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empress-simps · 3 months

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A Gryffindor's Grief

Pairing: James Potter x Fem! Slytherin! Reader

CW: Reader's family and language

Genre: Angst

Masterlist

Note: My first ever marauders fic! Kinda nervous to post this ngl… I'm still thinking if I should make a second part. I want to hear what you guys think about this! Requests are open! Photos used are from Pinterest! Credits to the owner!

It was forbidden love, really.

Those little moments of not-so-accidental touches, stealing glances, and discreet smiles sent each other's way were your means of communicating with each other.

James Fleamont Potter, a Gryffindor boy that was absolutely smitten with You; Slytherin's Princess.

An odd combination that would only lead to chaos.

Being one of the sacred twenty-eight wizarding families meant that you command power and respect from everyone you meet— intentionally or unintentionally. The idea about blood purity, power, and influence was already in your mind as soon as you were able to grasp things your toddler brain could handle.

You were taught to only mingle with pure-blood families, people who could be useful and loyal to you, and those with power, influence, and wealth. Your family’s distaste for muggles and muggleborns were also ingrained into your mind, as if they programmed you to believe what they believed in. It wasn’t that hard, after all you were surrounded by rich witches and wizards who are blood supremacists.

For someone who grew up with those ideals and values, you thought it was right. Although, your belief came tumbling down the longer you spend time at Hogwarts and got to know James Potter and the rest of the Marauders.

James, he made you feel alive.

It felt as if he was the breath of fresh air that you never knew you needed. Away from that suffocating Malfoy Manor, the scrutinizing gazes of your family, and away from rich pure blood problems. Being with him felt exhilarating, he was the buzz in your life. James brought so much joy into your dark, lavish, and empty lifestyle.

It was quite funny, picturing him as your knight in shining armor, whisking you away from your pretty, gold cage.

"Malfoy!" Evan Rosier, a pure-blooded Slytherin raised his hand in your direction, motioning you to come over and sit beside him during breakfast in the great hall. Cold eyes like Lucius Malfoy's travelled in his direction, a questioning brow raised.

"Rosier, you are being too loud." She commented, walking, and sitting next to him before greeting the person beside him, Regulus Black.

"Good morning, Regulus."

"Good morning, Y/n."

Barty Crouch Jr. looked up from his meal and snickered at the both of you. "Good morning, Mum and Dad." He teased, greeting you both as Evan laughed along with the other Slytherins near them. Heck even Severus has a small smirk planted on his face. "If you wish to make your family line extinct, then please feel free to continue with your remarks, Crouch."

He smirked, putting his hands up in mock surrender "Just kidding, Y/n. Geez. Rough summer, I suppose?"

You felt your lips press into a thin line, an obvious answer to the question; It was horrendous.

Evan’s laughter slowly dies, he shakes his head, “Give her a break mate, she just got the biggest news of her life during summer. Isn’t that right Y/n-“

“Shut your mouth Rosier if you do not want to be hexed into next month.” Her empty threat really doesn’t do damage to Evan, he just shrugged, taking it as a warning that you’re not in the mood for jokes.

Your father, Abraxas Malfoy and older brother, Lucius Malfoy made a huge decision for your future. Hearing rumors here and there about their Slytherin Princess being romantically involved with a blood traitor in Gryffindor enraged your father, Abraxas. That will certainly not do, they will not sit idly and watch as the Malfoy name be... tainted with those rumors.

You remember how you felt dread entering your system, fighting the urge to run and throw up as you mustered up a façade, “Those are just baseless rumors, a plot to ruin my image in school." You held your head high, praying they do not see the truth.

Abraxas stared at you, his daughter, with a monotone expression. "Your brother and I do not care whether those ridiculous rumors are true or not." Lucius nods, agreeing. What a lie. You know your family well enough to not believe what comes out of their mouths in situations like this.

"We do not care if you had relations with the boy, even though it is rumored that he is a blood traitor, you knew well enough not to fool around with mudbloods. Well done, Y/n. Perhaps you could change his views, get him to join our cause.” Lucius looked at you. You could press your lips into a thin line, trying to find an answer.

“That tactless boy's role is to only be a bed warmer for you, remember that Y/n." Your father stood from the chair he sat in the drawing room. Slowly walking towards you. “Although, I suppose it ends now. I heard Lady Walburga Black is looking for a potential bride to their heir, Regulus Black.”

After a week, it was official; You are to be wedded to Regulus Black, your friend, Sirius’ brother.

You could not do anything about the arrangement, what fight would you have put up? A young girl like you, who does not have any power, influence, and wealth could only suck it up and accept.

How you wish it was James you were betrothed to.

“James, you came.” You breathed out, seeing him take off the invisibility cloak. The moonlight in the astronomy tower complimented his features, he offered a small smile sitting beside you.

The stakes were high, you were sure underlings of your brother (and possibly father) in the school have their eyes trained to you as you enter another year in Hogwarts. You would need to find new ways to meet up with your lover. Regulus’ eyes discreetly looked towards James, who is undeniably looking at you.

“Wouldn’t want for my girl to be alone, you know?”

He joked, intertwining his finger with you, a second nature to the both of you. Squeezing his hand, you softly looked at him. “I missed you, pothead.” He leaned towards your face, kissing you on the forehead. One of the things he does that never fails to make you feel flustered. “I missed you too, love.” You rolled her eyes, slightly shoving him playfully, “Stop being sappy, Pothead.”

“You secretly like it, love. You can’t lie to me.” He grinned, although the last sentence made you tense up. James shot you a concerned look, noticing your body language. “Something wrong, love?” You were torn, deciding on whether you tell him about the engagement rather than keeping quiet and leaving him in the dark about your current situation.

“I got engaged.” Before you could even stop yourself, the words flew out of your mouth. Shit. It wasn’t how she planned to tell him. The light atmosphere suddenly became dark and heavy. You can feel James turn rigid, freezing up as he muttered. “So, it was true, huh?” He scoffed bitterly, hurt overtaking his features. “James…” You gently called, carefully placing a hand on his shoulder. He flinched, turning his body away from you.

She tried to ignore the hurt she felt, pushing it down as she understood why James was acting this way. “Sirius told me.” He choked out, still not looking at you. James really does know you well, answering the question you haven’t even voiced out yet. The slight tremble in his voice made your heart crack. You bit your lip, of course Sirius found out; he was still a Black after all.

“I love you, James. I really do.”

You spoke to him, you raised your hand, about to put a hand on his back that was still facing you but deciding against it before it touched him. Your hands faltering before dropping down to your sides. He shakes his head violently, his curly locks getting messier than they already were.

“Don’t… Don’t say it like that, love.” He pleaded, slowly turning to face you again, eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Don’t say it like you’re about to leave me. This. Us.” He croaked; you felt his large hands placed on top of yours. He brought it up to his lips, kissing the knuckles.

“James…” You managed to utter out, voice getting caught at the throat.

James knew he was acting like a child, but damn- he never thought it could hurt this much. He pictured both of you marrying each other, living in a large house with a big backyard because he insisted it will be great for when you have kids. Merlin, he even imagined about 3 or 4 kids looking like the perfect mix of you both, running out and about with their names already carefully thought out.

out. He daydreamed that the both of you grow old, watching you tell stories to your grandkids about their grandfather’s mischief during your years at Hogwarts.

“I have to, James.” She chokes out, tears spilling onto her cheeks. Those four little words made James’ little bubble of happiness burst with just a bat of an eye.

“Don’t… don’t do this to me, love.” He pleaded; he even went down onto his knees as he saw you standing up from your place beside him. Poor James, luckily it was only you, the moon, and the walls of the Astronomy Tower watched him become a wreck.

“I love you, please remember that you will always have my heart, James. I wish you find happiness.” The part ‘without me’ was unsaid but was heard. It took a lot of courage, strength, and self-control not to fall apart. Deep down, you wanted James to say the same to you, proclaiming his love again for the last time you’ll be together.

“I love you Y/n, so much. No one will ever make me feel the way you did. I’ll find a way; a way for us to be happy together. I swear on my life.” He promised, looking at you straight in the eye. You could only close your eyes before smiling at him, trying to blink the tears away. Stars, you hoped James really does find a way.

“Goodbye, Potter.” She turns, walking away.

Maybe Slytherins and Gryffindors really aren’t meant to be together.

#james potter x reader #james potter x you #marauders fanfiction #slytherin reader #james potter #marauders fic #marauders era #marauders #sirius black #regulus black #remus lupin #harry poter

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inkyquince · 7 months

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The idea of Gortash and Astarion being in love with the Durge at the same time is so interesting to me. Because their both fundamentally in love with two different people. Pre-tadpole, Gortash fell for a Durge who was a slave to their urges. Astarion fell for a Durge whos regained autonomy over their mind and now has the ability to choose who they want to be.

This may be a hot take, but idc.

I feel like... From reading everything in game about Gortash and meeting him? He would be so into a redeemed Durge. Like, yeah, slight downside of their morals being a smidge too light now, but oh well.

Dark Urge had gotten free of Bhaal. The one actual barrier between them and also fully going into their plan. Remember, Durge apologised to their father for being so FOND of Gortash, they promised that they'll kill the other Chosen in Bhaal's name, etc. The one controlling all their moves? Their Father.

And they either are/want to be free of him.

Fuck, he's hard. They're so fucking strong and stubborn and perfect.

He uses guile, he uses charisma, he uses everything to get a leg up. He used his body, his joined a gang, all while younger. Now he's here. Nothing he respects more than gaining power and influence without being controlled, if his time in the House of Hope taught him anything, it's that being controlled will lead to being beaten and used and discarded.

Control is what made the Dark Urge so fucking endeared to him in the first place. They're not a mad dog, like Orin. They loose control some times but LOOK at the acts you just played through. They have SO much fucking control compared to what their urges want them to do. Gortash values control so fucking much.

But, just like Gortash, Astarion will fall in love with the Dark Urge, redeemed or not. Even if he remains a spawn, he's so soft with them. He will stay until he can't watch them loose their mind anymore. But ascended? He wants them in his lap, naked and rabid and far gone. He loves them, even as nothing better than a feral dog.

