agonizing about how his own mother wasn't able to survive in their current society, B) has expressed guilt about how he didn't even try to save her and didn't make attempts to involve himself in her life, C) has talked at length about he wanted to be "more like Bubaigawara" and then proceeded to roleplay him, badly, for a good third of Act 3 (ohhhh boy ☠️☠️☠️), and D) had demanded that Toga be killed immediately after she arrives in Gunga, only for Ochako and Tsuyu to explicitly challenge and reject the idea that killing was the only option available.... idk, Himiko dying while Keigo does nothing would just feel massively incoherent at this point??
TL;DR The resolution to Keigo's arc currently hinges on addressing his origin, his identity, his guilt, and his ties to these three characters. Keigo feels that he failed with Tomie, and he explicitly failed with Jin-- and I personally don't think his arc can have a satisfactory ending without addressing those failures through Himiko, or without him trying to right where he went wrong by helping her in some capacity. This is a chance for him to finally follow his innate drive to do good over doing what their society dictates as "right."
----
All that being said, if Hori did decide to have Hawks sacrifice himself: Hawks choosing to sacrifice himself because he wants to believe in the future that the hero kids are creating and wants to believe that children like Himiko have a place in that future feels WAAAY more tonally consistent with mha's themes than Himiko choosing to sacrifice herself because she doesn't think she has a future
One message is about healing and hope and belief, the other is about failing to truly save someone who was already suicidal from their inevitable self destruction.
MHA has been defining true saving as "going above and beyond" for hundreds of chapters now-- true saving means saving a person's heart, body, and soul. It means giving them a future. By mha's own definitions, Himiko choosing to kill herself means she wasn't saved. Pure and simple-- You can't save the heart but not the body/soul (Himiko), you can't save the soul but not the body/heart (Touya), and you can't save the body but not the heart/soul (Tomura). There's a lot more work to be done here-- but that's fine, bc MHA has never depicted true saving or true healing as some magical, instantaneous thing. (#recoverygirldni)
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peachdues · 10 months
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Re: bundle of joy - I can't get Sanemi's comment abt how he watched his mom suffer miscarriages at the hand of his father out of my head. What if he saw his mom cry every time she realized she was pregnant again? Like she loved all of her kids, but she knew what their dad would do to them. What if he also helped take care of his mom through her pregnancies and post-partum because his dad never did? I'm just UGH I'm SO SOFT FOR NEMI.
THIS THIS THIS.
Sanemi was the eldest and therefore took on the most responsibility after his mother, and he was a mama’s boy through and through. I think his mother was his single biggest influence. I actually think his early life observing his father’s treatment of his mother plays a huge role in how he approaches Y/N’s pregnancy — and his relationship with her in general.
I imagine that everything he did for Y/N in Bundle of Joy, he learned by helping his mother during her pregnancies. I agree that he probably saw how difficult pregnancy was for his mother (because let’s be real, none of those kids were born from love, and that’s heartbreaking), and has long since promised that if he ever has a child, he will do everything he can for both his kid and their mother. He’s ecstatic at first, but then Y/N says she wants to keep things in the down-low for a bit, and suddenly he’s terrified that he’s done to her what his father did to his mother, and he would rather die than cause her any pain. I think his deepest insecurity is becoming like his father, and while Sanemi can be a hardass and tough, he cannot be anything other than soft for his lover and their children.
I think that after the kid is born (and let’s be real, he is so girl-dad coded), he would take the most parenting inspiration from his mother. Sure, Sanemi is still going to be Sanemi, but both he and Genya idolized their mother. Not only does he love his kid without limit, but I could also see him trying to incorporate her gentle way of parenting, too. He wants his child(ren) to have everything he didn’t when he was growing up, and he will do anything to ensure they get it.
Something that I wish we saw more of in the Sanemi-realm of demon slayer content is more of an understanding of how he treats women in general. I think there’s a tendency to write him along the same lines of how Obanai treats other female slayers apart from Shinobu and Mitsuri, but I’m not sure that’s entirely accurate.
We’re told several times that Sanemi is kind to women, but I don’t think that’s limited to non-Corps women. He observes a lower-ranked female slayer being harassed by M*dea and straight up makes the pig piss himself by yelling so much at him. He doesn’t tolerate any disrespect towards women because Sanemi starts every day by drinking his Respect Women Juice. I’m not saying he’s soft on female slayers, but I think he’s definitely more subdued. He’s not going to level personal/emotional attacks against them because that’s what his father did (along with the physical abuse) and Sanemi hates his father.
Honestly, tempted to explore more of the Bundle of Joy universe — like how Y/N and Sanemi actually meet and get together/their time in their secret relationship, and even as parents. Sanemi doesn’t strike me as someone who sleeps with another without already being emotionally invested in them to some degree, because he doesn’t like to feel as though he’s using them as a means to an end. I would like to write some parallels between Y/N’s pregnancy and his memories of his mothers’ pregnancies and show how they directly influenced him later on. We’ll see!
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wazzappp · 13 days
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I drew. a lot for this. Also heads up for non RE mutuals this is going to be. confusing for you. I'm going to do my best to annotate and provide context but you are in for a wild ride.
Anyway long ass lore post for how Lisa and Robbie go from fighting to working together in this AU.
In the RE8 cannon all of the Dimitrescu daughters are made at the same time but for the sake of ✨the situations✨ I am going to change that. Lisa lived the longest as a human before being assimilated into the mold with a Cadou (infecting extension of the Megamycite). Technically her 'sisters' are older than her, as they were assimilated a while ago. Lisa has been a member of house Dimitrescu for about 2 years now. This puts her in this. Weird middle child zone. She wants to make her 'family' proud but she's also aware that what makes them proud isn't really the most achievable thing in the world (expecially with Bela to contend with. Older sibling overachiever to the maximum). She's got a certain degree of distance from them and sometimes wonders if she wasn't better off before all of this. Her memories are fuzzy but still there for the most part. She cant remember faces or names but she remembers feelings and situations. She doesen't remember families being like this (she wants OUT).
