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thlayli-ra · 7 months ago

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OKAYYY i see your punknightintyre (i cannot spell.) post and i ask you. your opinions on la knight/roman reigns. i saw your art and lost my marbles but i wanna know your thoughts on it!! love your blog you are a Big Freak (meant positively) 🫶

Hooooooo boy! These two...

This isn't so much a conspiracy theory as it is a head cannon, one that's very much based in how I write them both in my fics.

So Knight is a loner. He's been on the roster for nearly two years and hasn't made a single friend or long-term ally. Because... he's a bit of a dick. He's brash, he's loud and he's self-centred. When he was being constantly attacked - and even abducted! - by Bray Wyatt/Uncle Howdy, not a single soul came to his aid. Past alliances have been short-lived (Rick Boogs), shaky truces (Randy Orton) or ended in disaster (AJ Styles). Even the other babyfaces just kinda... put up with him. I mean, look at his awkward arse at Wrestlemania 40 after Cody's win;

He deserves to be there because he was a player in the fight against The Bloodline, but he has no real ties to Cody. Maybe they each ran in for a save once, but that's really it. He sticks out like a sore thumb. (Hmmm, maybe that's why Punk is trying to get into his good graces. Punk likes loners, he likes to recruit them... but that's for another day.)

As for what Roman thinks about Knight?

As he says in my Winner's Room fic (which I really need to finish!);

"You've come a long way up the ladder in a very short period of time, I'll give you that. But don't let the dizzying heights get to your head. You don't belong here... you're not a main event player, hell, you aint even a midcarder. You're a bottom feeder! And now I've let you touch your toe onto the Island of Relevancy, I'mma throw you back into the depths of obscurity you came from."

To Roman, Knight is a pet, a plaything, a stray dog he can kick. He's something he can use and abuse without consequences. Nobody is going to run out and avenge Knight, because Knight has nobody! He's a free pass.

But he also gets right under Roman's skin!

To have this guy who came out of nowhere, who Roman considers so far beneath him he's barely worth his time, treat him with such blatant disrespect and embarrass him publicly is unforgivable. To make things worse, Knight is a human cockroach and no matter how badly he gets beaten down, he can not be defeated. There's a reason he has 'Defiant One' sewn onto his gear and he proves it, getting back up and getting back in Roman's face time and time again.

But it's more than that. Knight has something that Roman has always desperately wanted and yet never possessed?

The crowd!

Back in the Shield, Roman was arguably the least beloved of the three. As top babyface of the company, he was polarising, if not despised by the majority of the WWE Universe. The only way he could get them to love him was by becoming the villain they all imagined him to be.

So to see Knight inspire such devotion from the fans with a few cheesy catchphrases grates on him.

But deep down, if Roman was brave enough to admit it; he actually likes Knight. At least, as an opponent. He likes that they have no history, no prior relationship. There's nothing messy and Knight treats him no differently from any other man he's faced in the ring. Their feud is just about two wrestlers fighting for a shiny prize.

My latest artwork of them both features them in a 'winner's room' scenario after their Crown Jewel bout. Despite Knight being on the receiving end of a gruelling punishment, the scene has worn them both down. Roman is on his knees, as flushed and sweaty as his sub and smiling. Knight took his punishment well and allowed Roman to unleash his violent side and now he can be his true self. His gentler self that he can never be in front of the cameras, not when he's the Tribal Chief. Knight is in for the after-care of his life!

Because, at the end of the day, what does it matter if he shows his vulnerabilities to Knight? Not like he can go tell anybody?

Hmm..... Or maybe you're right Anon, and I am just a Big Freak! 🤣🤣🤣

#Thlayli-answers #reigns/knight #we need a ship name for them #my nonsense #I could go on but this post is already long!#headcanon

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crystal-iceblossomxjackfrost4evr · 4 years ago

Text

Hooooooo boy howdy

I prrsonally loved this shit

TMNT Raphael x Reader: A Damaged Love

Request:

@skywolf42 Ooh I have prompt for you!! RaphaelxReader where the Reader character gets in an argument with Raphael and flinches and freezes up at some point when he gets mad. Raph is immediately guilty that he’s done something to make the Reader think he’d ever hit them, not understanding at first that it was a subconscious response due to physical abuse at the hands of a masculine figure at some point in the Reader’s life.

I took a different take on this, and added some 2007 Raph elements to it. Made it a little bit darker. Raph goes a little too far.

WARNINGS: Cussing (as usual), mention of physical abuse, angst, and typos because I’m a dumb bitch. Violent anger. ANGRY RAPH. like, Unreasonable 2007 Raph angry.

Fem Reader this time around.

‘Every couple squabbles.’

At least, that’s what they say. That’s what you had told yourself when you were ignoring the ringing in your ears.

They say that ‘the arguments make the relationship stronger, make them healthier.’ With delicious irony, you remember repeating that one beneath your breath quite regularly; especially the nights when your purple jaw ached.

‘Now that everything has been spilled into the air, you can both work on coming to a compromise together.’ On the contrary, you discovered that attempting to “compromise” simply resulted in a doomed-to-be-overdue hospital bill.