Like.... I think Astarion and Lae'zel and Shadowheart are the ones who will fully love the un-redeemed Dark Urge. Gale, as we can see after the Tiefling Massacre, will stick by you but he fucking HATES your ass for what you put him through. Wyll and Karlach leave. Even if you don't pick the nasty sides in the game, when Dark Urge gives into their... well, urges, they're horrified. Astarion, Lae'zel and Shadowheart, while not ECSTATIC are less incensed about the shit you do. Hell, when you take Bhaal's offer, everyone in the party basically... Says goodbye to the person they loved, EXCEPT Astarion. Even if you break up with him, he says that 1000 years from now, when he's forgotten how to open himself up to people, he shall spare a thought for his little lost mad love.

The fact is, Gortash and Astarion will love the Urge, just in different ways, Redeemed or Not. Hell, if the Dark Urge goes feral, Gortash will still love them properly, I feel. Ascended Astarion, like a normal Tav, will love them as a pet. For the romance of ruling by your side, to bond in blood, to adore you bringing sacrifices to his door like a cat with their prey, Gortash is the dark romance love interest you want.

#wow inky #the moment you send in you draft manuscript you can actually form thoughts around gortash huh #anyway #quinceyeasyspeaky #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #enver gortash #gortash #gortash x durge #dark urge #durge #dark urge x astarion #astarion #ask

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atticrissfinch · 9 months

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Exposed (javier peña x fem!reader) (18+)

pairing: dark!professor!javier peña x fem!student!reader summary: when you accidentally send a risqué picture to the wrong number, your worst nightmares are realized warnings/tags: [18+ MINORS DNI] heavy dubcon blowjob, power imbalance, blackmail, extortion, threat of revenge porn, age gap (unspecified, but Javi is in his 40s, reader is early 20s), overheard male masturbation (javi makes you listen to him jack off), brief mentions of drugs/drug use, degradation, pet names/derogatory terms (baby, sweetheart, whore, slut, etc), probably terrible Spanish word count: ~5.4k | ao3 a/n: my contribution to the haunted hoedown, because we know how I salivate over a taboo trope. Also s/o to my love Emma @walkintotheriveranddisappear for some deliciously depraved ideas that made it into this fic 😈

You knew the class was going to be small, but you didn’t expect it to be this small.

You heard Professor Peña was hot, but you didn’t expect him to be this hot.

You had scored a spot in a highly coveted by-recommendation-only course, instructed by the notoriously attractive Professor Peña. You’re not strictly proud of the amount of groveling you had done to secure this class, but it had paid off regardless.

To approximately 15 students situated around a large round table, Professor Peña announces that this is a participation-heavy class and you each are expected to contribute vocally to every discussion. That and the couple of papers through the semester will cement your grade in the course. So you had better come prepared to talk.

He also does something no other professor in your three years at university has done—he recites his personal cell phone number for the class, inviting you to text him at any time with questions or concerns.

A bold choice, you think, considering his painfully good looks. You’re sure the female students throw themselves at him constantly, begging for higher grades with juicy red lips and flimsy dresses. Shit, any gender probably tries shooting their shot with him on the regular.

He’s got those pouty lips under a finely manicured mustache that definitely shouldn’t work in this day and age—much more at home in, what, the 80s?—and that adorable furrow in his brow that students would trip over themselves to smooth over. And those fucking biceps. You can practically hear the stitchings on his button-up sleeves screaming for their lives every class.

The real question is how often does this guy give in? He comes off fairly good-natured if not a bit of a prick. Very sure of himself and his knowledge. But as the lessons have gone by, you haven’t noticed him delving out any special treatment to anyone in particular. He drills each student pretty equally, offering counterpoints and playful “devil’s advocate” takes to stoke the fire of the lecture.

All in all, he’s a decent professor. Intense, but thoughtful. Not afraid to argue, but not afraid to step down or consider a point he hadn’t before with an upside-down grin and a nod of his head.

And he looks, but he doesn’t linger. The low-cut tops catch his eye, that much is obvious, but he’s well practiced in disguising it. You’d only notice if you were looking for it.

And maybe you were. Maybe you were looking for it. Not seriously. Just for fun. Just to scavenge for a weak spot in his tenured armor. The more you search for the throat-clears, the wiping of invisible dirt from his nose, the easier they are to spot. The man is clearly not immune to temptation.

His gaze tends to slide over you like butter, only dropping briefly to your chest after he’s done with his line of questioning and moving on to another student.

Very smooth. Near undetectable.

But he treats you with respect, like an intellectual. Values your insights, praises your observations. Makes you feel respected.

Which is why you don’t have an issue texting him a couple of days before a deadline, politely asking for a short extension.

However, what you should have been much more careful about was who else you were texting at the time. Some frat boy who had a nice dick and no qualms about a “friends with benefits” situation.

A boy who was currently baiting you for “something sexy” for him to get off to tonight.

Well, you definitely sent something. To someone.

And when said boy doesn’t respond after a few minutes, and you double-check your work, you think your soul might ascend from your fucking body.

Wrong text thread.

WRONG FUCKING TEXT THREAD.

Your fingers type as furiously as they ever have before, frantically attempting damage control.

OH MY GOD PROFESSOR IM SO FUCKING SORRY

PLEASE DONT LOOKNAT THAT

PLEASE DELETE IT IM SOSORRY THAT WAS NOT MEANT FOR YOU

You’re sweating. In nothing but the panties you were wearing in that godforsaken picture you just sent. To your fucking professor.

Who hasn’t fucking responded yet.

The minutes tick past, and your heart rate is not slowing. What the fuck do you do in a situation like this? You’re not even a faceless student in a sea of seven hundred and fifty in a lecture hall. He is keenly aware of you as a student. He sits right next to you during class sometimes.

Your phone lights up next to you: Professor Peña

Oh, fuck.

You don’t give him a chance to speak first before you’re hitting accept and word-vomiting all over him. “Professor I am so fucking sorry, that was so inappropriate, I cannot believe I did that, I am so fucking sorr—”

“Hey, slow down.”

His voice is disturbingly calm and firm.

“Take a deep breath.”

You do as instructed, inhaling as deeply as you can through your nose and cascading it out through your mouth.

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not—”

He says your name softly, “It’s okay. It was a mistake, right?”

“Yes, a huge, massive mistake. I wasn’t paying enough attention.”

“Not very focused on that paper you just asked for an extension for, huh?”

The smirk in his voice is…alarming to say the least. Very disarming. You can’t help but let out a harried laugh.

“Um, not at this very moment, no.”

“Or prior to this very moment, clearly.”

He’s making a joke. He’s making light of this to take the stress off. You know this. Then why does he sound so…

No. Of course not. There’s no way.

“I should have been more careful, I deeply apologize.”

“No more apologies needed. You’re…” You hear him sigh over the line, “You’re a very beautiful woman.”

Fuck.

No no nononono.

“Professor, I—”

“I mean I’d have to be blind, right? To not appreciate a beautiful young woman like you. Those…gorgeous tits…”

Those last words have your mind stumbling over itself. Yeah, okay, you’ve fantasized about this man more than once. Even about him saying those exact words. But this is reality. Your professor—your actual, real-life professor—commenting on your bare tits.

“Professor Peña, I know what I just did, but I think this is very inappropriate,” You say shakily, suddenly feeling exceedingly uncomfortable in your own skin. You grab the throw blanket from the edge of your bed and wrap it around yourself as if he can see you through the phone.

“Am I just supposed to ignore what I’m seeing? Right now, clear as day on my screen? God, you really are…radiant.”

“Please delete it.”

He pushes out a short laugh. “Well, now, I’m not so sure about that. Looks to me like this might be attached to that little favor you just asked me.”

Your eyes grow wide as the full implication of his words settles into your skin. “No, no, this is not a—a bribe, or anything like that, it was a mistake.”

You hear him make a tchk tchk sound with the side of his mouth. “Sure looks like a bribe from where I’m sitting.”

He can’t possibly think that. Do you come off as that desperate? No way. He even just confirmed that it was a mistake. He knows it’s not on purpose. Maybe he’s had students do that to him before. That’s all it is. Surely.

“Professor. That is so far off base from what’s happening here, I…I would never…”

Maybe your ears are deceiving you, but it sounds like his voice dips a little deeper. “And what if I were to consider that bribe? You willing to sweeten the pot a little?”

Holy shit. This cannot be real. The absolute fucking audacity of this man.

“Professor…I’m not…whoring myself out for a deadline extension,” You bite back with wavering determination. “And how fucking dare you even insinuate that.”

“No, of course not,” he posits, adding on almost as a throwaway, “Just whoring yourself out to every dim-witted frat boy on campus, then.”

What the fuck? Did he really just say that to you? Does he honestly feel like he has any place to judge you for sending one single spicy picture to a guy who, for all he knows, could have been your boyfriend? He’s not your boyfriend, but still. The balls this guy has on him to assume that, while he’s dropping sexual comments about a student’s body?

“Who the fuck do you think you are, professor? Talking to me like this? I will report your ass so fucking fast,” You snap back at him, already mentally compiling all the shit you’re about to send to the school.

His tone remains cool, verging on entertained. “And tell them what, exactly? That you’re asking for extensions and sending nudes to professors? Cause that seems to be all you have at this juncture.”

“That you’re sexualizing your students, maybe?”

“Again, with what evidence, sweetheart?”

“Don’t fucking call me that.”

“You have none, sweetheart. Now what you do have, is a delectable little body. And if you share a bit more of it with me, we could just…forget all about that pesky paper. How about that?”

This cannot be happening to you. This man, who instructs one of the most desired courses on campus, dangling a pass on a high-value assignment in front of you in exchange for you further degrading yourself for him. How many other girls has he done this to? Or are you just special? Fucking ew.

“I’m not sending your pervy ass any more of my body.”

“Okay. Fair enough,” He says dismissively. “You’ve shown me enough to make a splash, so I guess that’s all that really matters here.”

You hesitate. “What…what is that supposed to mean?”

“I mean, it may not cause too much of an impact, since I’m sure every backwards-capped, trust fund with a cock has already seen what you’ve got. But I’m sure I could still do some damage.”

Your gut twists inside you. Holy shit. Would he really do that? Would he distribute your nudes to campus? Maybe an even wider range than that? He could bulldoze your career before it even starts. Tarnish your reputation before…before you’ve even really lived.

“You wanna leak my picture? You’re literally blackmailing me for nudes?”

