#well I suppose it's moreso | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

Visit Blog

Explore Tumblr blogs with no restrictions, modern design and the best experience.

Fun Fact

Kazakhstan’s Minister of Communications and Informatics has blocked the Tumblr site because it contained 60 sites of terrorism, extremism, and pornography in 2015.

#well I suppose it's moreso

skrs-cats · 8 months

Note

have you read the lion blaze self harm scene? kinda sh ig he basically lets …ratscar i think like scratch him up bad by holding his powers back. interesting to me what’re ur thoughts? (idk if that’s the right definition, i’ve always defined it as having someone/yourself injure your body with the intent to hurt) sorry if this is a downer, i just know your a lion blaze enthusiast and wanted to know your thoughts

ohhh yes i do actually. its one of the few scenes i remember better bc i actually own the book where it happened.

to elaborate on the scene more, it happens after he has an argument with cinderheart, who claims they shouldnt be together since he's part of the prophecy, how his destiny is to save the clans (and coincidentally not get hurt) and them being mates would only be distractions

lion's rebuttal? instigate a fight w a patrol near the shadowclan border, disallow himself to fight back, and force the wounds to get inflicted on his body, as a show that he CAN choose to get hurt. that he CAN choose what kind of 'destiny' he should have. ive put my own thoughts about it under read more bc this got long (unsurprisingly jkhasdkjfhd)

i spent like a solid few minutes re-reading the chapter to gather my thoughts on it LOL i remember not thinking much about it when i was a kid, but i think its interesting to analyze now!

what was attempted to be written, at least, piques me bc its about lion trying to prove that they can exist outside of the narrative the prophecy has given them. which is funnily ironic, since the start of the chapter is of him having self doubts regarding saving the clans when they found out theres a fourth cat, how that basically means that the three of them wouldnt be enough, how his destiny might have changed. reading this chapter just gave me a new can of brainworms but ill try not to delve into it too much bc its gonna get way messier LMAOOO

to go back to lion purposely getting himself hurt, i dont think he's the type of person who would do that for the sake of it, unless as a really dumb way to prove a point. but it makes me think he really doesnt have much of a care of whether he'd get hurt or not. a severe lack of self-preservation, and all that. cats back at camp react to his wounds w all around shock, he's herded into the med den all the while he acts like he'll be fine. i dunno if the shock from the cats is just bc theyre just so used to seeing him NOT hurt, or if his wounds were really that bad. but either or both still pretty much gives me a lot to think about. homeboy doesnt know the limits of his body, and that makes for interesting scenarios of how he manages to deal w that after losing his powers

#but afterward getting hurt on purpose #no ones really happy about it moreover cinderheart #firestar even yells at him about how he should have not let it happen #how he SHOULD win every battle bc thats his destiny #which WOW. ok i forgor about that #kinda messed up how that implies that the prophecy mattered more than lions own physical well-being #its. really interesting just reading these chapters again #even moreso at the last bit of it where jay cant even get mad at him #how he voices his own self doubts. switching back to lion's at the start. where the prophecy may not mean they are more powerful #but are only starclans last desperate hope #and what the hell are you supposed to feel when the lives of these cats suddenly start to weigh on your conscience. clanmates and enemy ali #reading it over.... yeah i really wish they could have expanded on this anxiety more #ask #i love rambling way too much im so sorry TOT

30 notes · View notes

myymi · 9 months

Text

officially sitting down to write an action scene, will update on how it goes (i predict horribly because they scare me but. here goes nothing)

#its being down within the baby tails thing so if its bad i dont have to worry too much #cause that series isn't supposed to be super well written #its moreso for practice #writing things #writing #non sonic post #technically

18 notes · View notes

serenesirene · 1 year

Text

On Lucrece's Honor

It is on nights like these when I think about how humans have always looked to media as comfort, escapism, and the lens through which to process one's own trauma. There are the obvious examples- Dante writing of his journey to purge himself of sin and re-contextualizing hell with allusions to the pagan poets, Marcus Aurelius populating his Meditations with references to his contemporaries- but none feels as modern to me as The Rape of Lucrece.

To be certain, it is a difficult read. Unlike Shakespeare's plays, his long-form poetry tends to be rather grueling and tedious to make one's way through, even if you look for elegant turns of phrase here or there. The subject matter, likewise, is not for the faint of heart.

What I find modern, however, is how while the deed itself gets comparatively little time on the page, the majority of the narrative focuses on Lucrece and how she deals with her rape. She is never blamed for it (and her rapist very much is and thoroughly made out to be a damned villain) and when she does speak out, the other characters make sure to tell her that she's still pure, still worthy. And in Lucrece's monologue leading up to her accusation, she worries over what she should do.

In trying to decide whether to speak out against her rapist, she looks to the stories of women in similar positions- weeps for Philomel, left to fend with her tongue cut from her mouth, mourns alongside Hecuba as the fair Trojan queen is rendered silent in painted agony, never to move for the loss of her city's autonomy, wonders if Helen was ever given voice when she was made to fall in love with Paris. It is only after attempting to give voice to those stories that Lucrece herself promises to use her voice, where her sisters may not have been able.

Perhaps that's why it always blindsides me thatshe decides to ultimately take her life at the end. It has been said by other scholars that this was a necessary point- that, for a Roman woman, it would have been the more honorable thing to do than live.

I tend to prefer a different interpretation. That being, in a metatextual way, Lucrece's story is itself meant to serve the role that the stories of Philomel, Hecuba, and Helen do to her- that she is meant to encourage girls down the line to speak out, in whatever way they can for their time.

Though, perhaps that is my own bias speaking. I am a transgender man, and the spectre of womanhood still lingers. I still don't feel comfortable walking alone at night. I find a strange comfort in this story.

Perhaps there is just something comforting in the fact that for as long as girls worried about whether they would be heard in all of history, there were always people who would hear them.

#shakespeare #the rape of lucrece #rape tw #suicide tw #john j talks #or i suppose soapboxes #it makes me genuinely sad that administration said no to teaching this one this semester #i have alternate assignments at the ready! venus and adonis is also perfect for if any students would rather not engage with the themes of #well #but for those who have read it #i always feel like students have such insightful emotional insights #this is one that connects to them #moreso than any particular sonnet might #apologies for the darker subject matter #it's... not a time of year where i am given to light thinking #it's simply frustrating #just when you think you have a handle on your life... something happens #it's not like this was in my control in the first place but #i was nice to think that it was

9 notes · View notes

ivysangel · 2 months

Text

surprise post bc my blogs fixed woo hoo!! i initially sent this as an ask to @hanasnx as my contribution to his baby daddy!jason au, but i also wanted to share it here for u guys as a little treat :p

Baby Daddy!Jason, who you co-parent with, in a very civilized way. No joke, the picture of camaraderie between exes. He takes your daughter on the days he's supposed to (which isn't that often, given his occupation) and brings her back on time, always with a little gift for you as well. Flowers, chocolates, a little knick-knack reminiscent of when you were together. It's not because he's in love with you or anything; it's just the principle of the matter. "Happy wife, happy life," not that you were married or even dating, but he figures the mother of his child should get love sometimes.