Chasing prey brought in is fairly standard for her. It's some of the only entertainment she gets. So when she catches Robbie exploring around the castle she has no idea that he's special in any way. He's just some new guy she gets to mess with before eating and DAMN he's FUN. If she didn't know any better she could almost think that he has experience being chased around (he does. he very much so does. all of RE7's worth). What she ALSO doesn't know is that Mother Miranda (big bad. Different from Lady Dimitrescu, who she refers to as 'mother') is planning on using Gabe (who is replacing baby Rose in this) to try and resurrect her dead kid with a 'perfect vessel' and this requires. uh. disassembly (in the base RE8 gameplay the reason Ethan goes to each house is because uhhhhhhhh his infant daughter has been dismembered and stored in jars and he needs to collect them so he can put her back together.... yeah). Robbie intervenes before this can get going and is instead going house to house because if he wants to get out of this stupid fuckass villiage he needs to collect the key components to unlock the gate keeping him in here (i need him to have a reason. to kill everyone. its important to me ok).
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When Lisa finds out this random, but fun guy, she's been chasing who she thought was JUST SOME NORMAL GUY killed one of her sisters she mentally goes 'Oh. OH. THERES A CHANCE FOR ME TO GET OUT OF HERE'. That in conjunction with discovering Mother Miranda is planning on FULLY DISMEMBERING A CHILD she uh. Makes some decisions.
What you have to understand about her plans of matricide is that neither Lady Dimitrescu or her sisters can actually really fully die. Sure, their bodies are gone, but their consciousness is stored in the hive mind and they can reform later after gathering their strength. If she has to put her kinda shitty found family in time out for the sake of getting herself out of here + keeping her newly revived conscience clean she's absolutely going to do it.
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(fuckin. backgrounds. dialogue. fuck. why can things not just take place inside of the void. DUKE MY BELOVED WE LOVE AND RESPECT DUKE IN THIS HOUSE HES A REAL ONE fuck now I got it in my head that he keeps trying to play matchmaker for them and i need to. go draw that because its too funny not to.)
Lisas plan involves this lab I had her mention in the comic above. It's where Robbie needs to go to synthesize more poison for the dagger of deaths flowers, and SUPPOSEDLY where a medicine that might allow her to go outside again might be (enemies of Lisas type become SIGNIFICANTLY weaker in the cold. She could try to bundle up but its still really not a good idea). She would love to go there herself, but it's in an area of the castle thats exposed to the cold of the outdoors.
The Two of them make a fairly decent team and Lisa finds herself having a LOT more fun hunting with someone else than she does on her own. They balance each other out pretty well; Robbie works primarily with guns so he can watch Lisas back while she's up close wrecking any grunts they run into. It's also pretty helpful having someone who can turn into a swarm of flies for puzzle solving purposes.
After all this Robbies trust for her increases SIGNIFICANTLY. He's still not really sure about her, but she's moved out of the 'active threat' classification into the 'kinda helpful' zone.
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Lisa's plan has three ways it could go:
They all fail miserably and get sent to mental and physical time out in the megamycite.
They win and get to go free but either the medicine isn't there or it doesen't work. In which case she's just planning on getting as many coats as possible and Try-or-Die-ing it.
The medicine is there and she actually gets to roam free
Luckily for her, the medicine IS there, it DOES work, and Robbies sense of honor / noticing her usefulness (its hard to wage a one man war on an entire community of mutants ok you cant blame him for appreciating having some ACTUAL HELP for once) all align for the best possible scenario.
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The cold does still affect her; her healing isn't as quick as it usually is and her increased strength / speed is a bit reduced, but she can go!! outside!!
She decided to stick with Robbie in getting out of the village as a whole. She doesen't really know what the world outside is like but anything has to be better than here (plus if she stays here she's probably getting shoved into the Megamycite by Mother Miranda PERMENANTLY and that just. wont do).
Also yes Lisa being with Robbie for the rest of his adventures means that she is there for Heisenbergs 'proposal'. She uh. Does not like that much.
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this all made. more sense in my head I hope it at least makes a little sense out loud.
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sourbinnie · 10 months
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title -> how i hate those guys! genre -> angst + college au pair -> hyunjin x gn!reader warnings -> reader wears makeup + smoking + cursing + hyunjin being a hyunmean words -> 3705 lowercase intended a/n: this is longer than i usually write, anyways yunjin best friend ever, that's it.
this what makes us girls we all look for heaven and we put love first something that we'd die for, it's a curse don't cry about it, don't cry about it this is what makes us girls we don't stick together 'cause we put love first don't cry about him, don't cry about him it's all gonna happen
this is what makes us girls / lana del rey
"if he's here, i'll probably die." i said as i looked down. trying my best to fix my outfit and my hair as we walked down the street at night, not the best choice but none of us had a car and we were not taking public transport for a few blocks. 
"you know he is! stop being so nervous, it's gonna be fine." yunjin responded as she took my hand and i just sighed. we have been friends for over 2 years and yet i still felt like i was too little for her. she was just a dream, the it girl kinda type, she didn't have to make the effort to look pretty, she just was. while i was here with an outfit that her and chaewon picked, with makeup that they wanted me to wear and i tried my best to fit in this whole atmosphere. 
it was a house party, a big one. one of my classmates held it and i didn't even know he had this much money to be hosting something so grand, it definitely made me feel insecure that i was still living with my parents and struggling to keep a job and paying a private university which was prestigious but also had the reputation for everyone being a "show off". i never considered myself the fancy type either but i really wanted to get my degree and to make my parents proud and in the third year, here i was trying my best to survive. i met yunjin and chaewon when i first started, i hit it off with both of them because we were kinda lost in the whole college deal and being beginners felt weird. it took a group project and us sitting close to each other for us to actually start talking and become friends but it was worth it. 
some people say that college is nothing like high school which i agree. but then i look at the people, how they act and how they show off themselves. i can't help but get flashbacks to secondary school life. just now everyone's an adult and semi conscious of their actions. 
when we arrived, the music was gonna make me deaf. it was so loud and the place was packed, like it was a big house for sure but i did not understand how many people they invited. i was guessing it would be just the people that this guy knew but apparently i didn't know anything about parties. the word spread from mouth to mouth as more people found out about what was happening today. getting in was already a disaster with the heavy clouds of smoke that some guys were blowing in the front lawn. yunjin grabbed my hand and decided to get me in as chaewon went looking for sakura in the backyard. the neon lights were fluorescent as i took in the atmosphere that surrounded me and trying to see familiar faces so i felt less alone. i barely knew people here to be fair, the only one who stood out to me was san who i've done a couple of projects with and he was hanging out with wooyoung who i've seen around campus (he's loud, impossible not to notice him). he waved at me and i waved back slightly as i kept on walking with yunjin. i didn't know what she was looking for exactly, probably one of her million friends. it was like she knew the whole college, she definitely became the most popular out of our friend group and i might not be as popular but i did have a "reputation" because i was by her side.