Now, on your second attempt at playing a role within a relationship, you realize that the first point was correct; every couple does squabble. Or, as you have found to be more accurate, they go to war.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

With a tragic spark of displaced humor, you consider the fact that this is the first time you have heard Raphael direct those words at you, rather than his enemies. Venturing further into your morbid curiosity, you wonder if, perhaps at this moment, you are his enemy.

You suppose that you should have seen the burst of volume coming, really. It was bound to arrive between both of your voices rising in a steady crescendo. The predictability of the explosion was evident, so you’re unsure as to why it had shocked you so intensely.

Maybe it was the words in which he had spoken, or perhaps, the way he had so aggressively pointed his finger towards you; accompanied by a menacing step.

“Excuse me?” Your tone is the perfect picture of aggravated bewilderment. Now you understand how people could be so taken aback that they question the reliability of their hearing. “What did you just say to me?”

“What, are you deaf? You heard me,” Raphael snarls, pacing from side to side as if he were a caged animal. Maybe he is, you muse. Perhaps he holds a barely contained animalistic anger; simmering beneath that rough, viridescent skin. Something that not even the Mutagen could evolve; or possibly, it’s responsible for encouraging the aggression.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Your voice is ripped from your lips in a bellow, your anger almost tangible. “What makes you think that you can talk to me like that?”

“You think you’re fuckin’ special?” he sneers, the simple sentence acting like a spear to your chest. The terrapin spins on his heels to face you, raising his finger once again to point at you accusingly. “You think that just ‘cos you’re my girlfriend, that means I can’t get mad at ya?”

Your jaw drops in indignant disbelief, “there’s mad and then there’s this!”

“You started this!” He growls, inhaling sharply in a poor attempt to maintain composure, “I didn’t fuckin’ come for you, you provoked me!”

Taking a step back from his overbearing presence, you return his words with a humourless snicker, “of course, it’s my fault.”

“Yeah, it is,” Raphael snaps, eyes boring holes into your own; as if he were praying that looks could kill. Your stomach churns, clearly understanding the intent behind that gaze.

“Of course it is! When have you ever taken responsibility for your own fuck-ups?” The words leave your lips before you can help yourself. You know instantly that you’ve just poured fuel over an already flaming fire. You could almost see the uncontrollable rage spread from his chest throughout his body.

Still, despite the signs, you’re unable to prevent yourself from stumbling backward when the wooden table explodes into splintered pieces beneath his fist. You’ve fallen uncomfortably into the bench, tripping on the heel of your own shoe in your desperate attempt to gain space between you and the destructive beast on the other side of the room. Despite the blatant fear your new position exclaims, leaning back against the support of a metal structure with fingers that grip the edges for comfort, you cannot bring yourself to move.

You try to stand to your feet and straighten up before he can turn around and see you. Before he can witness the power his anger has over you, the humiliating way you cower from his explosive outburst. Your body barely budges an inch at your mental commands and you remain frozen to your place.

Habit is not easily broken, your body reminds you.

You know, logically, that Raphael would never hurt you. But, as much as you’d like to trust yourself, your logic has led you seriously wrong before. Your fiery nature has only brought you to once conclusion in your relationships, and they started off just like this. Just once. Just one fight. Just one blow. Then it never stopped.

All is quiet, except for the heavy breathing that fills the room. Distantly, you remember that Mikey had carved that table himself as a kid; it was lopsided and ugly but he had made that. It was a piece of their childhood, a fond memory- and Raphael had just obliterated it without a second thought.

You stand torn, staying put leaves you in the ‘danger zone’ and leaving the room is basically a flashing neon sign screaming ‘weakness’. You had promised yourself to grow stronger in the face of the opposition, to challenge and at the first sign of violence, to leave.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” His voice is hoarse; breaking the silence so suddenly that you jump a little. His shell is turned to you, though you can tell that he is hunched over a little; shoulders heaving with the weight of your words.

“I asked you the same question and you didn’t answer,” the reply leaves your lips as a rasp. The longer you dwell on the thought of Mikey’s face when he sees the damage the stronger your resentment towards Raphael becomes. You find that you want to grind your teeth until there’s nothing left but small shards of bone; you want to clutch his world in your hands and burn it to ashes. With the rage rushing through your blood you find the energy to at least stand and somewhat straighten your stance. You’ve never felt such unfathomable wrath towards somebody that you genuinely love, even against those of whom you had thought you loved.

Perhaps, it’s because you love him and you know it’s mutual that it hurts to see the relationship take a tragically familiar path. Is this the inevitable truth of love? Is it simply a means to an end? Could it be that love is so desired that they hide the horrors of it behind a quaint picture, and collectively everyone drinks it in like a sweet cocktail of poison. They thirst for it because they think that the high is worth the consequences, that the repercussions of love are the lesser of two evils- the other being loneliness.

“You want me to answer your question?” His voice interrupts your train of thought. Turning your gaze to your partner’s hulkish figure you can’t help but shiver when he straightens up, shell still shielding him from your observation. “I’ll tell you exactly who I am.”