Baby Daddy!Jason, who, the next time he sees you, it's to drop off something your daughter forgot with him, and as he's handing you the bag, he casually asks why you haven't been asking him to take her more often. You had been for a while when you were going on dates weekly, but for some reason, the relationships never went anywhere, so you just gave up. "Oh, you know, it just wasn't working out." you say off-handedly, "Kept getting ghosted." you sound only marginally disappointed, moreso annoyed. "What a shame, they're really missing out," he says, getting real close to you and taking up your entire field of vision.

Baby Daddy!Jason, who's got your entire calendar memorized and knows that his daughter's not home tonight and that you've got no plans other than watching movies in solitude. He knows you're too stubborn to call him over for company even though you've been giving him fuck me eyes in passing for the past few months, so he figures he just has to take matters into his own hands and corner you until you give in like he knows you want to.

Baby Daddy!Jason, who fucks you on damn near every surface in the house, telling you he's just christening the place like he would've already done if you lived together. Whispers apologies in your ears about scaring off all of your dates while he's splitting you open, bullying his cock into you while your eyes roll to the back of your head because you haven't been fucked this good in years, not since the last time you'd been with him. You're face is deep in some pillows when you realize the memories you had of his dick pale in comparison to the real thing, and you aren't sure you could go back to using your imagination to get off after tonight.

Baby Daddy!Jason, who keeps you up all night until your pussy's red and puffy from how many times it'd come in contact with his hips while he was fucking you. Fat tip kissing your cervix until you were clawing at his biceps, begging him to give you some reprieve, tears in your eyes while you babbled incoherently, too lost in the feeling of him to make any sense. He admits in the midst of sex that he tried to get over you; he really did, but he just couldn't; he just couldn't picture you with another man in any capacity. The thought of someone else touching you, fucking you, loving you, made his stomach turn, filling him with rage and an overwhelming need to claim you as his.

Baby Daddy!Jason, who's a level-headed, non-fragile ego'd man until it comes to his family, which, contrary to what some would say, did not only consist of his daughter but you too, and any guy who tried to get with you was a threat. he didn't know the intentions of other men, but he knew his own, which was to keep his little family happy as long as he was alive. If that meant putting a gun to the head of anyone who made a move on you and consoling you by stretching you out the way he knew you liked until you just said "fuck it" and let him put another baby in you, then so be it.

#jason todd lover #jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd smut #jason todd imagine #red hood #red hood x you #red hood x reader #red hood x fem!reader #red hood smut #red hood imagine

2K notes · View notes

wndaswife · 4 months

Text

trying your hardest | wanda maximoff & gn!reader

After moving to America to join the Avengers, Wanda wants to finally make a friend to ease her loneliness. She hopes to become friends with you, and frankly, Wanda idolizes you, but her social skills are... subpar at best.

Word count: 5020

Tags: fluff, humour, some angst, emo wanda being a baby, a little thing, a small very tiny little thing, wanda has a very big crush on you :3 (she doesn't know it yet tho cuz she baby)

A/N: for plot purposes, imagine the avengers didn’t have a catfight after aou

gif credit to (i tried really hard and i CANNOT find who made this gif im sorry)

Wanda Maximoff never really had an education as a child. What education was available in Sokovia was expensive, and despite her father’s late working hours, the twins’ parents could only ever afford their apartment’s rent. The twins were homeschooled as well as their parents could teach them, but after the bombing, they were on their own.

Government-funded schooling helped them for only so long. The schools they were sent to were decaying, and always under dwindling government watch from ongoing airstrikes. The ground shook with explosive tremors as they commuted to school on foot. Wanda and Pietro stayed at an orphanage with hundreds of other children whose parents had passed due to the war — and the Avengers.

Even the government’s debt caught up with what was left of Sokovia. Billions of foreign debt not paid, volume of imports that had increased exponentially since Sokovia worked on rebuilding their country weren’t making enough revenue to pay exporters back. Hundreds of children were booted from government care and onto the streets. The twins attempted to learn on their own, to become informed educated people if they were to ever make a difference in the world, but in Sokovia, even resilience could only get one so far.

Then, Doctor Strucker came along, promising them the extermination of the Avengers, the Western terrorists who had made the already politically-unstable and war-torn country their battleground.

In hopes to cure the world from their terrorist reign, both Wanda and Pietro agreed to Strucker’s experiments, but the education they were given intended for them to become weapons. They knew little of real geography and world history — only HYDRA’s propaganda meant to poison their minds with blind hatred and little else.

When it seemed like you couldn’t be any more different from Wanda as it was, you were also the team’s brain. Stark and Banner specialised in physics and mechanics, but you were the team’s hub for everything else. From computer science to philosophy, you knew everything. No one exceeded you in developing team strategy, setting the stages for mission locations, profiling adversaries, and a dozen of other things Wanda couldn’t have even fathomed when she first met the Avengers in person.

It took Wanda only several moments to realise you weren’t a frontline fighter from your muffled voice in the Avengers’ earpieces to their callouts of your name as frequent, and perhaps even moreso, than their teammates that fought alongside them on the field despite your physical absence.

Y/N — that was your name.

When she had fought the Avengers in Novi Grad, creeping behind the Western superpowers like a heavy looming shadow, Wanda had looked for you. Strategically, it was a rational move. You were the centre of their battle, the heart of their teamwork.

And yet, you were nowhere to be found.

It was only until she had crept up behind Clint Barton when your voice grew clearer than ever before. From the tiny earpiece, you were controlling the field. Perhaps you were just outside, or maybe you were in another country. No matter the distance, Wanda supposed your hold on the battle would be no less effective.

It was the distraction of thinking about you, perhaps — Y/N, the invisible hand — or Barton’s sole intuition, Wanda did not know, nor did she have very much time to think it over, that had made it possible for him to counter her magic.

Then there was pain — immeasurable pain that Wanda hadn’t felt since Strucker’s experiments. It shot through her forehead like a dozen bullets had permeated through her skull. Pietro grounded her, and soon after, the twins targeted Banner.

Despite the rumours about him, the insatiable angry force he was told to be, his mind was the easiest to corrupt. Mental instability and insecurity racked his mind, and he quickly shifted into the green beast the Maximoffs had heard so much about.