"okay (y/n), there he is." yunjin said to me and i looked at her confused but then i saw who she was pointing at and immediately grabbed her arm for her to put it down. she just laughed at my actions and sighed, as i took in the scene again. hwang hyunjin was right there with his group of friends and he looked bored out of his mind. i never took in to be a party kinda guy but i knew that his friends changbin and jisung were a bit wild. he was probably the prettiest boy i've ever seen, most handsome one for sure. he just had a beauty that i could not describe with words and he was following the same career that i was, we were in almost every class together and saw each other almost every day but i'm pretty sure he had no idea i even existed. 
"what the hell am i supposed to do with that information? it's not like i can go and walk over to him yun!" i said and she just smiled, i knew she found it cute when i was nervous. i couldn't focus on anything but him and this happened quite a lot because i would just stare as mesmerized as i could get. and if he did know i existed, it's not like he would look my way. "can we go find chae and kura?" i said and she just looked at me with her big puppy eyes.
"come onnn, this is your chance to shine! we're not in college, you both have something in common and also he's all alone right now!" she said and she did have a point. but i could not even have a conversation with a stranger, let alone with my crush! what the hell was i gonna say?. "he's looking in our direction right now." she said and i panicked.
he was indeed looking and as yunjin pretended that she was looking somewhere else, i held eye contact with him and he actually fucking smiled. if i didn't pass out right then & there than i don't know how i was gonna survive this night. he signaled me to come over since his friends were somewhere else and i just mouthed "me?" which caused him to nod. it took a slight push from yunjin as she waved me goodbye for me to go where hyunjin was. shaky legs and everything i made through the crowd and to him. his jacket hanging on his shoulders, his necklace on his neck and his earrings were gonna make me lose it but i stayed calm and spoke up.
"hi, why did you want me to come over?" i said as best as i could 'cause the noise was still loud as hell and the people chatting just made it worse. drunkenness all around but i didn't drink so i could stay sober while talking to hyunjin, good move i know.
"it's rude to stare at me like that you know? i've seen you doing it during class too." he said laughing and i wanted to die right there, bury me i don't care. of course he was gonna notice that i do that like a psychopath. 
"i'm sorry, i don't know why i do that at all." i said and i did know but i was gonna keep it to myself because the worst thing i could say right now is that i had a crush on him for like a year already. "i will go now! have a nice night".
"stay please, it's not like we both have company right now and our friends well-" he said as he pointed out the window and i saw his friends jumping in the pool and mine hanging out with a bunch of girls that i didn't know at all. it was hard to feel included but i tried to see the good side and that was that they considered me a part of the group. "(y/l/n) (y/n) right?".
"yeah! we share... a lot of classes together." i said as he offered me his drink. "oh no thanks! i don't drink." he then nodded as he put it down and sat down on the floor since every seat was taken and again did the signal with his hand. i sat down next to him and even in the nighttime, with all the purple and red lights, i could not stop admiring him. i was still in a state of shock that he was even talking to me but i tried to let it go. 
"you love staring don't you?" he said and i just looked back down again as i blushed. i could feel the heat rush up to my cheeks and the air getting heavier from the amount of people that were in the house at that moment. "i don't mind though but let me stare at you too."
"okay?" i said and so we did. we stared at each other for quite a while as his eyes met my features like he was studying every single one of them. he smiled at me and i couldn't help but smile back as his hand met my crimson red cheek and slowly traced patterns with his fingers on it. he placed a kiss on my chin and i took it in like i was high. i didn't know how i would feel if i actually got a kiss from him but i would take in every moment that i could if i could only feel him.
he then leaned in closer to my ear and whispered.
"let's get out of here okay?" 
i just nodded and he grabbed my hand as he took me outside, everyone in the crowd moved like they were in his control. as soon as i felt the cold air breeze, his hands were on my waist and he kissed me. it was so deep and so majestic that i almost lost balance but he grabbed me. i followed his pattern as his lips and mine moved to a slow rhythm but it was perfect. i could not ask for a better first kiss with hyunjin.
"been wanting to do that for so long now." he said and i just smiled as i was completely enamored by him and his words.
"why didn't you?" i said and that's when he smiled. 
"just seeing you today gave me the last push i needed to do it."
✉ ✉ ✉
when i got back home, i immediately got a message from yunjin. i was so tired but all the excitement and the energy i was feeling in my chest was driving me on to answer it. i also got hyunjin's number which after what happened shouldn't be that surprising but it was. i still couldn't believe he noticed me and that he did all of that. he made ! a ! move ! on ! me ! and i gotta thank yunjin for that.
yunjinnie❤ OH GOD I SAW IT I WAS EXPECTING FOR A CONVERSATION NOT FOR YOU TO MAKE OUT WITH HIM AGAINST THE WALL WHAT THE HELL (Y/N) YOU BETTER THANK ME
i couldn't help but laugh at the eagerness and then feel completely embarrassed by my actions. of course everyone saw us and in the moment i didn't care. but then i saw the pics that chaewon kept sending me and yep, there we were. his hands around my waist, mine on his chest as he kissed me. he lead it on and on as i followed every move and i could still feel his lips when i touched mine. it was such a sweet feeling to be wanted by the one you wanted all along but it still felt unreal.
i answered every single message i was getting from my friends but then i saw him message me.
hyunjin ♡  can't wait to see you this week had so much fun tonight take care (y/n) and have a lovely night
i held back my teenage girl scream as i didn't wanna wake up my parents but oh god that make a thousand butterflies explode in my stomach. i couldn't even sleep, i was just thinking the night through back & forth. repeating the events like film scenes. but this was my reality and it was all changing so quickly.