He sounds as blasé as ever, like he’s picking grime from under his nails while casually threatening your future. “I’m just trying to facilitate your extension request. That’s all.”

“This is so fucked up,” You mumble clutching the blanket closer around you.

“It’s very simple, sweetheart. Send me what I want, and this goes away. The paper goes away. No one needs to know.”

There it is. The most hackle-raising black-and-white scenario that’s ever been foisted upon your sinking shoulders. Either way, this man wins. It’s really just a matter of who knows he won. Just the two of you, or…fucking everyone.

You pinch the bridge of your nose and take the bait.

“No one else will know?”

“Not a single goddamn soul.”

“You swear on your fucking life?”

“Swear on my life, sweetheart.”

You scrub your face with your hand, groaning at the ludicrous circumstances you’ve found yourself in tonight. Who the fuck doesn’t double-check where they’re sending their fucking nudes?

Your voice comes out small, defeated. “Fine. What do you want?”

You hear an inhale and then a measured exhale. “I want the last piece of that puzzle, baby. Show me what’s under those panties.”

You crinkle your nose at the lasciviousness smothering his words. “God, you’re fucking sick, you know that?”

“Is that a no? Cause I can—-”

“Fuck. No, it’s not a no. Just fucking—hold on. Jesus. Trying to wrap my head around selling my fucking soul here. This is not how I imagined my night going.”

“Aww, was that naughty pic just a prelude for what was to come for some lucky Freshman in the dorms?”

“Shut up,” You mumble, your fingers tossing off the throw blanket and dancing indecisively at the band of your underwear. “Like I’d denigrate myself with a Freshman.”

“No, you’re just stripping down for a professor right now. Much more respectable.”

“Shut up,” You shout back again, hearing a laugh through the phone.

“Make sure to spread those legs for me, sweetheart. I want a front-row seat. That paper’s worth a lot of points.”

“Don’t fucking—I’m doing it, okay? Fuck.”

Before you can mull over it too much, you rid yourself of the final piece of clothing on your body. You flop onto your back and spread as directed, aiming the front-facing camera toward your exposed folds. Taking one more steadying breath, you hit the shutter button.

What sucks is you do have a fucking nice pussy. One that you’re very proud of. One that deserves to be appreciated. Just not like this.

The photo automatically attaches to your text thread, awaiting your final approval. Your face doesn’t show, on purpose. You want at least a sliver of plausible deniability in this shitshow. The previous one showing your entire fucking face, up on spread knees with your tits on full display in the mirror’s reflection was plenty.

You hit “send” before you psych yourself out.

You hear him groan and swear. “Jesus fucking Christ, baby. That’s one pretty pussy.”

“Prettier than you fucking deserve,” You mutter back, snatching the blanket and covering yourself up again.

His next words are a bit muffled, the sound drowned out by him rustling the phone, but you make them out, “This is very nice, baby, thank you.”

Then your professor emits a prolonged sigh, curtailed with a moan at the end. Then another. And another…

“Jesus, are—are you jerking off right now?” You whisper accusingly, face scrunching in utter disgust.

“What else—fuck—what else would I be doing with these pretty pictures, baby?”

You mimic a gagging motion to yourself. “God, ok, we’re so fucking done here—”

“Don’t you fucking go anywhere, sweetheart,” He barks at you, and it does what he intends, making you stop. “You stay right—shit—right fucking here. You drop this call, the deal’s off.”

“Jesus, why?” You beg, face still pinched in distaste.

“‘Cause I fucking said so.”

You groan and throw your phone down, your room filling with the sounds of your fucking professor choking his cock.

“Fuck, that’s a sweet little pussy, baby. Just begging for my cock inside it. Ohhh fuck, shit I’m close,” He groans, almost whimpering with it. “God, wanna come right on those beautiful tits, baby. Oh fuck,” His voice breaks a bit at the end as it splits into a loud moan and an excess of panting breaths.

You have nothing to fucking say. Your brain is reeling from all the shit that just happened. You just listened to Professor Peña jack off to naked photos of you. How the fuck do you reconcile that with the man you’ve known in the classroom these past several weeks?

How do you reconcile the blatant fucking blackmailing that just solidified itself over the span of this call?

“Shit. Haven’t come that fast in a minute,” He huffs out, quieter than he was a minute ago as if he threw the phone aside and put it on speaker. “Body like a goddess, putita.”

You snatch up your phone with fury in your veins. “I know what that means. Don't ever fucking call me that, you sick pervert,” You spit out at him. “You’re the one extorting college girls for their fucking nudes. Who’s the real slut in this scenario?”

“Woah, woah, extorting? Who’s extorting here? I don’t see me begging anywhere in these texts. I see una putita,” He emphasizes the insult with relish, “throwing her pussy at me in hopes of some academic leniency. Now, what do you think the dean of students would make of that?” He remarks in feigned concern.

“You swore.”

“I did indeed. And as long as you keep that pretty little mouth shut, we shouldn’t have a problem. Should we?”

You rest your face in your palm, rubbing at your temples with your thumb and finger. You give a resolved sigh. “No, professor. No problem here. Let’s just…pretend it never fucking happened. Okay?”

You can hear his grin over the phone. “Never fucking happened. That’s right. Have a good night, sweetheart.”

The line goes dead and you pelt your phone into your sheets. All at once, the tears hit you like a fucking truck, and you fall apart into heaving sobs.

—

There’s no Buzzfeed article on how to girlboss your way through a college course after accidentally sending your professor nudes and having him blackmail you for more.

You know, you’ve checked.

It’s been several days since your encounter with Professor Peña, and this morning is your first class with him since. You’re choosier than you’ve ever been about your outfit of the day. Everything you own seems to be revealing in some way, and you’re trying to find something more…nun-chic. The last thing you want to do is give Professor Peña an excuse to ogle you throughout class, now that he knows what’s underneath.

Boyfriend jeans and a t-shirt it is, then.

The indecision makes you later than usual. Still on time, but barely. The only seat left is directly across from him. Of fucking course.

He doesn’t double-take or stare excessively, just a cordial nod acknowledging your presence as he begins the discussion. The banality of his reaction is almost worse than the idea of the opposite.

It’s like he really doesn’t give a shit about what he did the other night. Like it was a run-of-the-mill Thursday night for him. Get home, pour out some Jim Beam, grade some papers, stroke one out to your student’s nudes while on the phone with her, go to bed.

Jesus, for all you know, it might be normal for him.

Your mind is out to the fucking races, and it’s embarrassingly obvious when he puts you on the spot with a question or request for comment. You muddle your way through with the most lackluster answers you can conjure up in that second, just to get the heat off you.

When he’s done with his final inquisition toward you, he gives you a fleeting look up and down. Not in a manner someone would immediately pin as sexual, but there must be an element of it there all the same given the circumstance.

“Disappointing answers today. I expect you to be more prepared next time.”

He leaves it at that and launches into another talking point.

You want to disintegrate into a fucking puddle on the linoleum floor. Astral project your consciousness anywhere the fuck else than here, in this room, getting an “I’m disappointed in you” lecture in front of a dozen other students, from the king of all covert skeeves.

Verbally retaliating would just cause a scene, so you take your lumps and retract in on yourself, swearing under your breath. For the rest of class, you sit with your forehead resting on your hand, scribbling nonsense notes.

Professor Peña dismisses class, and you compile your shit like it’s revving up to run for its life. When you hear him call your name, you cringe.

You chance a look and he’s tapping to align his papers on the table, a stern expression fixed on you from beneath his lashes.

“Stick around for a moment, please.”

In the corner of your eye, you can see other students offering everything from looks of pity to secondhand fear to just plain yikes.

With a curt nod, you fall back into your seat, rhythmically rapping your pen on your notebook and well on your way to championing “eye contact avoidance” into an Olympic sport.

Professor Peña follows the last student to the door at your back, closing it after them. He doesn’t reappear in your line of sight, and when he breaks the silence, his voice comes from behind you.

“You know, that was a very lovely paper you wrote. But that doesn’t excuse you from interacting in class. You don’t get a pass to just coast through the rest of the semester.”

You snort, chucking your pen down on the table. “Oh, please.”

A large hand lands flat on the table next to your books, and a prickling awakens on the back of your neck at his proximity. You could work up a sweat just from the heat radiating off his body.

“I’m not loving the attitude here. Particularly from someone who couldn’t form cohesive sentences in response to rather simple questions today.”

“Oh, fuck off,” You snap at him, turning your body in your chair to face him.

He leers down at you with a raised eyebrow and his tongue poised between his teeth and the inside of his lip.

“I’m thinking you need to meet with me during my office hours.” He rolls his eyes up in thought and then nods. “Yup, I just decided. I expect to see you in my office this evening.”

“What? There’s literally no reason for—”

“You clearly aren’t coming prepared for lecture, and now you’re giving me attitude. I think we need to have a larger discussion about your future in this class.”

“I don’t need–”

“This is not a request.”

“That’s such bullshit, professor,” You glare back at him.

He shrugs with a frown, propelling himself back from the table with his hand and readjusting the strap of his leather messenger bag. “Between five and eight PM. If I don’t see you…” He pauses with his hand on the door handle and drops his gaze to your covered tits for a brief moment before giving a small tilt of his head, “Well, I guess we’ll both see.”

He swings open the door and leaves without another word.

—

You float the idea of not showing up. His threat is already beginning to wear thin to you. So what if he leaks your nudes? Not the end of the world. It’s an awkward conversation to have with your parents, to be sure, but that’s if it even came to that. His threats could be hollow. He could be nothing more than a sad, lonely man scrounging for women to wield power over. All bravado, no balls.

You ultimately came because he might be able to be reasoned with in person.

His voice beckons you in when you knock.

“Close it,” He orders from his desk when you enter.

“I prefer it stay open.”

He looks up with austerity from the document he’s studying. “I said close it.”

You stay put in front of the ajar door, staring him down.

He shakes his head and pushes himself up from his desk, stalking over and reaching past you to yank the door closed with an irritable eyebrow quirk. You hear the lock click in the deafening silence.

He throws his head in the direction of his desk and the chair in front of it. “Take a seat. And don’t fucking argue.”

You roll your eyes behind him but follow him over.