Carrying his younger sister, Pietro took the two of them back to Ultron’s base.

They had won that day.

You were all Wanda could think about even while she and Pietro were off missions. You weren’t the Avengers’ frontline defence like Steve Rogers, nor were you the brute strength of the team like Bruce Banner. You held your team in your hands rather than tugging them along by their leashes although you likely could if you wanted to.

Y/N.

Who were you?

On the television after the fight on Novi Grad, Iron Man and Hulk’s brawl in Johannesburg was on the news. The city was in shambles. Pietro said something about the deaths of innocents and the success of his sister’s magic in having the Avengers turn against themselves. But Wanda could only think of what you had thought when Stark and Banner came back to their compound, beaten and sore from none other than their own fists. Wanda assumed the Avengers’ compound — wherever that was — was where you were too.

Wanda wondered how you were dealing with the fight at Johannesburg. What were you saying about her and Pietro?

Later that day, Ultron approached the twins in their bedroom and turned on the television. Despite having been offered separate bedrooms, they insisted on sharing one. Sitting atop their respective beds on the opposite sides of the room, there was someone speaking on the television about Johannesburg across from the interviewer. Their expression was stern but their eyes were solemn. Eyebrows were furrowed together, masking concern and worry; if Wanda knew anything, it was how to read someone.

“Y/N,” the interviewer began, and Wanda’s eyes widened, her head lifting from being held up by her hands, elbows on her pillow as it laid flat atop her crossed legs. “As the Avengers’ strategist, as many put it, how are you planning on handling the devastation that came upon Johannesburg, and the inevitable contact that the Avengers will continue to have with innocent uninvolved civilians?”

The question was packed, and the news station quite clearly had their own sentiments about the Avengers; they were setting you up.

So that was how you looked. Wanda swallowed and felt her chest flutter.

With your upper lip stiff and your posture unbelievably straight, you answered without equivocation. “A common misinformed perspective of any conflict follows the belief that there is any one party entirely responsible for the consequences of violent confrontation, such as the one we witnessed in Johannesburg,” you were saying. With the way her wide eyes were pinned on the television screen, Wanda didn’t notice the way her brother eyed her obviously peaked interest.

“I don’t believe the Avengers are the world’s most honourable superheroes,” you continued. Ultron shifted and Wanda’s head tipped to the side, her interest in you ever growing. “I don’t think anyone is, no matter whose side you’ve taken since the conflict recently — and perhaps even after the invasion of New York’s in 2012.”

That was The Incident, Wanda recalled, when the Avengers terrorised New York. That’s what HYDRA had always told her and Pietro.

“Despite whose side you may be on, as differing as our collective opinions may be, one thing is undeniable — we are all trying to reach a goal of peace for the world, fighting for what we believe is just. There is nothing more powerful than that. Perhaps, it is idealism that serves to be the strength of humanity.”

Ultron laughed morosely. He ridiculed your words, but Wanda wasn’t listening. Whatever you were talking about wasn’t only about Johannesburg. What were you referencing? Who were your words meant for?

Suddenly, your head turned to the camera and Wanda met your eyes. Everything in her froze, her eyes undeviating from your face.

“Wanda and Pietro Maximoff,” you spoke. Pietro looked over at Wanda, shock written on every inch of his face, and Ultron’s eyes darted between the twins, almost accusationally as he undoubtedly suspected coercion. Wanda almost expected you to step through the television screen and into her bedroom. “I know what you want.”

The screen was shut off suddenly, the black mirror of the television reflecting Wanda’s astonished expression. She looked away, shutting her eyes as she felt the burning gaze of Ultron on her. But your words reverberated in Wanda’s mind until your every feature and movement of your lips was memorised. Like a promise, like an ode, your words were immortalised within her.

Pietro wasn’t there when you took Wanda in your arms and saved her from a falling Sokovia. He wasn’t there when you laid her down onto the Helicarrier, nor when you took her hand and told her she’d be taken care of. Wanda cried into your chest at the sight of her brother’s body.

What would he have said if he saw the way your arm refused to leave from around Wanda’s shoulders as the two of them trailed behind his body while he was carried into the compound?

Pietro liked you, and would’ve loved to meet you. He referenced your broadcasted interview several times during their fight in Sokovia. He was proud to work with the Avengers, and proud to finally work towards their goal to help people just like them. He wanted to meet you.

Your voice was different from what Wanda remembered from the broadcast, and not because her memory had failed her, but because you were just… different. You were real, and not a picture on a wall or an untouchable reality forever separated from her by a television screen. As she watched you talk and laugh with the other Avengers, you were real.

But if Wanda was honest, she was much too shy to even start a conversation with you. Perhaps it might’ve been easier to approach you if you were an admired character on one of her favourite television shows, but it was exactly what made her admire you so much that also made her feel so shy around you.

Granted, there was much to adjust to now that she lived in America and was now a part of the Avengers, and she did believe herself to be a generally introverted person, but she was especially nervous around you.

Wanda had gotten enough confidence to speak with some team members. Natasha was welcoming and kind. Thor was easy not to feel nervous around, but his energy was far too much for Wanda to handle just yet. Bruce was much more comfortable to chat with, and Wanda found that he was able to be rather nice once he forgave her for her associations with Ultron. Steve was always very kind to Wanda and she felt very safe around him, with Steve always trying to make her feel like part of the team, but she found that they didn’t have very much in common.

And there was Vision, who seemed to have taken a liking to her since even before the final battle against Ultron. He was nice company, but she found her mind preoccupied thinking of you while in his company, wishing that it was you who gave her as much attention as Vision did.

However, she’d been wanting to start a conversation with you since the day she arrived at the compound. Initially, she needed time to herself, and along with Steve, you also made the effort to check in on her and give her your support.

Once she was finally able to gain some footing in adjusting to things while shouldering the weight of her losses, Wanda started becoming more active within the team by joining training sessions. During them, she found herself unable to stop looking at you, watching what you were doing, seeing how you interacted with everyone.

Even as the Avengers’ primary strategist that was almost never in the field, you still made efforts to train and stay connected and involved with the team — and Wanda quickly learned that training was a major part of team building.

You were everything Wanda wished she could be more like; you were the kind of person she had never thought existed in a world she believed was only full of cruelty and injustice until recently.

There was an upcoming party at the Avengers Tower in celebration of the assigned team’s return from a successful mission tracking down a recently-located HYDRA base still hiding out. It was almost any ordinary mission, but it was the first step towards steadily eradicating all of HYDRA’s bases, even after Strucker’s primary base was taken down in Sokovia. Though Steve did also tell Wanda that he felt that Tony also primarily wanted to find any reason to celebrate since it’d been some time.