✉ ✉ ✉
i felt the weekend end quickly and monday to start so abruptly. i walked to class with chaewon and i could feel the stares right on me, i didn't know how to act around it but i tried my best to ignore it and to keep going. as always chae would sit with sakura and i would sit with yunjin but today she called in sick. what i did not expect was for hyunjin to sit next to me and greet me with his signature smile. 
"hey, i hope you don't mind me taking this seat." he said and i shook my head as i saw him once again. his hair was combed back, shining platinum blonde as he left his bag on the floor and his eyes were on me again. again the analyzing kinda phase was never going to stop as we looked at each other and our hands met under the table. intertwining fingers as i bit my lip 'cause he still really made me nervous. "i hope your weekend was good and that you get used to this because like i said... i really wanted to do what i did that night."
the class started and i could not answer him. but from the stares he kept on giving me, i know he already knew my answer and how i was feeling more comfortable than ever with him. chae and kura kept on laughing behind me but i didn't care because i was again so enamored by the feeling that i was being given a chance to be with the one i wanted for so long.
my next class wasn't with hyunjin but that still didn't stop him from texting me all the way through. that also didn't stop the staring or the whispering that could be heard when they saw me. i heard the word "hyunjin's toy" and it made me shiver 'cause i didn't wanna doubt everything but it felt like things were going too well and in my favor to not be doubting that something bad could happen. 
✉ ✉ ✉
an entire month of me and hyunjin going back and forth. from kissing in the courtyard to painting together to listening to playlists we made for each other. it was safe to say that it wasn't a crush anymore, it was much more. i didn't want to let myself fall for a guy that didn't ask me on a date yet but from his actions it was safe to say he felt the same way right? 
yunjin said she felt like i was drifting away from them to spend time with hyunjin. i mean it could easily be true but this is what they wanted me to do all along wasn't it? to be finally with the guy i liked. they should be happy for me instead of holding me back like they were doing. i felt myself take a step back and look at my friendship and my "relationship" (if you could call it that). i didn't know what to pick or where to even start because i liked what i had with hyunjin but i felt like it wasn't enough and my friends seemed to be taking steps away from me too, it just didn't feel like i belonged anywhere.
i found myself on the phone with yunjin as we tried to settle down on what we wanted. i didn't want to cry but the tears were already threatening to spill out of my eyes. 
"look, i just want you to be careful because this is your first serious relationship (y/n) and you're spending a lot of time with him." she said and she had a point but i still felt like she wasn't happy for me and i couldn't put my finger around why she didn't feel the same way i did. 
"i just, i don't know! why are you saying this to me? i wanna be with him and have you as my friend!" i exclaimed, getting tired of the going round and round. "why aren't you happy for me jinnie?" i said with a broken voice and hoping for a clear answer.
"because there's just something weird going around him & you okay? i don't know what it is but i feel like you need to take a step back." she said and if i didn't think it was bullshit before, it was definitely now. she couldn't even say what was wrong, it was just a feeling that she had.
"is it? or are you just jealous that my relationship is working out?" i asked and i could feel her gasp and get up as she tried to process what i just said. it took me time to process why i went there but it felt like i had to.
"oh that's where you're gonna go? jealousy? of you and him? when he hasn't even asked you to be his significant other properly?" she backfired when it was a low blow but nothing hurt more than to fight with who i thought was my friend. "i don't know why you said but we can work it out okay? i just want you to be careful, that's all."
"and i just want you to stay out of my business! who do you think you are to have a say in who i'm da- seeing?" i had to cut myself off before i said dating because i wasn't.
"okay fine. i'll leave you the fuck alone, don't come crawling back when he fucking hurts you." she said and hanged up. that's it wasn't it? i just lost my best friend.
✉ ✉ ✉
hyunjin could tell something was wrong with me but i did not let it go through as the days passed and i still waited for yunjin to call me. to say it was just a prank, to remind me that we were friends till the end of time but nothing happened. instead i drowned my pain with making out with my "boyfriend" and hoping everything would heal as time went on (even though it wouldn't). i just wanted a world where i could have both my friends and the guy i liked, why was that so much to ask for?
"baby look at me." he said and i did, there was concern in his eyes. i've never seen that look on him before so i stopped and hoped he would explain what was happening with him. "i don't even know where to start." 
"what? did something happen?" i asked curiously but he just shook his head to then grab my hands and sigh. "just say it babe."
"i lied okay?"
i felt my heart stop right then and there. i didn't know exactly what he was talking about but it felt like the air suddenly got heavy like that night again yet it was only the two of us in his room. i had the worst feeling about this.
"when i told you to approach me at the party." he took a deep breath and exhaled as i tried my best to keep my composure and not lose it right then and there. "it was because... changbin made a bet where i had to make someone fall in love with me before the month is over and then ask them out and-".
"oh my god." i mumbled as i tried to process every word like it didn't sting in my heart. i felt everything get cloudy in a second as everything that i just lived for the past month was a fucking lie. a cruel one.
"listen i didn't think that i would fall and i knew you already liked me so-".
"so you went and fucking played with me? what is wrong with you?" i said as i got up and put on my shoes again. i couldn't believe my ears as he tried to explain that he fell for me, that he would call the bet off, that everything was gonna be okay and we could actually date like he wanted to. but i couldn't have any of that. i decided to follow him, to lose my friends and actually be with him, to just be a fucking bet? i felt so completely stupid and disgusted with his actions.
"listen (y/n). don't do this, we'll work it out and i'll call the fucking bet off but i cannot lose you." he said and begged for me to stay but i could not care less about his feelings right now as mine were being torn and shredded apart.
"i actually thought i had a chance with you. i gave it my all and didn't let myself be guided by what my friends said or what people were whispering in the hallways 24/7 and i get paid like this? a fucking bet?" i say with every tear falling out like a cascade. "on top of that you chose me because you knew you could make me easily fall and that's so fucked up hyunjin." 
he didn't have any more words than "sorry" to say so i decided to leave. he didn't even chase after me because there was no point in doing so, he just stood there like a statue watching me leave and i took the little pride i had left in me to walk away. 