As you sit, Professor Peña situates himself at the front of his desk, his ass indenting against the protruding edge and his hands gripping it on either side of him. Your knees don’t quite touch, but they’re daring to.

He delivers an appraising look up your body, which is still clad in the same jeans and t-shirt.

“Jesus, you really do look better with nothing on if this is the shit you’re choosing to wear.”

“Oh, so you do remember the bullshit you pulled the other night,” You say with a nod, “Was starting to think maybe you forgot.”

His brow furrows. “Why the hell would I forget? What, did you think I was gonna whip my dick out in the classroom the second I saw you?”

You shrug. “How am I supposed to know the depth of your depravity? Anyway, why the fuck am I here?”

“Well,” Professor Peña sighs, looping a thumb over his black leather belt, “since it seems to me that you’re having trouble opening your mouth in class and filling it with anything of substance…” He slides his hand to the silver buckle and gives it a small tug, “Thought maybe I’d offer you a private lesson.”

Your eyes dart from his belt to his face, which is rich with smug satisfaction that you want to smack right off.

“Not a fucking chance in hell, dude,” You respond, leaning back in your chair.

His smirk only creeps wider as he leans forward in response, caging you into your seat with his hands on your armrests. “Funny, I’m not really presenting this as a suggestion.”

You glower back at him, slamming your hands down on top of his and digging your nails into his flesh. “Back the fuck off, old man.”

The motherfucker barely blinks. “It appears you might be forgetting that I’m the one with the power here.”

“Are you? Because I’ve decided I don’t give a fuck if you share my pictures, dude. Go ahead and fucking do it. It’s not like they can kick me off campus for being the victim of revenge porn, and I can deal with the blowback. You don’t fucking scare me.”

That has him retracting his hands from your chair and reclining against his desk again, a swell of pride burning inside you when you see half-moon indents in his skin. He looks up at the ceiling in thought, tapping his fingers against the desk. “Maybe the pictures aren’t what you should be worried about.”

He doesn’t expound any further, and after several beats of silence you prod, “Fine, I’ll bite. What should I be worried about, professor?”

He lifts a hand to his chin, rubbing it with his fingers. “Didn’t I see you snorting coke on campus the other day? Before class?”

The accusation takes you aback. Your eyes narrow on him, studying his face. “What the fuck are you talking about? I barely even smoke weed.”

Professor Peña shifts his weight, crossing his arms on his broad chest. “Mmm, no, I’m pretty sure I saw you in possession of illegal stimulants on campus. Sure enough to report it, too.”

He squints his eyes in further thought, making a slight pout with his lips. “Could probably back it up with evidence, as well. I’d hate to find a dime bag on you after our next class.”

This fucker. This two-faced, sadistic fucker.

“You fucking wouldn’t.”

He winces as if in pity, baring his teeth in a faux-pained expression. “I would, actually. I’m mandated to report illegal drug possession for the safety of the campus.”

“Dean Hansen would never believe that—”

He waves a dismissive hand. “Baby, I’ve got Dean Hansen in my back fucking pocket,” He brags. “Not to mention having her in the backseat of my car, having on her knees in her own goddamn office. Where the fuck do you think I get it in between bimbo college sluts like you?”

You scoff incredulously, rolling your eyes. “You are not sleeping with Dean Hansen.”

“I’ve got the bitch on speed dial, sweetheart. Should we find out?” He rounds his desk and takes his own seat, lifting the phone off its hook.

You leap out of your seat and extend a hand, “Please don’t.”

He pauses with his finger above the keypad. He makes a single tilt of his head toward his crotch.

Your eyes follow his indication and your resolve begins to shudder. “Please…don’t. Don’t make me do this.”

Without taking his eyes off you, he presses a button on his speed dial and leans back in his chair with the phone cradled at his ear. Tangible silence flows between you as you both wait.

Then his face alights. “Hey, Deb. Javi.”

“Shit,” You whisper, practically diving around his desk and onto your knees, looking up at him with pleading desperation.

His head dips, gesturing toward his crotch again. He chuckles into the phone. “No, for once I am not calling for that. It’s actually concerning a student of mine.”

His eyes stay locked on yours, waiting.

A string of curse words color the inside of your head as your hands find his belt, fingers fumbling over themselves as you undo the buckle and fastenings of his pants.

“I’m fairly certain I caught her doing drugs in an alcove inside the Whitmore Building a few days ago.”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up,” You chant under your breath as you jerk down his boxers to reveal his cock, hard and thick against his thigh. You wrap a hand around him without preamble, stroking him rapidly. “Please hang up.”

He ignores your request entirely.

“On top of that, she’s been acting increasingly erratic in my class.” He reclines slightly in his chair and mimes licking his palm as he glances down at you. You huff and spit into your own, immediately returning to his length with a more acceptable glide.

He muffles the bottom of the phone, pulling it away from his face and whispering, “That’s a girl. Now put it in your mouth.”

So we’re really doing this, you think. This is what we’ve been reduced to.

You don’t allow yourself to spiral. Not now, not with him on the phone with the fucking dean of students. You ground yourself with a solid breath and lean in.

You encapsulate the head with wet suction, rubbing your tongue up against the underside and teasing the slit with his precome dribbling out. He stares down at you with hooded eyes, working his free hand into your hair to hold it.

“Right now I think I’ll just keep my eye on her. Don’t wanna get her in trouble if I’m mistaken, after all.” He rolls his hips up, pushing more of him into your mouth as you open for him. “She seems like a good girl. Wouldn’t wanna ruin her.”

You gag on him as quietly as you can manage, his movements making your eyes water and your mouth salivate.

“Maybe I’ll call you later, Deb,” He offers noncommittally into the phone, saying a final goodbye and hanging up. He lets out a heavy sigh and readjusts his grip on your hair. “See? You do as I ask, no harm done.”

You whimper around him as his eyes slide shut, allowing himself to feel you around him as he rocks his hips into you.

“Such filthy head from a filthy whore. If I gave you enough incentive you’d probably let me buy and sell you like fucking cattle to the rest of the faculty, baby.”

He eases your head off his cock, spit clinging to the tip. He slaps the head against your lips wetly before rubbing it over the heated skin of your cheek and then poises it back at your mouth.

“And you know what the best part is?” He smirks as he bends over, using his grip on your hair to tilt your face up to him. “That wasn’t even the dean.”

The surprise on your features is still evident as he thrusts back into your mouth with a grunt, using you to fulfill his pleasure.

“Down on your knees, whoring yourself over an empty phone line. How does that make you feel, sweetheart?” He asks, fully aware your ability to answer is being hindered by his own doing. His own cock stretching your lips and stuffing your mouth.

His head presses into the back of his cushioned chair as he invades your mouth, his jaw hanging open as he thrusts and mutters in Spanish, “Sucia puta. Así.”

The closer he gets, the harder he grabs at your scalp, pressing you down into his lap. He finally comes with a prolonged groan and a flurry of Spanish you don’t quite catch. He doesn’t warn you, just shoots every drop of himself into your overflowing mouth and straight down your throat, forcing you to swallow.

You cough as he releases you, falling onto your hands and knees and wiping all manner of fluid from your face with your sleeve. He’s the picture of bliss above you, panting with a smug smile teasing his lips.

“You’re fucking sick. Out of your fucking mind,” You grit out at him.

He shrugs, balancing his elbows on his thighs. “And you’ll keep doing what I say, when I say it, until I decide I’m done with you.”

Your eyes mist over as the thought of your new normal trickles through your brain. “Why are you doing this to me? Like, truly, why?” You plead.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he placates, cupping your jaw in his hand and looking deep into your eyes with the most devastating quasi-sympathy from his endless molten brown ones.

“Because I can.”

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#haunted hoedown #dark!javier pena #dark!javier #javier pena x you #javier pena #javier pena x reader #javier pena smut #narcos #narcos fanfic #javier pena fic #javier peña #javier pena fanfic #katy wroted fic

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thekeeperof-thefandoms · 29 days

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Hi, could i request Alastor x reader where one of them does something nice/gives something to the other not realizing that in their culture it's equivalent of courting/proposing? And since the other is in love with them, they don't mention the connotations and it takes someone else to point it out for them to realize? :)

Going to be honest, I wasn't sure how to write this one, since I'm white and to my knowledge Alastor's a Creole man from 1930s, so I wasn't sure what from either of those cultures could be mistaken for a proposal. After doing some research I'm going to tweak this ask a bit, simply because I am not entirely comfortable representing other cultures that I am not a part of and only have a few hours worth of google research knowledge of. I'm sorry if that's not what you wanted. If you or anyone has more specific traditions to use as examples, I'd be happy to try and expand on the idea.

(Or reinterpret this as like, flower language, gift giving symbolism by pagan standards, or crow language. Which not gonna liez my ADHD ass really wants to write a crow sinner giving them weird random stuff they find that they think the others would like.)

Anyway, I'm going to do things you'd do for each other that make you both wanna get married. Hope that's ok!

Alastor

It's not so much a single thing you do, but more like there is a single moment where he realizes he wants to marry you. And to be clear, his idea of marriage is going to be based off of what he grew up with and his own personal level of comfort with romance and intimacy (remember folks, aromantics have a spectrum as well and can get married and have perfectly happy, functional, healthy relationships and marriages).

It's probably not even a big grand gesture or anything. It's more likely something domestic and really sweet. Like it's post the finale fight with Adam, and he already knows he's getting attached because he let you help him get patched up. He lets you in his room, his space, and being touched by you is as easy and comfortable as it is with Rosie and Niffty, who have pretty much a free pass whenever.

Yet you're still always so respectful of his boundaries, of giving him subtle ways to avoid or redirect your touch if he's not feeling up to it. You never push, chosing to take what levels of affection he's willing to express but always letting him know you love him, and this last small thing is the thing that makes it click in his brain.

You bring him his coat, newly patched, cleaned of any trace of blood. The stitching is a little sloppy, crooked, and the fabric isn't lined up as well as it used to be, but you tried. He can see the effort and knows you spent hours holed up in your room after patching him up.

"I know it's not perfect, but it'll hold until you feel well enough to visit your tailor again." You say timidly, as if you expected rejection or critique. And while criticism wouldn't be unwarranted, he's just too emotional to say anything. His smile is gentle, a little wobbly, and he reaches out and brushes the coat aside to grab hold of you and pull you into a hug.