Wanda hadn’t been to any of the parties yet, and she thought that she’d be able to use this one as a chance to start a conversation with you.

Wasn’t that what people did at parties? Talk?

Truthfully, she didn’t quite know for sure — she’d only ever heard about them through the sitcoms she watched as a child. She knew only of dramatised American portrayals of teenage parties through television.

Whatever it was people actually did at parties, Wanda was certain she would be able to make some effort to talk to you. At least in a social setting, it wouldn’t be strange for her to start a conversation with you.

Wanda made herself look nice and presentable, but not too formal since she didn’t want to overdress or bring too much attention to herself. She wasn’t sure what might happen if her plan to talk with you didn’t end up working, and if she was somehow left with nothing to do, she wanted to be able to slip away without anyone noticing, as if she had never made any attempt to come at all.

While deliberating whether it was better to arrive on time or a bit later once the party had been going on for some time, Wanda realised that at some point too much time had passed and her only option now was to join the party a bit later.

It was only once she arrived at the penthouse floor where the party was being held that Wanda finally realised how terribly thought-out her plan was.

What would happen if she didn’t get to talk with you? What would happen if she did, and she only made a fool of herself? Would it be better, then, to stay as two people who’d never conversed so that she might retain what impression you had of her now? Even if that meant she would never get to talk with you the way she wanted?

It was far too late now to change her mind if she wanted to, as she soon found herself walking further from the elevators and into the party.

The party was rather filled; mostly, they were familiar faces, but it looked like many brought guests, and some guests had brought some of their own. It seemed that Steve was right — atop of celebrating the taking down of the HYDRA base, this was also a social get-together.

She was still relatively at the edges of the room, so she was still going unnoticed. As she walked over to the bar, fidgeting with her fingers as she did, she took the time to look around and try to spot you. She reached the bar, crossing her forearms on top of its counter, and tried to draw the least attention to herself while avoiding eye contact with anyone as her eyes raked through the crowd.

Eventually she caught sight of you also at the bar, but at the very edge with your own drink, your back facing the party. Wanda’s chest fluttered and she felt she nearly stumbled moving one foot in front of the other when she turned to walk towards you.

She worried what would happen if someone suddenly approached you from behind, which would force her to then stop wherever she was standing and pretend she hadn’t just failed at her attempt to come up to you.

The pressing concern aided her greatly, and she was well on her way to coming up to you without hesitation. But once she actually made her way to your side and once you raised your head from your glass and looked at her, Wanda damned herself for being so distracted, now without a plan or even a terribly-planned script to follow in making conversation with you. She didn’t even get to look at what you were wearing.

It would be too strange of her to look you up and down before greeting you, right?

“Hi,” she said, hoping that the small smile she felt on her face was actually there lest she look like an absolute fool.

You turned around in your seat in order to face her, and now having your complete, undivided attention made Wanda’s legs feel like mush. “Hi,” you replied with a friendly smile. “Are you enjoying yourself? I don’t think I’ve seen you at a party yet.”

Wanda swallowed and nervously drew shapes against the bar counter with her fingernails, also trying her best to maintain a steady, friendly smile. “No — this is the first I’ve gone to. I haven’t been here for very long. I decided only a moment ago to come.”

“I’m glad you chose to come,” you told her and suggested for her to take the barstool beside you. Wanda lifted herself onto the seat and sat, facing you.

While you were talking, Wanda took the chance to look at what you were wearing. You looked nice, and Wanda thought you always dressed in a way that put-together, respected people did. She saw you in some likeness to the well-dressed characters on the sitcoms she liked — but, of course, modern.

Maybe she had been taking too long to respond, for you spoke again: “How have you been doing? I know that the move must have been rather hard to go through.”

When she took a moment to respond and found that a response wasn’t immediately escaping her, Wanda felt panic settle in her chest. She knew she should have planned out what to say. She looked like an idiot in front of you. She didn’t know the first thing about socialising or making friends.

“It was hard,” she said finally. “It is hard. Not so bad now. I mean, I’m trying to adjust.”

You nodded in understanding and Wanda felt herself losing your interest; she was sure that your responses’ intentions were now only to remain polite, to keep conversing with her because you knew she didn’t make very much effort to go out.

Then you asked, “Did you want me to order you a drink?”

“Oh, I’m okay — I don’t drink,” Wanda answered, fidgeting with her fingers between her knees. Truthfully, she’s never tried alcohol before. Maybe she should have taken you up on your offer.

“How have you been getting along with the team?”

“I think well. I like everyone. They’ve been very kind to me,” Wanda said. She could hear herself as she spoke to you; she sounded robotic and uninteresting. She thought she might try her hand at being honest about what she was thinking then and there. “But Pietro was always the most social of us both. It is hard to get along with others without him leading the conversation.”

Wanda must have not noticed how solemn she became after she mentioned Pietro, for you reached out and brushed her shoulder with your hand supportively, your fingers squeezing gently around her and lingering for a moment before letting your arm drop.

“I understand,” you sympathised. “You don’t need to pressure yourself into anything — really. I think you fit in here well, and I think you’ve been doing a wonderful job.”

That was the first time anyone truly supported Wanda like that; she was supported by the team as she was grieving the loss of her brother, always being told that she had a shoulder to cry on or a helping hand if she ever wanted someone to talk to.

There was something frustrating about the way the team approached her grief. They had to have anticipated that she would feel a bit better at some point — or at least well enough to get back to team member material.

In the way she was spoken to, Pietro and her struggles with his death were always approached as something she would get over at some point or another — like Pietro was something she was going to get over. She didn’t expect anyone to understand how she felt nor to share in her grievances, but it seemed to her that what she was going through was seen only as a temporary distraction to the rest of the team.

They were kind in giving her their support, but her grief never seemed quite real enough to them.

Granted, she was rather new to the team, so she understood, to some degree, their inability to understand her pain. But it was frustrating, nevertheless.

But with you, it was different.

You didn’t talk about Pietro or her struggles and pain like it was something to get over. You valued her as she was now, and saw her efforts as they were now.

Wanda felt slightly pathetic for how worked up she was getting over your response, be it as brief as it was, but what you said meant quite a lot to her. She felt, for the first time, that she was being spoken to as a real person rather than a ball of temporary grief and pain.

“Thank you… I really appreciate–”

She was cut off when you were called to meet one of Tony’s friends, an expert in software development who had even helped program some of the software you used for communication with the team while they were working on the field. Naturally, they wanted the two of you to meet.

For a moment, Wanda forgot how popular you were amongst your colleagues. Why wouldn’t you be? It was only that you had a certain kindness and authenticity about you that seemed signature to you. But if Wanda admired that about you, and if she idolised you, why wouldn’t anyone else?