✉ ✉ ✉
when i made to the familiar house, i couldn't even see it clearly through all my tears but i knew the way to her home by heart. i rang the bell and waited and when she opened the door and saw me in that state, she knew exactly what happened. my mascara was messed up, my hair was a mess and my clothes were lazily put on as i tried to escape from hyunjin as fast as possible to find my way here. 
"i'm so fucking sorry, i'll kill him." yunjin said as she hugged me and through the tears, i laughed but in the most broken way possible. 
"a bet." i could only say.
that's all i was at the end of the day.
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utilitycaster · 4 months
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but you do have to admit that you write your 2k meta's mostly because you want (negative) attention? otherwise I don't understand why you are not writing more of your faves instead?
Sure! I can explain why I wrote this piece, which I assume is the reason you're asking this now.
I wrote it because I naturally had thoughts about the group dynamics of Bells Hells after the episode and started thinking about why this group is so disconnected this far into the campaign when, for example, the Mighty Nein, who had far more friction and conflict early on in the campaign, were positively ride or die by this point. I also really did genuinely find the degree of pressure that Imogen and Laudna have been putting on Fearne to be excessive and had been quietly thinking about it since episode 75 - they were the ones to initially make a big deal about "Emperor and Empress" (the fact that Ashton mentioned the party's positive reinforcement of the shard's retrieval being a factor in their choice is relevant here), I was reminded by someone else regarding Laudna's immediate shutdown of Fearne's attempt to tell the truth in episode 77, and then they called her out in front of everyone after she had expressed that she didn't want it to Morri. It made a clear pattern that I felt was interesting to explore, and in doing so I started asking myself if there were other patterns of behavior. I linked to someone else's post as well in there that talked about how Imogen and Laudna pretty much always act together in group discussions in my post because that was also an inspiration, and I've also talked a lot in the past about how Imogen and Laudna rarely bring up their own sources of conflict with each other, so the fact that their accusations towards Fearne are in the same scene where Imogen expresses disgust about Delilah's presence also is very relevant to their general group dynamics, since their own relationship with each other is very central to how they interact with the group.
I do write about my favorite characters as well. I wrote pretty extensively about Ashton after episode 78, as well as a bit about their conversation with Orym, but Ashton just had their big moment of explosion and I need to let that simmer or something else to happen before I have any longer posts. I've also, if not written anything myself, reblogged a lot of great posts about Chetney's fantastic reveal which I think tied up that whole exercise beautifully with a truth that was not a passive-aggressive accusation of others nor a self-flagellation but a realization of his own behaviors as well as an explanation to the group without expecting anything in return. In talking about the shard I did touch on my main feelings about Fearne in this situation but again I think I need to see how she actually reacts to the information she received here to actually have meta of substance, rather than "oh, interesting." And you can go through my archives if you'd like to see more; I'm usually pretty good about tagging by character.
But also: I like writing criticism, specifically. It is fun for me. I find that writing helps me arrange my ideas and understand them better, and sometimes I even change my opinion when I revisit the text or find my argument doesn't hold together on an intellectual level, even if I feel something emotionally. I've changed my mind about characters before through writing meta! Sometimes more positively, sometimes more negatively, but it happens, because the act of writing meta, if you do so well, is an act of interrogating your own pre-existing opinions and making sure they make sense to people who aren't you.
I also think there's value in writing things that aren't universally positive. Again, it forces you to actually think through what isn't working for you or what you dislike or what traits characters have that you think are causing problems for people around them rather than just saying UGH THIS SUCKS. But also, writing up how you'd fix a plot you don't like or how you'd resolve a conflict requires you have empathy for the creators or for the characters. Sometimes, even if a piece isn't, in your opinion, good, writing criticism of it helps you understand why a creator may have made that choice you didn't like. You can disagree or dislike something while still respecting it, and making yourself explain it to other people is a really good way to process your own feelings rather than stewing in them. I find people who never express any negativity openly are often deeply resentful and unpleasant and passive-aggressive. Indeed, that's arguably the whole point of that honesty exercise! This party keeps trying to smooth things over and so a lot of valid concerns or complaints they have about each other have since metastasized into something far more hurtful.
I can't speak for everyone, but a lot of meta writers write meta because it's genuinely a fun hobby for them. When I was writing my piece about Dimension 20's genre experiments I stayed up later than I should have several times because it was interesting and I wanted to make sure I didn't forget how I was planning out the piece. I like writing a lot, and I've always preferred to write essays and criticism to fiction - I like to think I have a knack for the former that doesn't come as naturally for the latter. My brain jumps to analysis more easily than the invention of plot.
If you don't like the things I chose to write about, that's completely valid. But I'm not doing it for negative attention. I'm doing it because it's enjoyable for me. How you respond to it and how it makes you, specifically, feel, doesn't enter into my consideration. It's 2k words because that's how long it took me to say what I was thinking and it's about Imogen and Laudna's effect on the group dynamic as I understand it because that's what I was thinking about since it was very present in this episode, and I wrote it because I like writing.
Hopefully that explains it!
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yourdeepestfathoms · 6 months
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My Hopes For The P2 Changeling Route
Or, just some things I think would be neat to see when the time eventually comes for her route!
1. More of Clara being an emotional mess.
One thing I was REALLY surprised to see in the P1 Changeling route is just how emotionally tormented Clara is. She constantly expresses anxiety, stress, and even what seems to be depression. I mean, she literally has a line where she says she has been crying for several days. She is EXTREMELY distressed and tormented, something that I don’t really see people discuss very often. This emotional state is especially jarring because of how she acts in the Bachelor and Haruspex route, where she’s seen being snarky, cryptic, and kinda bratty. And then to play her route and see just how broken she actually is is very shocking.
P2 Clara is very different from P1 Clara. She’s less childish and more “mature,” though that maturity, at least to me, is very fragile, and you can tell this is a young girl pretending to be and acting like an adult because she has to. She’s way more bossy, way more snarky, and sometimes even comes across as rude (though—and this may just be because I’m a Clara defender until the day I die—I don’t believe she’s trying to be cruel or mean, I just think she has a really bad filter and says things that aren’t appropriate. not that any of those traits are even bad traits that make her a bad character. she is a teenage girl, or at least has the mind and body of one; that’s a very normal way for her to act, and i think it’s strange how some people shit on her because of that, despite her being a very accurate portrayal of a teenage girl—you know, minus the cryptic parts of her. but i digress!). I mean, she literally sasses off Artemy on several occasions, and Artemy is probably double her size, triple her weight, quadruple her strength, and has the power to kick her across the Steppe like a football—that’s the most teenage rebellion thing ever! And I’m sure in the Bachelor route, we’ll see even more of her being fiery and snarky because Daniil and Clara have, like, DOUBLE the beef compared to Artemy and Clara!