Your heart leaps into your throat when Raphael turns, his eyes narrowed and blazing with a heat that make your instincts scream at you to run.

One step.

“I’m Raphael,” he begins.

Two steps.

“Now, see, I got a bad, bad, temper.”

Three steps.

“But I’m the best at what I do; putting a fist through someone’s jaw is how I get off.”

Four steps. He’s halfway across the room now.

“Now, I got a girlfriend. She talks big for someone who’s half my size.”

Five steps. You stomach lurches and you can’t help but lean back into the metal bench once more.

“She reminds me of my brother, can’t stop themselves from tryin’ to dictate my life, correct me at every turn,” his teeth are gritted now, words ground out rather than said. “Of course, they call it guidance.”

Six steps. Too close.

“Kinda funny that my girlfriends joined in when you think about the fact that I’m ten times as strong as her.”

“Raph,” you whisper. Your heart sinks, you know where this is going. You had held out hope that it would never come to this, perhaps you’ve pushed him too far. Maybe this is your fault.

Ignoring your voice, he takes another step forward. Seven.

“Faster than her.”

“Please,” you rasp, gripping the metal beside you in an attempt to not curl up.

“Bigger than her.”

Eight.

He’s in front of you now, his body towering over your trembling self. You can barely breath, your eyes fixated on the fists that are balled at his sides. If it’s coming you might as well make the most of it.

“What do you want from me?” You burst, voice breaking mid sentence. “What do you want me to say?”

“I want you to support me!” He snaps. You can feel his breath brushing the top of your head and you lips tremble at the volume of his voice. Don’t break, stay strong. “Why is this so fuckin’ hard for you’s to understand. I don’t want authority I want a partner!”

“Why is it so hard for you to understand that partnership is about guiding someone through their flaws and encouraging them with their strengths,” you whisper shakily. Finally you turn your eyes up to meet his hard expression, watching the way he observes the wateriness of your gaze. “You’re so insecure that you can pinpoint everyone else’s problems but the second yours are addressed you think you’re being attacked and dominated.”

“Insecure?”

Perhaps, that was not the best word to throw around when you’re trapped between a metal bench and a 6′5, 340lb angry turtle.

“I’m insecure? Look who’s talking!” His laugh is a humorless roar and you flinch beneath him.

“I don’t intimidate the people I love to hide my insecurities,” you snap back, gesturing to his aggressive posture.

“Being intimidating is the only way to shut you’s up! There’s no other way to get you to back off!” He exclaims, throwing his hands up in disbelief. Your stomach clenches, shoulders flinching upwards to your jaw at the sudden movement.

“What are you a caveman?” You cry, poking your finger into his plastron and straightening your posture in an attempt to cover your previous reaction. Be strong. “Use. Your. Words. Be honest! Be open! No one is gonna understand where the line is if you explode the second we open our mouths. Communicate through your words, your touch, your actions!”

Your heart is pounding in your chest and you realise instantly that your courageous facade is permanently over when you catch his eyes. The sheer fury. Your body begins to tremble harder than it has in so long, the adrenaline rushing through your body in an attempt to evoke a response. Run, your instincts scream, hide!

“You want me to use my words?” He sneers, his voice so low you don’t expect the volume from his next sentence. “Then shut the fuck up.”

He steps in so that your body is pressed between his and the metal digging into your back. Your hands immediately raise up to press against his chest. “Raph….”

“You want me to use my touch?” His voice is a steady shout now, you distantly wonder whether the boys can hear his bellow from the streets. But you know the truth, that you’re alone. Left at his mercy.

His hands grip your body by your shoulders and at the sound of your startled cry he lifts you up so that only your toes brush the ground. He shakes you, as if hoping that somehow he could scramble your mind and prevent you from conjuring anymore words. “Then let me shake some sense into ya.”

Your first sob is overpowered by the roar of his voice, you don’t know if he’s even heard it. You feel as though you’re going to puke any second now and you can’t find your breath. There’s no air. Where’s the air?

“You want me to use my actions?” He drops his grip on you and your body falls into the bench behind you. “Then here!”

He leans in and your body is bent backwards over the table before his fists smash into the metal on either side of your body, undoubtedly denting it.

With that, you break.

Your body crumples to the floor beneath his feet, hands raised above your head in a feeble attempt to protect yourself.

Not again.

There’s a silence before his voice, ever so soft, violates the quiet. He says your name. He says it twice.

Is this how it’s meant to be?

He says it three times.

Please, not again.

Please.

He doesn’t touch you, not yet.

Please.

He says your name again, this time his voice sounds as broken as you feel.

Please.

He’s apologising, the words sweet nothings lost to the air. The whispers caress your body, curling around your neck in a deceptively loving touch. The words stroke your cheek, touch your lips.

He says your name again, so softly. So gentle. The hushed tones wait for you to look up, they’re coaxing you to unfurl. But you know; you know from experience that they beckon you so that they can look you in the eyes. So that they can watch you, adoration in their gaze. They want to see your face when they choke you with the very thing that you crave.

Love.

This is love.

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