You looked at Tony calling you over then at Wanda, who was awkwardly staring at the floor in some pitiful stance of defeat. It made your chest tighten.

This was Wanda’s first time joining in at one of the parties, and you were the first she spoke to. Moreover, there was a kind of sensitivity to her that you knew lay beyond her typical timidity.

Through the conversation with her, you could vaguely see Wanda’s eyes flickering behind your shoulder occasionally, where the floor’s balcony was. From there, one would have a view of the spacious training fields and the expansive forests beyond that separated the base from the main roads.

Tonight, there were clear skies and a rather prominent moon.

Gently, you tapped the back of Wanda’s hand that was resting on the edge of the bar to get her attention, and she raised her head and met your eyes.

“Would you like to step out onto the balcony with me?” you asked. “I’m not quite in the mood to talk with them right now.”

Wanda seemed to perk up and she straightened in her seat. She nodded, and when you stepped off from your barstool, she followed and trailed behind you as you headed for the balcony.

She watched from behind as you led her forward. She played idly with the tips of her fingers as she watched your hair brush against your back, watching the back of your head attentively as if it could tell her anything about you.

Frankly, she felt a bit starstruck.

A certain panic settled within her as you opened the balcony door and ushered Wanda outside and into the warm evening air; she didn’t know what to say now.

She wasn’t certain if she was interesting enough at all to have such intimate conversation with.

What could she say that could possibly be of interest to you?

In spite of the disappointed chatter and lighthearted jabs from the rest of the team in response to your very-obvious aversion to socialising, you closed the balcony door behind you until it clicked shut softly until it was only you and Wanda outside.

“Is it okay that you’re out here with me?” Wanda asked, looking at you as she stepped beside you.

“Of course,” you answered and walked forward until you could stand against the rails of the balcony. “Why not?”

Wanda appreciated how easy it was to talk with you, and how your relationship with the team wasn’t all that you were. “I thought that maybe you might prefer being out there.”

“No — I want to be here.”

Wanda flushed and she looked away, using the excuse of looking out past the training fields as an excuse to hide her face from you.

Making a bold move, Wanda thought that she might be honest with you; she had the real opportunity to make a friend, granted she pulled it off. “Y/N, I really appreciate you being so kind to me.” She garnered some confidence and turned her body and looked at you.

“You don’t have to thank me for that,” you replied bashfully, and Wanda noticed that you also seemed a bit timid. She thought you were sensitive, and she liked that.

“But also,” Wanda added, taking in a small breath, “I really appreciate your effort in being sympathetic towards Pietro and I, even when we did not deserve it — especially after Johannesburg. Before your interview broadcast, I had never known of such kindness. It seemed you knew more about what Pietro and I wanted before even we did.”

Without a thought behind it, Wanda’s eyes left yours and she added, “I wish he was able to meet you. I am sure he would have felt equally as stunned by you.”

You asked, “I stun you now, do I?”

Surprised by the realisation of what she said aloud, Wanda looked at you and at the sight of your slight smile, also realised that you were teasing her. She flushed and rubbed her warm cheek with the back of her knuckle and distracted herself with two of the party guests walking through the field.

Wanda reminded herself that she came to make a friend — to be friends with you. So she spoke again. “To be honest, yes,” she replied. “I think you are admirable; everyone seems to like you very much, and the kind of bravery and kindness you have is of a kind I did not previously know could ever be sincere.”

She finally said it, and now, Wanda felt anxious about what you might say next.

You shifted and repositioned yourself as you pondered for a moment in consideration. “Well, I have to confess that most if not all of my bravery is rather insincere — I’m truly not as brave as you might think. In fact, I would argue that you’re more brave than I; you’ve experienced so much, undergone so much change, and yet you seem to have more drive than anyone to try your hardest at adjusting and getting back on your feet.”

You thought she was braver than you? Wanda could collapse. She felt her chest flutter.

“But… the kindness,” you said, “is very sincere. I’m glad you see it that way.”

Wanda found herself stepping closer to you, feeling more comfortable in your company and feeling that she wanted to be closer to you physically, to hear your words within a closer vicinity and to see your face free of the soft shadows that the moonlight casted along the curve of your nose and the angle of your cheekbone.

“I think you’re really special,” you told her. “I’m happy that you’re a part of the team. I’m glad you’re here.”

In all her life, there was only one place Wanda ever felt she belonged — with her family. Over some time, what this meant was redefined with the bombing of her home when she was ten and, recently, with the loss of her brother. There was a feeling of loss, an empty pit that burrowed itself within the deepest depths of Wanda’s identity where Pietro and her family and some sort of identity should have been.

It was not only others and her country that she lost, but a part of herself, when all the landmarks she had ever belonged to were stolen from her. But if she could learn anything from still being able to stand where she was and try her best and be brave — like you said — in spite of all her loss and grief, it was that she was not all that she identified herself with.

She still existed, and was still worth something, even without all that was lost.

It would be difficult to even begin finding who she was, exactly, without Pietro and Sokovia and her parents and the truths of herself and the world that HYDRA had always taught her. But she hoped that you might be at least the first step to her self-discovery — you were her first friend.

“Are you alright?” you asked, tipping your head down slightly to try getting a better look at Wanda’s face.

Wanda had lost herself in her thoughts and forgot to reply to you. She must have been silent for a bit of time. “Yes, I’m okay.” She subtly swiped at her cheeks when she realised she was crying — perhaps it was from thinking of her family or of Sokovia, though she couldn’t pinpoint exactly when the moment was that she started crying — as she looked over at the field for a distraction again.

Without another word, you stepped forward and wrapped an arm around Wanda’s shoulders, bringing her against your body in a soft hug. It was wordless and quiet and casual — support and comfort without any conditions.

Every time Wanda believed that she’d fully grasped the world’s capacity for kindness, believed that there couldn't possibly be something more gentle than what you have thus far shown her, you prove her wrong.

She hoped she would never be right.

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x y/n #marvel #marvel fanfiction #elizabeth olsen

2K notes · View notes

sunrizef1 · 2 months

Text

Switch Up

Pairing: Logan Sargeant x fem!driver!reader

Warnings: cursing???

Authors note: a written fic??? Ewwww if it’s bad don’t read it pls guys. Guys pls. Not proofread cuz I didn’t feel like it. It is 2 am.

Summary: You had just grabbed a random shirt off the floor of Logan’s room, you didn’t know it was his

———————————————————

“Excuse me,” Your hand comes up to push lightly against the Williams drivers back as you try your best to slide past him in the tight hallway and also not interrupt the conversation he's having with his engineer.