To have ALL OF THAT—all of that upturned nose sarcasm, that haughty “I’m smarter than you professionally trained doctors with medical degrees and a proper education” attitude, that bull-headed sassiness that makes you want to tell her to put her proverbial phone on the counter and go to her room—and then to get into the Changeling route and see that she’s actually very, very emotionally damaged and mentally ill would be a stark duality to how we’ve seen her in the past two routes. I think it would be especially surprising to those who never played P1 or at least never got to her route and never witnessed that side of her. The mask (haha) would slip off, and suddenly all of her vulnerability is raw and exposed and throbbing before our very eyes.
Because, at the end of the day, Clara is a child. She is a very young girl with obvious mental health issues and a mountain load of responsibilities chained upon her back, a young girl who is bullied and verbally abused and threatened by basically every single adult she comes in contact with (not you, Lara, you’re the real one), a young girl who has been forced to act like the adult she is not because all the grown ups in her life are too incompetent to do things themselves and would rather put it all on a child like she’s their personal work dog (i understand why this is from a gameplay standpoint, she’s the player character ofc she’s going to go off and do the quests, but Jesus fucking Christ, Maria, why are you repeatedly sending a tiny middle schooler to stop the gay men from killing each other?!), a young girl with one of the most, if not the most tragic and downright cruel existences I have ever seen in a character in all of my years of engaging in fiction.
Ahem.
I just have a lot of feelings about this character, okay?
But with the way Pathologic 2 presents it’s storytelling and with the new gameplay mechanics and how it REALLY digs into where it hurts, if IPL DOES use and revamp this aspect of Clara, I think it would make the Changeling route absolutely incredible story-wise and character-wise. An exquisite emotional rollercoaster that never seems to stop going downhill. It would be the best way to strike players where it aches the most.
OR TLDR: I want Clara’s emotional problems to be brought back and expanded upon in P2 so people can see she’s not just a sassy little gremlin child (because I have a lot of feelings about her character often being reduced to just that by the fandom.)
2. An expansion on Clara being the Sand Pest.
Out of everything on this list, I think this is the most likely to come into fruition because it’s a BIG THING with her. But I still wanted to discuss it anyway because I have Many Thoughts.
So, Clara is the Plague. We know this. But in P1, I feel like it wasn’t addressed as much as it really should have. I mean, this is a GIANT revelation—that this girl is the living embodiment of this horrible disease and thousands of deaths are, technically speaking, her fault—and it’s just kinda…swept under the rug. Clara has a moment where she’s like “WHAT” and then it isn’t brought up that much after that.
(And, for the record, I understand why this is. Everyone knows by now that the Changeling route was rushed. This isn’t me ragging on IPL, especially when the Changeling route is still INCREDIBLY well-done, to the point where I personally believe the statement that it’s rushed has been greatly exaggerated by players.)
In P2, I hope that Clara being the Sand Pest is a much bigger aspect of her character because it really is a Huge Thing that needs to be expanded upon. I want to see her have a full-blown mental collapse over this because you can’t tell me that that’s not the appropriate reaction to finding out you’re a living Plague.
3. Interactions with the Sand Pest
I’m referencing that one particular Executor that shows up in P2 to taunt Artemy about killing his kids. During my run, I referred to it as “Sandy,” so for this portion, the bird is Sandy for simplicity.
So, I want Clara to interact with Sandy!
It was terrifying enough for Artemy to face off against this thing, but imagine being Clara, staring into the glowing eyes of what is essentially herself. And she’s forced to grapple with this thing, fight against the consequences of an existence she never asked for, and be constantly reminded that with every breath she takes, she’s stealing the breath from someone else.
4. More interactions between the three Mistresses
The Clara-Maria-Capella trio is really underrated in my opinion, and I hope we get to see more of those three interacting. Because we have Capella and Maria, who clearly already have this established relationship and actually like or at least respect each other, and then suddenly Clara is there, throwing off their, for lack of better words, vibe. (I just know Capella and Maria gossip about Clara when she isn’t in the Nutshell).
5. More interactions with the Albino
The relationship between Clara and the Albino is so adorable and wholesome, and Clara deserves this inkling of kinship and love that he gives her. It’s such an underrated dynamic and interaction that happens in P1, and I REALLY want to see it happen again in P2.
I hope Clara gets to meet all those Albinos that Artemy saw in the Abattoir. I think it would be cute if she just had this flock of brothers.
6. An expansion on how Clara’s powers can just backfire and kill people on accident instead of healing them
I think there were two people Clara accidentally kills in P1- Lika and that mugger outside of Barley’s lair. It’s not mentioned at all with the mugger, and then with Lika, Clara freaks out briefly and then is like “anyway…”
This “power”—the ability to kill people with a single touch—REALLY needs to be expanded upon. Because it is a GOLDMINE for trauma and guilt. It’s also just something that needs to be explored way more because it’s a really interesting concept that P1 never gave much details about.
7. A deeper look into Clara’s existence as a child of Earth
I just really love that she is a dirt child and think it’s super cool part of her character, and I want her to have a deeper connection to those roots (pun intended). The lore in the game and the Steppe culture is so interesting, and it could be explored way more through the eyes of Clara, who is new to it, whereas Artemy knew most of it and Daniil just doesn’t fucking care to learn.
8. No more “stop the gay men from killing each other” quests
As funny as the concept of this small child stopping two sexually tensive men from beating the shit out of each other is, it got REALLY OLD after the second time. At the very least, the dialogue that you get when you speak to Artemy and Daniil each time should be different every day. If they hadn’t said the same thing Every Single Time, I think I wouldn’t have minded the repetitive quests as much.