You're just so sweet and considerate, you understand him. He's not going to change, he doesn't want redemption, he thrives off the bloodshed and chaos of hell, but at the same time he's still just a man. And he wants you to be by his side for eternity, if he you want that too. He's never thought of marriage before but now...now he can't stop. He wants to have that with you. Domestic life, something to come home to.

He won't say anything right away, he wants his proposal to be perfect. He's going to have Rosie help him plan this every step of the way, but regardless, one day, you will be his partner.

As for what your moment with Alastor is, I think it entirely depends on what you value most in a partner. However, a general consensus I've seen in most of the fanfics and tumblr posts is the idea of Alastor showing us a softer side.

Not just showing us that he's more than a serial killer and cannibal with his own sense of morality. More than just feeling comfortable enough to let us initiate touch, hut genuinely letting us see past the Radio Demon persona.

Maybe it's by cooking for us and talking about how he learned the recipe from his Mama, which leads into him slowly opening up about her, how much he adored her. What she meant to him.

Maybe it's him and you at the bar in the hotel or in his room, sipping drinks, his jacket off, sleeves rolles up. Letting himself be casual and in a compromised state around you. Maybe he'll even take your hand and spin you across the dance floor like he used to with Mimzy. He doesn't even care if you're not that good, he can teach you, practice makes perfect, he just has fun with you.

Maybe it's a moment where he let's you touch him. Or seeks you out for help because he knows you won't say anything. Or if he humors you and flirts back when you tease him. Or let's say he has a tail and he doesn't snap your head off for accidentally touching it as you go by. Or he agrees to watch a movie with you or listen to a podcast despite how he feels about technology.

Maybe it's just a quiet night, sitting next to each other, each reading a book, his radio playing softly for background noise, and you look up to him to ask a question or say something and he's already watching you, a small, adoring smile on his face.

Take your pick of which one is the moment where your heart stops, your breath catches, and you realize that you wanna marry this man.

And then your delulu ass wakes up, lol.

Decide for yourself if you'd go through with a proposal or if you just accept how things are.

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor x reader #sorry this isn't what you asked for #it's the best I could do

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derangedanomaly · 3 months

Note

Hear me out. BAD SANSES X JESSICA RABBIT READER RAHHHHHH

If. If you're comfortable with it maybe you can make it a lil spicy. if you catch my drift... *wink wink. TEEHEE. And maybe add a little wholesomeness too 🤔

Ooh, now that's an interesting scenario 😏

MASTERLIST

WARNING: Suggestive, Fluffy, Heavy flirting, kinda a Dom!reader, mentions of cannibalism, NSFW parts

BAD SANSES X JESSICA RABBIT READER (kinda NSFW)

NIGHTMARE:

SFW PART

This dude will be ALL OVER YOU. He loves dominant people. (Lmao)

He will be like a closeted simp, actually.

He's going to deny any attraction towards you. Like, no, he wasn't staring at your behind. The hell you mean?

He loves laying his hand on your hip/s. It's just so squishy and nice in his hand- it's like they were meant to be held by him!

He'd give up anything just to hear you sing.

You're pretty powerful, not gonna lie- you can literally command Nightmare anything and he'd do it in a heartbeat.

Won't admit it, but you've got him wrapped around your little finger-

He's probably gonna rub it in Dream's face once you two get together.

NSFW PART

He likes looking at your cleavage a lot. He can't help but start to get a little lot excited every time you bend over to either grab something, or simply just to give him a tease. But he's too much of a "gentleman/asshole" to ever acknowledge it, or admit it. But the tent in his pants tell a different story...

He won't let it be known by anyone, but he THRIVES and DROOLS whenever you dominate him in bed.

Speaking of drooling, you will catch him looking at your ass while drooling a lot... He's so thirsty istg.

Please please PLEASE call him "boss" in bed.. he gets off from that.

KILLER:

SFW PART

"What do you see in that guy?" <- probably Dust. "He makes me laugh."

Killer will literally whistle anytime you walk by.

He's so swayed by you, it's really silly.

Loves your voice, and would do anything just to hear you say his name.

He's the one that whimpers, source; trust me bro.

You are, in his "charming" words: "So sexy that it should be criminal."

He gets REALLY creative once he realizes he has a thing for your voice ... Like- A NEW KINK SUDDENLY DEVELOPS.

Keeps asking you to call him all sorts of things, just so he could hear it in your sultry voice. "Daddy, master, an idiot.." whichever you'll like the best to call him, he'll like it! Just cause it's you who's saying it.

NSFW PART

He likes roleplaying with you, and not only cause you look really gorgeous while playing your role! There's actually a specific roleplay he likes to do with you. You're a victim and he's the criminal/kidnapper.

You thought Nightmare was horny? Nah dude, this man's is THE DEFINITION OF DOWN BAD.

He begs, so so much.

He has a love-hate relationship with pleasure denying... Don't get it twisted now, he loves how much control you have over him, and it has him shaking knowing that he's so bend by your words, but he just HATES how he can't... finish. Oh he wants to so bad..

DUST:

SFW PART

While Killer and Nightmare love dominant people, Dust is actually a switch. He likes himself some Dom mommy, but sometimes, he likes to be the daddy, if you know what I mean ;)

But Dust is probably more respectful towards you than Killer and Nightmare.. what can I say? He proudly respects woman!

Would avoid actually looking at your cleavage and your ass, just so you wouldn't feel uncomfortable in his presence. (Omg, the MURDERER?! More respectful than drunkards at the bars?? That's crazy dude..)

He loves to hear you sing your sweet little tunes. He's so in love with YOUR PERSONALITY.

I definitely think that Dust values personality over looks, so that's pretty much what's going on.

He loves your sassiness, as he's pretty sassy himself, so that's that.

If you really want an honest opinion on something, go to Dust. He's probably the most reliable one here.

NSFW PART

Dust tries his hardest to not let his mind travel to the more suggestive ideas, whenever he sees you, but boy... after you give him the permission to be more bold with you- oh-ho... let's just say... That he's gonna get much- more suggestive. Unless you don't want him to, then he'll immediately stop and apologize.

Loves your thighs, if he could, he would suffocate in-between your thighs, and he'd die a happy man.

He loves when you moan out his name- makes him feel good that he's making you this vocal.

Overall, I feel like he would rather focus on your pleasure than his own, he loves to make you feel good.

HORROR:

SFW PART

Horror never really pays attention to how people look like, what he does pay attention to though, is how certain people smell.. listen, he's not a dog, he can just tell if the people are good to eat, or if he should eat them. It overall gives him a good idea of how the person could taste. Good smell=tasty meat, Bad smell=yucky.

So what do you think he does the first time he sees you? He sniffs you.. and you smell......... really delicious...but this smell actually really confuses Horror, because you don't smell like food to him, but rather as something much more...steamy.

While Dust, Killer and Nightmare are the one that falls first, it's actually the other way around with Horror. You fall first.

You're literally gushing about his strength while he's ripping someone's head off of their body, only with his hands.

Horror is the tallest out of all the Bad Sanses (and Star Sanses), so you look like a flea next to him. Which in turn makes you flustered.

Horror likes your voice too, he could fall asleep to it...oh, how much would he love to hear your screams...

Finds your sassiness cute.

Horror is actually so clueless when he does something suggestive to you... He's not innocent, he just never takes it into account.

NSFW PART

You start to get really hot and bothered by Horror, so you start to get a little risky with him... Teasing him. You do all sorts of things, bend over, press your chest on his belly, suggestively suck a popsicle, and safe to say... It drives him crazy.

He loves biting, so he'll often pepper you with love bites all over you. (Ouch. His teeth are really sharp, so good luck with that.)

He's just so..big. Wait, no, that's an understatement, he's ginormous. You'll have to really prepare yourself if you want to get down in the sheets with him. He WILL break you. (Not on purpose though)

While Killer whimpers, Horror growls.

He loves tasting you. It basically became his favorite meal. (You can choose whether you'd like for him to continue this routine of eating you out, or if you'd like for him to stop. He will stop. Another one that drank the "woman respecting juice".)

#undertale fandom #sans undertale #undertale #sans x reader #nightmare sans x reader #horror sans x reader #dust sans x reader #killer sans x reader

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llonelygoddess · 8 months

Text

How they react to...You being good with a sword

A/N: Not my best work but I'm open to feedback!

Characters: Ned Stark, Margaery Tyrell, Sandor Clegane, Sansa Stark, Khal Drogo, Brienne of Tarth, Missandei, Podrick, Jorah Mormont

TW: Horny characters, violence?

Ned Stark: You'd both be out watching Robb, Jon, and Theon practicing with their swords in the court yard. Jon's kicking both of their asses and it's getting hard to watch so you excuse yourself from Ned's side. Walking down to the courtyard, you grab a sword and show them defensive and offensive positions. Ned almost objects as you begin but seeing his kids take your advice so seriously he smiles. If the boys can respect you as a teacher then so could he. Now, He didn't like the idea of you being in a situation where you have to use a sword but knowing you can wield one turns him on lol

Margaery Tyrell: In the life you'd live with Margaery it would be best to keep your talent hidden. It was scandal enough to be courting someone that wasn't a man, but if said person also brandished a sword it would be the hottest gossip of the city. So you save your skills for real emergencies and the first time Margaery sees this she is beyond confused and a little scared. In private she'll thank you for saving her and ask how you learned such a thing.

Sandor Clegane: This guy is the least phased. Like, he's definitely caught off guard by how skilled you are but not much surprises him anymore. He gives you tips every now and then but really believes in your capability. I like to think one of his favorite moments are after you both have had a good fight and you take turns taking care of each other. Wiping the wounds clean, covering them, and then taking a hot bath together ( or separate cause mans is BIG).

Sansa Stark: It kinda depends on which era of Sansa we're talking about. Like if it's younger Sansa than she's probably a little frightened of you but would be dying to hear the stories of how you came to be so good. If it was older Sansa then she's highly impressed and requests for you to be apart of her personal guard. She likely will ask for you to teach her a few things so she can defend herself as well.

Khal Drogo: Man is impressed. He values strength so seeing you with a weapon at all riles him up, but seeing you defend yourself from another Dothraki who spoke against you? He's immediately dragging your ass to bed, or he might just take you in front of everyone.