You actually weren't supposed to be in the Williams garage at all, your own team several rooms down and probably looking for you by now, hence the need to not make a scene in the middle of Logan Sargeants garage.

Because of your haste, you don't notice the blondes eyes following you as you dart out into the pit lane, Ferrari red racesuit hanging off your hips. You don’t notice the way his eyes trail across your skin and skim over your hair, landing on the white shirt clutched in your hand.

He knew the shirt well, it having been thrown onto the floor of his room just a few hours earlier. Confusion spreads across his face as he wonders what you could possibly need with one of his Williams t-shirts.

You, on the other hand, had no idea you had grabbed his shirt. The two of you had both coincidentally worn white shirts to the paddock that day and in your haste to exit the Williams garage after retrieving your shirt, you must’ve grabbed Logan’s instead. But you’re still none the wiser to the switch-up as you toss the shirt into your room before navigating your way back into the Ferrari garage as smoothly as possible.

Several engineers glance curiously at you, face red and breathe slightly heavier than usual. All you do is grin as someone places your helmet in your hands. The grin only increases when your teammate walks into view.

“Where have you been?” Charles rushes out, tone hushed and eyes darting around to see if anyone was eavesdropping.

You try and hold back your laugh at the stressed look on Charles’ face, “What do you mean?”

He narrows his eyes at your amusement before rolling them and crossing his arms across the black fireproof he was wearing, “Everyone’s been looking for you, didn’t know your pre-race ritual was to scare the shit out of everyone by disappearing.”

“I didn’t disappear, you knew where i was,” you point out, moving to go and zip up the race suit from its place on your hips.

Charles sighs and rolls his eyes again, annoyance clear in his stance, “Yeah, which also means I had to cover for you for the better part of an hour. The worst part is that I don’t even get any good gossip from it since you won’t tell me who it is you’re seeing.”

You laugh and start to move to where your engineers who are stood waiting for you to stop talking and actually lock in, “Where’s the fun in that?”

Charles just rolls his eyes but a smile does break out on his face as he slides out of your side of the garage to go back to his own, sliding his race suit up as he does.

You hadn’t told Charles about your non-relationship with Logan. He had accidentally found out after you had tried to sneak back into your drivers room before a race and he had found you, tousled hair and hickeys galore. But it’s not as if there was much to tell, you and Logan weren’t actually dating. You were moreso friends with benefits. If friends and benefits actually acted like a couple behind closed doors and spent most of their time together without acting on any “benefits”.

You had just told Charles you were meeting someone to which he replied “no shit” and that’s all he got to know. But he did tell you that you looked happier and he was fine not knowing who it was as long as he knew they made you happy.

Before you know it, you’re out on the track, six cars lined up in front of you. P7, not bad for only being your second season but you knew you should be higher up. Especially in a Ferrari. Your hands tense as the red lights start to tick and your foot’s on the gas the moment they flick green.

Lights out and away we go.

“Let’s go!” Your shouts echo through the radio as you cross the finish line to the checkered flag. P3, a podium finish. Just behind the familiar red of your teammates Ferarri and an expected amount behind the navy blue of Max’s Red Bull.

You park your car and weigh in before running to your team, all lined up at the barrier to great you and Charles after the double podium.

You had had podiums before but this one felt extra special since Qatar had always been such a difficult race for not only you, but everyone on the grid. One of the reasons Qatar was so hard was the best and as you embraced your team, you definitely felt it. You step back as a wave of nausea overcomes you and you unzip the racesuit, pulling your helmet off as quickly as possible right after.

As Charles finally comes up to you with a grin on his face, it falters slightly as he sees the state you're in, “You alright?”

You nod quickly, you truly were fine. Its just that any more time in the suit and long sleeves might make you not fine pretty quickly, “Yeah, I'm cool. I need to change shirts at least before interviews or I might pass out.”

Charles nods at your statement, turning to tell the team, who all have curious looks on their face, your words as you jog lightly back to your room, grabbing the first shirt you see and sliding off your fireproofs. You hold the shirt tightly as you jog back out, taking a second to let the air hit your hot skin.

As you reach your team, someone ushers you toward an interviewer and you pull the shirt over your head, placing a hat on your head that you don't remember being handed. The interviewer chuckles as you look up, microphone now in hand. You don't question it as your probably look a little strange in your random Ferarri shirt and hat, suit hanging low once again.

“Hi y/n, i have to say that was a wonderful drive today, p7 to p3. You managed to stick through the heat and overtake into third past the mclarens and a red bull. Now, ill ask you about the race in a second but first, I do have to ask about the shirt,” the interviewer seems to be hiding her laugh as she gesture towards your chest and you glance down at it.

Instead of the usual red and yellow colour scheme you'd see on your shirts, you're instead met with the blues of the Williams logo. You gape wordlessly as you stare at the shirt, a blush coming up to blend with your already heat-flushed cheeks.

“Some support for the double Williams points today?” the interviewer seems to sense your disbelief as she cuts in to help your find your words.

You nod slightly before double-taking to think about her words, “Double points? Where'd they finish.”

You don't think about about how you've one hundred percent blown the explanation she was trying to give for the shirt but you don't care, only worried about where Logan and Alex finished.

“Albon P6 and Sargeant P9,” the interviewer states after turning to check with someone behind her.

You light up at her words, “Before any penalties?”

The interviewer nods and you grin, “Let’s fucking go, Captain America representing the 305.”

The interviewer just nods, probably having no clue in the world what any part of your sentence meant. Eventually, you get back on track and start to talk about your race but, by now, that’s not the part of the interview that anyone will be talking about.

“Yeah I think it was a good race overall, really the only weakness of that Red Bull is the heat so we tried our best to take advantage of that. It did work for one of the drivers but, I mean, nothing we could do about max haha.”

“Thank you so much y/n and great race,” the interviewer smiles as you hand the microphone back to her, stepping back slightly to start to go back out to your team, “I’ll see you back here next time.”

You laugh, “hopefully! Have a great weekend.”

You walk away from the interviewer, thoughts on the podium ceremony ahead of you. As you exit the media pen and someone starts to usher you away for the ceremony, your eyes catch on a certain blond man in a white shirt and a Williams race suit. You pull away from the man guiding you who protests but you walk quickly to where Logan’s standing, patting him on the back as you walk up to his interview.

Maybe the Qatar heat had melted your brain but you truly didn’t put together how quickly people would connect you and Logan if you walked up to him with a shirt from his team on it and inserted yourself into his personal bubble.

As Logan turns toward you, you realize that that part didn’t matter since Logan was practically advertising your little relationship to the world himself. The heat must’ve gotten to him as well since he was also missing his fireproofs. Instead, he was wearing a white t-shirt that would’ve been pretty oversized on you but fit him fine. In the middle of the shirt was a giant Ferrari logo emblazoned across the chest.