9. Bring back the Barbie Blaster
Clara is clearly bigger and a little older than she was in P1, but I hope her hands are still too tiny to hold normal guns because I honestly really liked that little mechanic. It made her different than the other two. Also the baby gun you get is literally the best gun ever, idk what hbomberguy was talking about, that thing NEVER missed for me.
10. This funky healing mechanic I thought about
So, I started wondering about something- how is healing going to work in both the Changeling and Bachelor route? After all, they can’t exactly use tinctures anymore. But given how stupidly hard the game is, I wouldn’t be surprised if it expects you to get actual medicine yourself and make yourself go broke.
I then thought about this funky mechanic! I just wanted to put it here instead of making an entirely different post.
So, instead of using tinctures, Clara uses her hands. There are the three layers, like in the Haruspex route, and depending on which layer is afflicted, Clara suffers some kind of penalty while healing the patient, whether it be hunger, exhaustion, or thirst. This makes it to where she can’t just heal people without any sort of price to pay AND it makes her healing way more important because it really was just referenced in the first game. There were less than a handful of times where she ACTUALLY healed someone (not counting the Plague victims, as that is entirely optional). So with this she ACTUALLY heals people and has a very obvious power.
(Side note: maybe the less health Clara has, the less likely she is to heal people and instead accidentally kill them. Or if she’s infected, then she kills her patient or even infects them—or raises their infection level altogether if they’re already infected.)
11. An expansion on how Clara’s healing powers literally hurt her
Empathic healing, where a person has the power to heal but they heal by essentially absorbing the ailment of a person into their own body, is SUCH a good concept, and I don’t know if this was what IPL was actually going for, but I really want Clara getting hurt when she heals to be a bigger thing in her route. Because she DOES take damage when she heals Plague victims, and MAYBE that’s just a balance thing in the game, but even still! A lot of good game mechanics can come into play if healing harms her!
12. More Lara and Yulia interactions
I don’t have much to say about this, I just really like those two and want them to talk to Clara way more
13. A cool opening animation of her birth from the Earth
Artemy got the train sequence, Daniil is probably gonna get him slogging through the Steppe because it seems like brother really fucking walked all the way to the Town, so it would make a lot of sense for Clara’s opening to be her clawing her way out of the Earth and waking up in the graveyard! I know IPL could make a really cool sequence with that, so I have high hopes.
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panlight · 1 month
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So I'm having trouble understanding the vultri (I think that's how you spell it) and all their personalities, could you explain them to me?
Because we don't see a whole lot of the Volturi, you'll find that people have a lot of different headcanons, but here are the basic, canon personalities.
The actual Volturi coven consists of Aro, Marcus, Caius, Sulpicia (Aro's wife) and Athenodora (Caius' wife). Marcus had a wife, Didyme, who was also Aro's sister. Marcus and Didyme wanted to leave the Volturi but Aro wanted to keep Marcus' power, so he secretly killed Didyme. Marcus stayed with the Volturi but became a shell of his former self, severely apathetic and depressed. Sulpicia and Athenodora were put in the tower under heavy guard to protect them.
Aro is the defacto leader, although he, Marcus and Caius seemingly rule as a triumvirate. Aro is outwardly cheerful and enthusiastic, seemingly benevolent, but is shrewd and calculating underneath the friendly exterior. He is extremely curious about anything new and loves to 'collect' vampires with gifts. He has a gift to read every single thought a person has ever had just by touching them.
Marcus is depressed and apathetic after the loss of his wife. He barely cares about any of their trials and generally just wants to get it over with. He has a gift to see relationships and the strength of them. It's useful to Aro in battle, to see how armies are tied to their leaders, for example, who would die for someone else, whose ties aren't as strong and could maybe be lured away, etc.
Caius is usually angry and aggressive. Whereas Aro can be merciful when it suits him, Caius is the one who wants to punish everyone to the full extent of the law. He doesn't have a supernatural gift, which might be part of his whole deal; maybe he feels inferior or worries that he could be replaced.
In canon we don't really know much about Sulpicia and Athenodora other than that they live in the tower and rarely leave. Personally I think it's less about their safety and more about Aro realizing he wields more power as 1 of 3 rulers than he would as 1 of 5. Athenodora and Caius were a couple before joining up with Marcus and Aro. Sulpicia was a human Aro sought out to change and be his wife. There is a vampire named Corin who has the gift of addictive contentment, and she keeps them happy with their situation.
Didyme was Aro's biological sister. He went back to turn her into a vampire because he thought maybe gifts ran in families. She did have a gift, an aura of happiness, which was not as useful as he had hoped. She and Marcus fell in love and we so happy they stopped caring about the Volturi's mission and were going to leave until Aro secretly killed her.
The rest of the Volturi are technically the Volturi Guard and not really part of the coven, but people lump them together.
Jane and Alec are the most feared because of their gifts (Janes makes you feel incredible pain, Alec can rob you of all your senses). They are twins and devoted to one another, and Jane has something of a teacher's pet attitude with Aro and is jealous of anyone else he praises.
Chelsea is perhaps the most important because her gifts allows her to create bonds between people, and she's made everyone loyal to the Volturi. She has a mate named Afton who can make himself invisible to a degree but it's not that great of a power and Aro just keeps him around to keep Chelsea happy.
There's Demetri, a debonair, charming tracker, and Felix, who doesn't have a power but is super strong. He's kind of the Volturi's Emmett. The seem to be sent on missions together.
Heidi is beautiful and alluring and her gifts makes people follow her; she brings human victims for the Volturi to feed on using elaborate schemes to get them to Volterra.
Renata is Aro's bodyguard, she has a shield like Bella but hers repels physical attacks rather than mental ones.
There's also Santiago but we don't know much about him but he seems to be like Felix, with no special power.
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animentality · 15 days
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I'm sorry.