Brienne of Tarth: <3 Big heart eyes<3 Finally! Someone who can keep up with her. This woman spent her whole life being told that anyone who wasn't a man couldn't possibly wield a sword properly, and after proving that wrong herself it's refreshing to see you also beating the stereotypes. She loves to train with you and teach you things as well as learn from you. After your first real battle together she'll do her best not to hover but you can tell she's stressed out about whether you were hurt or not. Of course she knows you can take care of yourself but she loves you and can't help but worry.

Missandei: As an educated woman and former slave, Missandei never had time ( or the desire) to learn the ways of a sword. When she met you, you were training with Jorah and Grey Worm and she was impressed with how you could keep up with them. From then on, She's always enjoyed watching you train, your strength filling her with pride. She feels content knowing that you can defend yourself and her at any moment.

Podrick: Honestly, he's relieved. I mean, don't get me wrong he'll defend you without a second thought ( it's very hot) but knowing that you can handle yourself in a fight takes the pressure off of him a little. He worries for you, the world you both live in will eat and spit people out and the thought of something happening to you haunts him. He may try to give you tips ( even if you're better than him lol), so just let him help the few ways he can.

Jorah Mormont: You'd both probably meet while working for Daenerys so there's almost an expectation that you'd be good at defending yourself/her. In your first fight together you save him from a sword that nearly took his head off and after that day he begins to see you as more than just another guard.

#ned stark x reader #ned stark #jorah mormont x reader #jorah mormont #podrick payne #podrick x reader #missandei #sansa stark #sansa stark x reader #khal drogo #khal drogo x reader #brienne of tarth #brienne of tarth headcanons #margaery tyrell x reader #margaery tyrell

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vanwritesfan-fiction · 4 months

Text

Safe and Sound

Jack Harlow Masterlist

Request: I really like the idea that Jack always leaves his girl in the "care" of one of his inner circle whenever he gets pulled away at an event. Like he's gotta go on stage or go to another area of the venue and she can't come, so gets his good luck kiss and when he says bye to Like Clay or Urban, he just whispers in his ear "keep an eye on her" or "keep her close" or "watch out for my girl". Like she probably doesn't even know that he does it, and that's kinda what makes it all the more heart warming. Like yes, the area is private and there's probably security around, but the fact that when he can't physically be there to protect her, he turns to his best friend or brother to keep the most important person in his life safe.

Warnings: language

For as long as Jack could remember, the only thing he wanted to be was a rapper. He ate, slept, and breathed music for over a decade trying to make a name for himself, and while it took a while, everything he poured into himself and his career came back to him tenfold, and sometimes he couldn't believe how lucky he was. The good: amazing fans, financial security, and getting to live his dream definitely outweighed the bad, so he took everything in stride.

There were definitely times where he wished he could leave the house without being recognized, or didn't have a security team on his heels wherever he went, but that was the name of the game, and he'd make the sacrifice over and over again to be where he is now.

He didn't hold the same expectations for the ones that he loved, though.

While his friends and family understood that Jack Harlow was no longer just a kid from Louisville, and their lives were going to change along with his, Jack wasn't willing to put them in harms way for his sake. He could deal with the crazy fans, the big crowds of people, and the lack of privacy, because that's what he signed up for, but his people were off limits.

It also meant that the circle of people that he could trust was incredibly small, and honestly, he liked it that way. He knew that he could count on the people that stood to the left and the right of him, and that made all of the craziness a lot easier to deal with.

When you and Jack started dating, you were so caught up in the whirlwind of being in a relationship with someone you respected and cared for so much, you hardly noticed how much your life was changing. You'd never been with someone famous, let alone someone as famous as Jack, and while you were still getting used to the security team who accompanied you on some of your dates, waiting in the wings while you ate dinner or watched a movie, for the most part, your life was surprisingly normal. You were always a very headstrong person who valued their independence, and you were glad that your relationship allowed you to hold onto a semblance of control or Jack's lifestyle might have sent you running for the hills.

You thought it was a testament to the type of person Jack was and the life he led, down to earth and understated, but you had no idea how creative he had to get to keep you safe.

"What do you think of this top?" You twirled in front of your phone that you had propped up on your dresser, with Jack on FaceTime. He let out a long yawn before he narrowed his eyes to get a better look at the sheer blouse you were holding up to your form. "Looks good", he mumbled out, throwing himself on his hotel bed. It was only 8:15PM in Louisville, but 1:15AM in London where Jack currently was for work, and he was struggling to keep his eyes open while the two of you caught up on your days.

"Only good?", you asked as you gave it a second look in your mirror, a frown on your face. "I don't want to just look good tonight."

Jack ran a hand down his face as he let out a deep chuckle. "Ok, you look very good. Was that more convincing?"

"No", you answered curtly, tossing the top onto your bed before going back into your closet. You came back out wear a simple black sweater. "What about this one?"

"Uh, maybe just lift the bottom up a little bit." Jack directed you with his hand in an upward motion, and you lifted the shirt up around your belly button in a makeshift crop top. "Just a little more." You pulled the shirt over your bra, not quite understanding. "Jack, what are you doing?"

"Just a little bit more." You pulled it up over your head, your arms held up in the air. "Good now take it all the way off so I can see you without anything on." You let out a huff when you caught onto his joke, flipping him off in the camera. "You're an ass, you know that?" Jack could barely hear you over the roar of his own laughter, tickled with his own joke. "Where are you going anyway? I thought you were staying in tonight?" You could hear the apprehension in Jack's tone.

"Please, Jack, don't start." You let out a huff, knowing where he was going with this. "I'm going out with a couple of friends to a bar to celebrate Gigi's birthday, and then coming home, okay?" You had a run in with a crazed fan while out one night a couple of weeks ago, and while you were shaken up in the moment, the incident was long forgotten, in your mind at least. Jack was away from work, and the fact that he wasn't there to protect you, and you had no security around made his stomach turn.

"I can call Dave and he can be at your apartment in like 10 minutes. I'd feel a lot better if you let my security team go with you." Jack was trying his best not to be overprotective, but he couldn't help it when it came to you.

"And I'd feel a lot better if you trusted me." You gave him a pouty lip and he folded immediately, letting out a exasperated sigh. "Fine, but please text me when you get there and get back home, okay? Even if I don't answer right away."

"Okay promise. I love you, babe." You threw on a graphic tee and leather jacket before blowing a kiss to Jack, hanging up with him, and grabbing your purse to head out the door.

The bar was packed for a Thursday night, pop music blasting over the speakers as you made your way through the crowd, finding a table at the back of the room. You weren't scared to run into another fanatic, but you also wanted to play it safe, knowing it would give you and Jack piece of mind. You snapped a selfie of you and your friends and sent it off to Jack as confirmation you made it safe.

"Well look who it is!' You lowered your phone to see Urban and Clay smiling back at you, beers in both of their hands.

"What are you two doing here?", the inflection in your voice signifying your genuine confusion to see Jack's best friend and brother standing in front of you. You were very surprised to see them here, considering that a dive bar was neither of theirs scene.

"Can't two people enjoy a couple drinks at a bar on a Thursday night?" Urban slid into the booth next to you, wringling into his spot, Clay following in behind him.

"Two people, yes, you two, no. If I remember it correctly, you said "bars like this are contributing to the collapse of Louisville's culture." You held up your fingers in quotations. Urban went on a very long rant during dinner last month when you asked him if he knew of any knew any new places to go out downtown, and you hadn't brought it up since.

"I made him come out with me", Clay cut in, knowing you'd get the truth out of Urban sooner or later, "I was going stir crazy at home." He avoided eye contact with you, taking a swig of his drink.

You narrowed your eyes at both of them and they squirmed under your scrutiny, awkwardly shifting in place. You were incredibly intuitive and knew something else was going on, and Jack definitely had something to do with it. Something was off, and while you wanted to get to the bottom of it, this night wasn't about you, so you put it to the side until later, letting Urban and Clay join your group for the night.

Jack came home from London a couple days later, but was so wrapped up in prepping for his performance in New York, you didn't get the opportunity to ask him why his best friends just happened to be at the same location you were last week. You didn't want to assume he was sending his friends to check in with you, instead of just trusting you to be careful on your own, but it was just too much of a coincidence.

The night of the show you hung around the greenroom for a couple of hours while Jack was doing soundcheck and and running through last minute changes with his team. Jack had security posted at the door of his dressing room and didn't let anyone pass through the hallway where he was getting ready, but you didn't think much of it because that was protocol for him and his team's safety.

Clay and Urban found Jack as he was walking off the stage, Jack adjusting his in ear as he went through the motions of his performance in his head. The crowd was roaring behind them, growing impatient for the show to start.

"How did last week go?" Jack asked as soon as he spotted them.

"I don't know why you asked Urban to check in with Y/N, he's a terrible liar", Clay scoffed, earning an eye roll from the blonde. "I'm a terrible liar? Mr. "I can't make eye contact with her", Urban mocked Clay with exaggerated motions.

"Can you two stop it? I asked you to make sure she was safe, discreetly, but its obvious the two of you don't know what that means. What the hell am I paying you for?" Jack pulled at the collar of his shirt, the air around him stifling. Your safety was the only thing on his mind lately, and he couldn't focus on anything else.

"First of all, you're not paying us at all", Urban retorted, but Jack just sighed, pushing past them to go back to the dressing room. "And second of all, she's smart, man, its only a matter of time before she figures out you've got us going undercover. You should just hire a security team for her."

Jack leaned against the wall, letting a few crew members walk by before continuing. "I've tried that, but she is so damn stubborn, says she doesn't need security. She doesn't realize how important all of this is, the crazy fan approaching her was just the tip of the iceberg. You guys have seen how wild people can be." Urban and Clay nodded in agreement, but it did nothing to calm Jack's nerves.

"Dude, just talk to her. Tell her how important the security team is, I'm sure she'll understand." Jack stroked at his jawline, watching as Neelam came rushing down the hallway. "Five minutes, Jack." You got up from your chair at the announcement to give Jack a good luck hug and kiss before he went on stage.

Jack lowered his voice to Urban and Clay so you couldn't hear him. "The two of you keep an eye on her tonight, okay? Don't let her out of your sight. I can't have anything happen to her."