You stare blankly at the shirt for a second, blinking absently before turning your gaze to the camera and then glancing back to Logan.

“Nice shirt,” you mutter, a slight smirk gracing your lips as you glance between him and the shirt.

“Thanks, you too,” he tries his best to hide his laugh, “In my defense, I only put this on after I saw you wear yours.”

You hum, unamused, as he wraps an arm around your shoulder, your eyes locked forward onto the camera and arms crossed over your chest.

You can’t help the blush that forms over your cheeks though, having cooled off from the heat but now the red was back in full force, displaying your embarrassment for all to see.

Logan has zero embarrassment about the situation though, a proud grin adorning his face. This combined with the points finish might’ve made for his favorite race of all two seasons he’d been on the grid.

You glance over and see someone gesturing for you to leave the interview and go up for the podium celebration. You lean away from the microphone in Logan’s hand as you slide out of his grasp.

“See you later, yeah?” You ask the man in front of you, walking backwards out of the frame of the camera.

“Yeah, yeah,” Logan replies, pulling the microphone away from his mouth to respond, “I’ll see you after, congrats.”

You’d already turned around when the congratulations had left his mouth but you grin widely after he says it, turning your head to throw a quick peace sign in his general direction. You hear him laugh slightly as you quickly rush to follow the impatient employee that had been waiting for you.

The podium is exactly how you expected it to be. The only downside being that you’ve not gotten champagne all over Logan’s shirt and more than a couple Ferrari employees weren’t thrilled about you wearing another team’s merch on a podium. You couldn’t have cared less.

Once you’ve gotten down from the podium, bottle of champagne in hand, you’re met with a certain Miami native waiting for you. You laugh and skip over to where he’s standing, a grin on his face as he watches you approach.

“Here,” you raise the champagne bottle as you reach toward his face, “open your mouth.”

Logan laughs but bends his knees slightly to be below the bottle and closes his eyes while you pour the liquid in his open mouth. You laugh as he shoots straight up to swallow the alcohol, wiping a hand over his mouth.

“Mmm, good,” Logan hums slightly, taking another swig of the bottle before handing it back to you, you taking a swig right after him.

“Yeah?” You ask, licking the leftover champagne off your lips.

Logan just nods in response, a grin settled on his features. After a few seconds he pulls you in for a hug, “Congrats by the way, amazing drive.”

You pull back from him and your eyes close slightly from the strength of your smile, “And you! P9! I’m so proud of you!”

Logan’s cheeks go slightly red but he takes another sip from the bottle, “p7 actually, Pierre and Daniel got penalties.”

“P7! Even better! Gonna be challenging me for podiums soon,” you exclaim and Logan laughs, glancing away from you as he does.

You notice a slight shift in Logan’s demeanor but you don’t have a chance to say anything before Logan’s piping up, “Do you wanna go to dinner with me? As a celebration?”

“Like a date?” You blushed, eyes locked on Logan’s wandering ones, currently looking at anything but you.

Logan fumbles over his words for a moment, hand coming up to run through his hair, “Y-yeah I mean, if you don’t want to, we can just get dinner as friends I don’t really mind.”

The only response you have is to pull the driver down by his neck, your lips meeting in a slow kiss. The taste of champagne spreads between you and the Qatar heat simply aids to the blush covering both of your cheeks. You only pull away at the sound of a yell and you glance away to see Charles stood, champagne in hand, cheering loudly.

You laugh and look back toward Logan, ignoring your teammate for a moment, “I would love to go on a date with you, Logan.”

Logan smiles softly at your response, reaching up to brush a strand of hair behind your ear, “Great, I’ll text you.”

———————————

Taglist: @casperlikej @evie-119

#f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 imagine #f1 x female reader #f1 x reader #f1 x y/n #f1 smau #f1 x you #logan sargeant x reader #logan sargent x reader #logan sargeant x you #logan sargeant x fem!reader #f1 x fem!reader #formula 1 x reader

508 notes · View notes

moonlit-imagines · 2 months

Text

Headcanons for being the forgetful Avenger

Avengers x reader

warnings:

a/n: it not too long i so sorry

prompt: @glitchy-bean: “Hi!!! I hope you're doing good!!! Could I request smth with a really forgetful reader + the avengers gang? More like found family than anything romantic at all with a teen reader if that's okay!!!”

“well sorry” -you, consistently “i cant remember everything”

“you can’t remember anything” -nat

“yeah, y/n, were you dropped on the head as a baby or something?” -tony

“cut it out, guys. it’s not their fault they forgot thor’s birthday. besides, hes had a couple thousand” -steve

“are you calling me old, captain?” -thor

“at least im not the only one” -steve

it wasn’t just birthdays you forgot

much much more serious than that

rendezvous points, mission details, plans of attack, perp descriptions, where you put your keys, where you put your gun

you name it you forgot it

i mean—not always, but enough for it to be the running joke

“keep your comms on, y/n. not having a disaster like last time when you couldn’t remember whether to cut the red wire or green wire” -tony

“you wish i cut the wrong one” -you

“uh, no, that’s very harsh. i moreso wished you didn’t scare us half to death by nearly digging your grave” -tony

“oh ok i forgot” -you

“who left their macaroni and cheese in the microwave?” -vision

“damn! its cold. and crusted a little. how long did i leave this in here?” -you, poking your tray with a fork “and why are you using the microwave? you dont eat”

“this is a shared space, is it not?” -vision

“he’s got you there” -steve

“you’re just ganging up on me because you’re all miserable and you want me to be miserable too. i’m going to drive one of tony’s expensive cars now, you can’t stop me” -you, storming out

you walked right back in

“what’d you forget?” -steve

“wallet, phone, keys” -you

tony noticed

“where is y/n going with my car?” -tony

“not sure, just out” -steve

“probably gonna forget their turn signal and crash into someone’s car” -tony

as far as missions went, though, you were a bit of a powerhouse so you didn’t really need to be looked after on that front…just had to make sure not to blow anyone else’s cover

“hey, what’s the codeword again?” -you

“check your wrist, kid” -nat

“oh, right…okay thanks” -you

“*gasp* was i supposed to give the signal? i just kinda went in” -you

“ok, who told y/n they could give the signal. speak up now” -tony

*clint loudly snickering over comms*

kinda forgetting what you’re talking about in the middle of sentences sometimes but like, just glitching out