I'm just laughing over like... overwatch fans being mad at me for saying their game isn't that fucking great at queer rep.
it has TWO LGBT characters who were openly LGBT as SOON AS THEY WERE RELEASED.
that's fucking Lifeweaver, added to the game in 2023, and Venture-
a fucking nonbinary character who ISNT in the game yet.
do you understand why this is laughable?
overwatch has been around for 8 fucking years and it took a fucking sequel to force them to reveal characters were queer from the get go.
for the past 8 years, they've been queerbaiting mercy and pharah, while hocking how canon gency is, they have been teasing roadhog and junkrat, barely, and I guess.
if you MUST defend blizzard.
you can say well it's ok they did reveal tracer was a lesbian on Twitter and then they admitted soldier 76 was gay literally 3 years after he was released, and then they made pharah a lesbian and baptiste bisexual- literally 7 years after pharah was released and 4 years after Baptiste was.
yeah.
so progressive revealing that in random comics and lore bits that barely show up in game, if they ever do. and I haven't played overwatch in a while, because I have a high degree of respect for myself, but from what I fucking remember, soldier doesn't say shit about his boyfriend, if he even has one, tracer only makes a reference or two to Emily, who might as well be her sister with how mild it was.
and I vaguely recall Baptiste flirting with ana. and pharah as far as I know has never ever said anything about all the hot chicks she dates on the side.
and that's it.
that's your amazing queer rep.
you have two queer characters from the start who were not retroactively made gay, and one hasn't even been released yet.
good work, blizzard.
so revolutionary.
y'all know blizzard is an American company and gay marriage has been legal in the US since 2015?
whereas apex legends literally started OFF in 2019 openly stating hey this character is trans and this one is nonbinary and this one is gay and this one is a lesbian and these TWO literally hit on men and women- oh also the pansexual and nb PLAYABLE CHARACTERS are dating and they flirt and dote on each other in game-
but I'm getting flak from you weirdo blizzard fans who for some reason think blizzard is worth your devotion?
even if it was good at queer rep, I am not sure if fucking blizzard and OVERWATCH 2, one of the biggest monetary scams in all of gaming are the hills you want to die on.
but at least you'll be dead.
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kerubimcrepin · 5 days
Text
Liveblog - Dofus, livre 1 : Julith [PART 3]
+ Joris analysis
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Since Simone left, it seems that Kerubim has gotten back into his habit of having weird, sloped bookshelves that look like they are going to kill someone someday.
Also, there are more deadly possessed demon swords everywhere.
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VAX
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So real.
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I think a lot about how aggressively chill Kerubim is about Joris constantly going on and on about his birth parents.
You just know that on the inside he was seething. Just a constant mantra of "it's natural at this age, it's natural at this age," inside his head as he tried to be supportive. While Joris was trying to guess who his dad was, Kerubim was going through an IRL psychological horror game where he would die if he stopped thinking good thoughts.
While I am putting this in my usual funny meme terms, I am enamoured by the messy and uneven nature of Kerubim and Joris's father-son relationship. There's nothing particularly special or unique about the way it hurts them, — but the immortality and fantasy elements really let the usual hurting of a parent-child bond shine. It's all about romanticising the mundane to me.
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I think it shows an interesting disconnect that Lilotte won't call Kerubim "papycha" (and the way, later on in the movie, she does). She doesn't entirely feel like she fits in between Joris and Kerubim, and the dynamic the two have, — which is understandable, because she really doesn't, in my opinion. It's not a bad thing. She and Joris aren't exactly siblings, and Kerubim isn't her dad, — he's a caring adult. It doesn't mean they aren't a family to her, but it does mean she feels awkward. Her dead family, and fear of losing people, aren't exactly helping.
Here's my analysis of the situation:
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From Lilotte's POV, as I've already said it, there is a disconnect from the bond she feels with Kerubim and Joris, and the bond those two have, — as well as how untraumatized Joris is about the whole orphan thing. She doesn't want to get too used to this because this can always end, — and likely, she doesn't want to be forced into a fully familial role, because she doesn't feel that way about Kerubim and Joris.
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From Kerubim's POV, she is an orphan, just like himself and Joris, and he needs to help her any way he can. He'd like it if she lived with them, — instead of living out in the streets, without the safety of the roof over her head. He wants her to feel at home, and become a part of the family, but doesn't have any delusions about "adopting" her as if she were his daughter (his definition of family includes a maid he met 20 minutes prior, a mortal enemy, and a brother who wants him dead, mind you). She's far too old, and she does have a family, even if it is a dead one, while he is perfectly happy with just Joris as his son. Basically, he just wants her to be happy, warm, and fed, but understands that she has her reasons to be wary, and will not overstep her boundaries.
This all is easy enough to imagine or deduce through what we know about their characters. But Joris is a bit more complex, because even as a child, he is kinda emotionally closed-off. So, this following thing is mostly delusion, throwing darts at the wall while blindfolded, and me just straight up hallucinating:
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In my opinion, Joris is not happy about anything that is happening. He needs consistency and stability, and, as a single child of a single parent, he probably feels a certain degree of ownership towards Kerubim. It's likely that he feels jealous, like Lilotte's presence is threatening.
He isn't feeling these things consciously. He doesn't know he is jealous, or that he feels threatened by her presence. A childhood of unknowingly putting Kerubim's emotional needs before his own for the sake of their survival had divorced him completely from his own feelings.
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But it does show in the little, subconscious gestures, like fighting with her, or making fun of her, — especially his complete silence on the issue of wanting or not wanting her to move in with them, and the happy reaction he has to her confirming, once again, that she will not live with them. (As well as the way he switches the topic immediately to himself, before Kerubim can attempt to console her about the dead family issue).
Joris tries really hard not to have opinions on things he doesn't like, especially about himself and his feelings.
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It's interesting that Joris needs reassurance here. What we just saw is Kerubim making a grand gesture (a huge, elaborate breakfast) and a plea towards Lilotte, out of his care for her, and immediately, Joris is trying to usurp his attention with a question of whether Kerubim is going to give him a grand gesture too.
And it's not the first time he's asking! (Also yes, I noticed Lou. I was just too busy typing analysis to point her out)
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For a huge part of his childhood, Kerubim neglected him badly (and himself too, the man had clinical depression), so Joris's anxiety and subconscious jealousy is pretty logical.
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Suddenly, despite being his literal father, Kerubim is putting in more effort in caring for Joris's friend than he ever did with Joris himself, y'know?
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AND not to mention, how Kerubim usually keeps his promises (he doesn't, but Joris is used to it.)
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Anyway, the cover says "Brocante". Other text, I am not sure.
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