Jack trusted his friend and brother with his life and knew they'd never let anything happen to you. He grabbed your hand as he pressed a kiss to your temple and you followed him out to the side stage.

Most of the way though the show, you could feel your voice start to go from yelling and cheering for Jack over the music. Urban was in the crowd getting some action shots, which left Clay to watch over you. He glanced over at where you were posted all night, as you started to walk back to the greenroom to grab a bottle of water. He intercepted you before you got past the curtain, stopping you in your tracks. "What's up? Going somewhere?"

"Just gonna grab some water really quick." You motioned to your dry throat.

"Uh, I'll have someone get it for you." He looked around for a PA.

"Clay, its fine, I can get my own water", you chuckled, gently pushing past him. "Cool, cool! I'll join you, I could use some water too."

"Okay, you're being weird. Everything okay?" You crossed your arms over your chest as the two of you walked backstage. "Yeah, I'm fine. I just realized, you and Jack have been dating for a while and we never really got a chance to get to know each other."

You grabbed a bottle from the craft services table, looking over your shoulder at him. "And tonight seemed like a good time to do that?"

"Yeah, tell me about your childhood. Did you wet the bed?" He wasn't sure how he got to that line of questioning, palming his face in embarrassment. "I didn't mean to ask you that." He plopped down on the couch, letting out a deep breath. "This is harder than I thought it was going to be."

"What is? What the hell is going on, Clay? You, Urban, and Jack for that matter, have been acting so strange lately." You sat down next to him, taking a big gulp of water.

"He doesn't want to overstep, but you're a lot harder to keep track of then we thought you would be."

You gave him an incredulous look. "Is this about Jack and the whole security thing? I told him I was fine." Clay nodded, shifting to sit up and face you.

"I know how much he cares about you, Y/N, and that whole fan interaction scared the shit out of him, even if it didn't bother you." You tightened the grip on your water bottle as Clay spoke, the plastic cracking in your hand. You were so caught up in how you felt, Jack's feelings didn't even cross your mind. "He just wants to make sure you're safe, but since you won't take the security team, he had to take matters into his own hand."

"I knew you two showing up a the bar last Thursday wasn't a coincidence? How did you two figure out where I was anyway?"

Clay ran a hand over his buzzcut hair. "Jack texted us that night and told us to get our asses over there. You wouldn't take Dave, so we had to improvise."

"So he sent Dumb and Dumber to look after me, huh?", you said in jest, playfully shoving Clay in the shoulder. "We prefer Scooby and Shaggy, but whatever", he shrugged, making you giggle.

"I guess I can let Dave follow me around every once and a while." The thought of a 6'5", 300 pound man standing in the corner of your pilates class was kind of funny.

"Listen, I know that your life has changed so much since you met Jack, trust me, if anyone knows its me, and if you know my brother at all, you know he does not play about the people he loves." You nodded, smiling to yourself. Jack loved his family and friends so deeply and openly, it was honestly refreshing to witness it first hand. You could tell how much he cared about everyone, and wanted to see them succeed. It was one of the things you loved the most about him.

Clay smiled, jumping to his feet and extending a hand to help you up. "C'mon, lets watch the end of the show."

"Wait, who's Shaggy in this duo?", you asked, grabbing the offered hand. "Obviously Urban", Clay answered. "Shaggy gives off major stoner vibes."

You stood off to the side of the stage as the show ended, and Jack ran down the stairs, immediately searching the backstage crowd for you. You watched on as his team surrounded him and helped him get unhooked from the sound equipment, as Clay gave him a quick rundown of your conversation, Jack's gaze never leaving your face.

He slowly approached you, half expecting you to be pissed, but you just wrapped him up in a tight hug, your cheek rubbing against his scraggly beard. "Everything okay?", he chuckled, nuzzling into your hair. "Yeah, everything's fine." You pulled away with a smile, grabbing his hand to walk back to his dressing room and away from everyone else. You turned to him as he shut the door, giving the two of you privacy.

"Did something happen?" You were quiet, and that made him uncomfortable. He hooked his eyebrow as he searched your face to try to gauge your reaction. "Look, I know that Clay told you everything, and I know you asked me to trust you, and I promise I do, but-". You stopped him with an abrupt kiss to the lips, your chests colliding with each other. You were the first to break to take a breath, Jack pulling you in tightly to his body so you couldn't walk away. "What was that for?", he asked with a giddy grin.

"I owe you a thank you, baby. I was fighting you so hard on this security thing because I didn't want my life to change anymore, but I know now you were just worried about me, and I appreciate that so much." You reassuringly ran your hands up and down his chest, feeling his muscles flex underneath your palms at your touch.

"I just love you so much", Jack explained, grabbing your hands and pressing a kiss to your knuckles, "and I can't do what I have to do unless I know you're safe. I know its a lot, but I need you to do this for me."

You nodded, giving him a small smile. "I know, just give me some time to get used to it. I'll come around to the whole idea that my boyfriend is an celebrity, eventually." You drug out the last word sarcastically.

"So that's a yes to the security team?" Jack ducked down to make eye contact with you. "Uh, no, not a whole security team, just two bodyguards." You motioned over to the door, and Jack turned around to see Urban and Clay standing in the threshold. "These two dumb asses?" Jack threw a lazy thumb their way with a disappointed look.

You both chuckled at the rumble of objections that came from the two of them. "Hey! Is that any way to talk about your girlfriend's security team?" Urban threw an arm over your shoulders, pulling you in for a side hug. "Yeah, these two will blend in a little better than your security team, plus they are a very good time."

"Yeah, you hear that? We're a good time." Clay threw his arm over your shoulder as well, sticking his tongue out at Jack.

"Whatever." Jack threw his hands up in surrender with a smile. "You should know that a twelve year old girl beat him up when he was a freshman in high school." You stiffled a laugh as you looked at Clay, who was visibly upset.

"She was really big for a twelve year old!", Clay bit back as everyone in the room burst into laughter.

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#jack harlow #jackman thomas harlow #jackharlow #jackman harlow #jack harlow x reader #jack harlow concepts #jack harlow imagine #jack harlow fanfic

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 5 months

Note

AITAH for hiding my fanfiction hobby from my husband?

I do not think I'm the asshole here, but a few friends online have told me I am so seeking an outside opinion. I (32F) have been married to my husband (35M) for almost 9 years. We have a good relashinship with the average amount of disagreements over the basic stuff (financies occasinally, planning conflicts, in-laws, you get the idea) never anything big. Overall we have a very happy together.

Along with having common interests, we both have our own hobbies. For me, this is writing fanfiction. I'm what I would consider a semi-serious writer. I have well over 100 fics posted, several of which are pretty long (50k+), and pretty much all of them are very spicy (M or E rating, and all M/M). I write in my down time on my laptop and on my phone, and it's my main form of solo relaxation.

Now, here is where, according to a few online friends, I'm the asshole. My husband knows nothing about this hobby. I never talk to him about writing or fandom stuff. It's just not a hobby/interest we share. We watch some of the same shows and get invested, but he is not part of as I would put it "fandom culture". Shows and movies are something to enjoy, but he doesn't immerse himself in them like I do (he is well aware I get more invested in them than him sometimes). My online friends say that since I hide it from him, and especially since I write spicy things, I am basically cheating emotionally. Which I disagree with. My writing never interferes with us spending time together, I don't put it before him, and it doesn't effect our activities in the bedroom (I don't really think that's relevant but thought I would mention it). I am devoted to him. I just like having this hobby. They say it shows I do not trust him.

The main reason I don't tell him is not that I don't trust him, its that I simply don't trust anyone. I was bullied horribly in middle and high school (verbally and physically) for being interested in fandom things and fanfics. Since then, the idea of talking face to face about it gives me great fear and anxiety. So I just prefer to keep it to myself. He has seen me writing on my phone and asked what I'm doing, my response simply being "I write short stories sometimes," and we move on. For all I know, he has figured it out and just respects my privacy.

This is another reason they say I'm an asshole. I value my privacy and his. I'm not the type that thinks we are married and are basically one person required to share everything. We are allowed to be our own people with part of ourselves that are just for us. My friends say that's selfish and not how marriage works. (To preface, they are in relashinships where their partners' share their interest in fandom culture).

So, AITAH for keeping this hobby to myself?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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moonyinpisces · 5 months

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I am curious what you, a preeminent Aziraphale Understander, thinks about all the Final Fifteen theories i.e. the slew of theories that basically boil down to the F15 are not to be taken at face value, Aziraphale is either lying under threat or being manipulated by the Metatron via coffee or whatever, etc.

thank you for asking! it is a blessing and a curse to understand aziraphale but i will do my very best to put vibes into words. like everything he did in the final fifteen tracks to me, but i'll try to explain why in case people are still struggling with it. obligatory this is my opinion blah blah blah but if you disagree then make your own post so it's easier for me to ignore

anyway. here's the thing. i think textually it's pretty clear that aziraphale didn't have a choice. i think the show made that obvious with the "give me coffee OR give me death", the title sequence includes a coffee cup marching along with the other figures, this being a shared moment of materiality/consuming human food which was established as significant in "othering" angels/demons from their respective sides in the job minisode. the end result is meant to be a kinship to rationalize aziraphale agreeing with the metatron, as everything about the metatron in e6 was designed to 1. attract aziraphale 2. repel crowley

the repulsion worked on crowley, even just secondhand. he sees the manipulation and understands that aziraphale being used as distraction for the second coming is far more significant than what aziraphale believes he is capable of towards making any meaningful change in heaven. but i don't think the metatron's attraction worked on aziraphale. i don't think the end result we saw was aziraphale agreeing because the metatron was likable, and i think he's fully aware of the manipulation (even if he doesn't know about the second coming yet). just as, with the coffee cup, he is fully aware that he has no other choice. of course, this isn't a removal of autonomy to aziraphale; most of his character choices throughout the series are him working inside the idea that he he NEVER has a choice anyway (re: god's plan, ineffable or otherwise). and in this case, he knows just as well as crowley does that he was offered this position in heaven to be split up from crowley/earth for whatever reason; he just absolutely thinks that what he'll be able to achieve in heaven overrides however the metatron thinks he'll be able to be restrained/distracted. and in a much larger sense, he sees this as something he's meant to do via god

and aziraphale wants crowley to come with him. that's not fake or naive, and he doesn't think crowley will refuse bc their communication skills are quite literally the central conflict of the show. aziraphale is like, look how powerful we are together. look how much heaven wants to split us up. if you come with me to heaven, we are in a much better position of making meaningful change so we can have a peaceful existence together in the future, ON earth. which is what you clearly want. and i don't think this is a naive viewpoint to have like other people have said; i think this is confident. i think aziraphale is saying we can change the FOUNDATIONS of heaven, while crowley is saying the foundations CANNOT be changed. they are operating off two different modes of thought. and aziraphale uses crowley's perceived 'rejection' as fuel when he steps on that elevator, not out of anger towards crowley (at least not genuinely) but as desperate fodder to the fire that's been stoking 6000-so years of anger. in that moment (regarding the smile in the elevator), following the look to the bentley after he learns about the second coming and understands what crowley knew and was purposefully not saying, i just think that to aziraphale, crowley becomes another person to prove wrong

so ultimately did aziraphale have a choice? no. does he know this? yes. does he still make the decision to accept the supreme archangel position as if he had a choice? also yes. why? because he's insane (i say this with love). and also he has aligned himself with god more than he's ever aligned himself with heaven, and he's going to show everyone what he's capable of

#good omens #ask box #aziraphale

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mysterycitrus · 6 months

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Jason is my blorbo, my favorite, wretched, little guy and I love him so much. And I love all your posts about him! SO tired of people watering down his character, especially at the expense of other characters. Namely Dick and Tim. I know you're probably tired of talking about J so no hard feelings if you ignore this but I'd love to hear your thoughts and Dick and Jason's relationship. Past, present and where you'd like to see it go in the future. If anywhere. (Also your art is so, so good!! I especially love how you do faces and your coloring)

i actually really enjoy unpacking their relationship. it makes me think about that quote from diary of a wimpy kid - "you're my brother, but you'll never be my friend." idk how they should be written in the future because i think jason needs to be removed from gotham until he grows his personality back, but here's my thoughts on their brains -

from jason's end, there's so much resentment. a large part of his post-resurrection motivations come from the idea that bruce has dishonoured his memory and failed to grieve him, because bruce won't let him or anyone else kill the joker and therefore bruce doesn't love him. bruce rejects his manifesto for fixing gotham, bruce rejects his violence, bruce rejects his politics. would bruce have rejected dick if dick had done this? in jason's mind - no. dick grayson has shackled himself to bruce and is drowning with him. jason does not see that he has also chained himself to bruce and thrown away the key.

it's also worth mentioning that in outsiders 2003 and batman and robin 2009 (when written by winick), jason still fundamentally respects dick's abilities and experience. he think he's weak because he tries to suppress his anger, but i don't think jason would carry that same heavy, debilitating misery from seeing tim or cass or damian - people he was denied knowing by dying, and thus "replaced" by. jason, in some capacity, values dick as an ally. he trusts that dick, for all his flaws, is not a vengeful person (and i'll get to that).

there's a degree of what if there too - both dick and jason lived through a very specific period of bruce's life, which is the period before jason was killed. no one else (aside from babs and alfred) knows what that was like. no one else understands bruce, in that way. they have seen him before that grief in a way no one else who followed can. they're both poor kids brought into wealth. dick transcended into a legacy, and was then discarded. jason was, unconsciously, a tangible replacement for dick (and for robin), but died before bruce had the chance to leave him behind.

by comparison, we see dick reach out to jason, consistently. i'd say that unlike bruce, dick is a pragmatist. he frequently works with murderers. he ran the outsiders. he has, and will continue to, make calls that will questionably result in someone's death. to be clear, that is not the same thing as being a murderer - i think the guilt of that comes very close to killing him - but while he's an inherently optimistic person, i'd say he has realistic expectations for people's behaviour. it's what makes him so efficient as a tactician.

they're also very similar - they respond differently to anger, but they are both explosive. dick doesn't seek retribution on his own behalf, but he will lose control for the people he loves (which includes jason!). going to bat (haha) for jason, and jason then hurting the people he protects (tim, damian, the titans, etc), that's a line jason's crossed. dick won't ever stop swinging out to grab him, because he'll never let anyone fall, but that does not mean he'll be kind when they reach the ground

#when i finish my jason + dick brothers fic ohohohoho.... then people will see my vision #dick grayson #jason todd #nightwing #red hood #batfam #dc comics #the ask and the answer

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inbarfink · 7 months

Text

Okay, so here’s the thing about Zim and GIR…

When talking about the idea that Zim might have some affection towards GIR - a lot of people bring up the fact that, like, GIR is even still functioning in the first place. After all, why would the Famously Sadistic and Callous Invader Zim keep around an evil minion who messes up as often as GIR does? Rather than scrap him for parts or just throw him in the trash? ….Unless he had some sort of emotional attachment to that minion in the first place?

But that’s… I’m actually not sure that argument 100% works. Because there’s one important variable that argument discards. GIR isn’t just a regular ol’ robotic minion - he is a special top-secret model SIR Unit personally gifted to Zim by the Almighty Tallests.

Zim cannot fully discard GIR as a worthless garbage robot that’s nothing but a hindrance to his mission the same way that he can’t discard Earth as a worthless garbage planet with no value to the Irken Empire - because that would be confronting and admitting that he is not actually a great and respected Invader in the eyes of his Tallests.

But I still think there are some other evidence to the idea that Zim likes GIR. Because, I mean, Zim is incredibly lenient towards him.

Zim… feels bad for yelling at GIR and making him cry.

Zim. Feels. Bad. For. Yelling.

This alone is incredible evidence for Zim’s affection towards GIR.

And that is absolutely not something Zim will do for just any minion. Just look at how he treats his Computer, and not to mention all those poor saps from Hobo 13.

The fact that in his deluded world, GIR is supposed to be a top-of-the-line personal gift from the Tallests certainly plays a part. But I also think that while these delusions might explain why he doesn’t throw GIR in the trash… Zim is very good at twisting reality and logic and his own ideology for the sake of justifying his own selfish desires.

If he actually wanted to hurt GIR, he could’ve very easily rationalized it as ‘you are supposed to be the bestest most prided minion in my army of doom and a personal gift from the Almighty Tallest themselves therefore I will hold you to a higher standard and punish you accordingly’. But instead he is incredibly lenient with GIR and his constant screw-ups and obnoxious whims.

So my read of why Zim is actually fond of GIR in his own weird way is very much tied to, like, a Big Thing about how I read Zim’s character in general. Which is, Zim’s delusion, like Ogres, has layers. Like, there are some aspects of reality that just genuinely never penetrated his thick Irken skull - and there are some things he does realize on some level even as he tries as hard as he can to convince himself otherwise.

So I think on some level, as much as he outwardly denies it, Zim is aware of how much he messed up things for the Irken Empire in ‘Impending Doom 1’ and how the Almighty Tallests really view him. This is basically how his thought process is described in the Pilot -

And it’s also supported with how Vasquez describes Zim’s similarities to Dib in some of the ‘Florpus’ interviews.

Dib is obviously painfully aware of the ways his father does not respect him - but for Zim to similarly want to prove his own amazingness to the Tallest, he has to be aware on some level that the Tallest don’t acknowledge that he’s amazing. And I think it also matches with his interactions with the various Tallests in the ‘The Trial’ Flashbacks. Because he wasn’t originally that feverishly devoted, eager to prove himself and deluded about being beloved by the Tallests as he is right now.

That’s a trait he has developed either in response to his spectacular failure in ‘Operation Impending Doom 1’ or just to Red and Purple - who already knew him beforehand and decided they can’t stand him - rising to power. He is aware on some level of how the Tallests perceive him, and while he cannot consciously acknowledge it, his behavior is him overcompensating for it.

And I think… Zim projects this aspect of himself on GIR. He sees himself in GIR. Not the self he wants to see, the hypercompetent and beloved Invader. But the self he keeps denying - a devoted and loyal minion who despite messing up sometimes (or rather, all the goddamn time), is always eager to please and driven to prove himself.

Which… is also not a fully accurate view of himself, but like I said, it’s Layers of self-delusion. But that’s subconsciously how he perceives his own relationship with the Tallests and how he perceives GIR’s relationship to himself.

So Zim being so tolerant of GIR’s constant screw ups, never really seriously punishing him, always putting him in important positions in his schemes, always acquiesce to his stupid and annoying whims… that’s because he sees himself in GIR, and that’s how he would like the Tallests to treat him, that’s how he pretends the Tallests already treat him, and so that’s the treatment he gives GIR. He believes he deserves these infinite second chances and high-ranking roles in all of the Empire’s universe-conquering plans despite his constant failures and that’s what he keeps doing with GIR despite being just as frustrated with him as the Tallests are with Zim.

And the thing is, because of Zim’s Extreme Projection to the Max - he kinda got the entirely wrong idea about GIR. Zim is not exactly that eager-to-please loyal drone of the empire - but GIR is not that at all, not even remotely. While GIR might have some affection towards Zim, he doesn’t care at all about the mission - much less being ‘allowed’ to do Important Things Vital for the fate of the Zim’s latest scheme. He would much rather goof off and watch TV then be given any sort of responsibility.

Again, the cupcake scene is very illustrative. Zim thinks GIR is upset because he feels very bad about screwing up their mission and thus is immediately forgiving - but GIR was only sad because he ran out of Cupcake to eat.

With how distractible and chaotic and generally detached from reality GIR is, it’s… kinda hard to determine when he’s trying to obey Zim’s orders but failing and when he just never really gave much of a shit about them in the first place.

But he’s usually not even a little bit bothered or upset about the idea that his inaction has put his ‘master’ in mortal danger.

I guess the funny thing is, like, there are times where Zim needs an extra pair of arms or eyes on board - times where he needs the skills of… maybe not GIR but at least a hypothetical fully-functional SIR Unit. But there are many other occasions where GIR is nothing but a burden and annoyance to him and the thing is that they both would’ve been happier if GIR was just allowed to stay home to watch TV and eat babies but Zim keeps putting him in important positions because Zim likes GIR but he’s unable to understand what GIR is actually like beyond an image of all the projected insecurities he can't admit about himself.

And of course, as we all know, if GIR was actually driven to fulfill their mission - that turns out very bad for Zim very very quickly.

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