“something smells like it’s burning” -you “my cookies…”

you forgot to set a timer

and forgot you were making cookies

the avengers honestly did find it endearing

just a hyper kid who cant get their thoughts in a solid line

but they’d continue making jabs at you constantly

“maybe wanda can fix your memory problems” -tony

“i will not” -wanda

“oh well nevermind then” -tony

honestly with all your forgetfulness, you worried as you dusted away if anyone would forget about you

taglist: @alwaysananglophile // @locke-writes // @sweetheartlizzie07 // @queen-destenie // @johnmurphyisqueer // @captainshazamerica // @ravenmoore14 // @canarypoint // @procrastinatingsapphictrash // @swanimagines // @randomfandomimagine // @petersgroupie // @summersimmerus // @scarthefangirl // @bad4amficideas // @sheridans-dynamos // @simsrecs // @prettysbliss // @skdkdkckfk // @simp-legend // @wild-rose-35 // @nekoannie-chan // @evilcr0ne // @v0idl1nq // @ruvaakke // @thedarkqueenofavalon // @amirahiddleston // @beth-gallagher22 // @brutal-out-here // @rqmanoff // @elenavampire21 // @mymelodymia // @pheonixfire777 // @deanzboyfriend //

601 notes · View notes

nmakii · 2 months

Text

DOMESTIC LIFE WAS NEVER QUITE MY STYLE…

— married life with alastor back in 1925, louisiana

— is this ooc :(? ive been in a ooc rut ever since school ended i miss my pookies n like i cried so much that day 😔 BTW THIS IS THE FIC I HSED THE ALASTOR AI TEXTS :>

lord above! you have to be some kind of gem to secure a man such as alastor. to be that woman, it’s almost certain that you’re someone who understands alastor in ways no one else has.

he doesn’t tend to express his affections physically, but more than makes up for it through his sweet nothings and lavish gifts

he’s most definitely the type to spoil his wife, but only if you ask him for it yourself. he doesn’t want to buy things you have no use for

has a trust fund in his will set for you if, god forbid, he died before you. he doesnt want his love to worry about money, just let him take care of it.

unlike many households at the time, alastor would help with the chores. despite his full-time job, he’d sorta understand that taking care of a house is a full-time job in itself since he’d spent his childhood watching how hard his mother works so, he agrees to always split chores with you.

because of his work, and his popularity, his boss asks that he comes in early to host the morning segment of the show. because of this, it’s not often that you two share a morning together. but, he still remembers to kiss your pretty head good morning, occasionally adding a request for dinner

his mother is MORE than happy to welcome you into the family. she’s just glad that her son found someone that makes him happy.

honestly on the fence about kids. on one hand, it’d make his mother really happy, as well as how it’s expected at the time period. but, he isn’t too interested in physically showing his desires. and, he is quite busy as well with his job and the whole murdering thing. it’s only if you ask him explicitly that he’d decide to look into it, maybe adoption? :>

quite good at putting your insecurities at ease. sweet nothings for days on end can come out of his mouth and he’s still not done.

as you sob into alastor’s chest, his arms wrap around your body warmly as he plays with your hair. "whenever you’re ready to talk, my love.” he held you close, wiping your tears until you were ready to talk.

alastor listened silently as you told him of all your doubts; that you weren’t a good wife, the whispers of every woman in town, everything. “my love, i’ll love you no matter what. it’s the woman inside that i am in love with.” he says as he brushes the hair out of your face, gazing down at you lovingly. “i won’t lie, there are times when you are… feisty. but, it’s your passion and intelligence that always bring me back to you.”

your lips quiver as you try to quell your tears. “can… can you swear that? that you’ll love me no matter what..?” his gaze became gentle as he saw the genuine doubt in your expression. “you have my word, dear. no matter what happens, i’d never stop loving you. even if we fought everyday, i would still be a fool for you. because, well… i suppose the heart wants what the heart wants. and, it is you that my heart yearns for, love.” alastor assured you, his eyes falling as he spoke.

as the sweet nothings fell from his lips, your tears ceased, finding the warmth in his touch. “thank you, dear… you always know how to make me feel better, i love you so much…” you sighed, curling into his touch. “mmh, i love you as well, my pretty girl.” he grinned, kissing your forehead.

as stated above, alastor is not particularly attracted to your looks, but moreso your intelligence and your ability to see right through that charming facade of his. funnily enough, it started a healthy relationship for one of the most deranged men out there.

he’d also be quite attracted to you if you joined him one night. nothing’s more attractive than your beautiful wife in a pretty dress he bought for you all bloodied up with a knife in your hand.

he loves to show you off to the newspapers as his pretty doll, not only because you’re quite the eye candy, but to also make you confident in yourself

he’d still get jealous whenever he’d catch someone staring too long though. ironically enough, he thinks it’s adorable when you get jealous and pout your face. he’s your’s after all, body and soul! why fuss over something that’s not gonna happen?

arguments are quite rare since alastor doesn’t tend to do things that are argument worthy. one of the few reasons you tend to argue is when alastor heads to the club after work and comes home drunk and much later than he intended to. and, after all that, he still apologizes for coming home late, probably tries to come home early so he can cook dinner the next day as an apology :>

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #alastor #alastor x reader #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #hasbin alastor #alastor hazbin x reader #alastor hc #alastor headcanons #alastor the radio demon #human alastor

491 notes · View notes

verm1c1de · 8 months

Text

Zims entire personality is completely fabricated

Let me explain.

Zim, as we know him, is just a mask made up by.. well, Zim.

Zim doesn’t exist.

Because Zim, at his most genuine, loves.

And Zim is not supposed to love.

It’s been thrown around throughout the entire course of the series that Zim is, in fact, a very intelligent individual. Moreso than irkens, renowned technology-thieves, are known to be. It’s for this fact, that it would make sense, that Zim would not be completely ignorant of how the rest of Irken society views him.

The defect, the worst irken to ever exist, et cetera.

There’s no way to be that obtuse about your own infamy, and if there is, there’s enough hints and clues in the series to allow viewers to come to the conclusion that Zim isn’t unaware of it all.

And no, this is not a “Zim is a genius and knows absolutely everything” post. He’s definitely gullible. He absolutely has the worst priorities, he doesn’t know when to quit, too stubborn and set in his own beliefs, but he does Know a lot more than he lets on.

Multiple instances of Tallest Purple nearly revealing the truth about Zim’s mission or being too careless with his words are brushed away, either spoken over by Red or ignored completely by Zim, as if he didn’t hear it at all. Similarly, Sizz-Lorr exists as tangible evidence of everything wrong with Zim’s falsified identity as an invader. He shows up for one episode and that episode introduces some of the most important building on Zim’s coding and the consequences derived from his destructive actions on Irk. And his response to this, is to flat out deny it. Because with Purple, he has the expectation to not be aware. With Sizz-Lorr, everything he’s done is laid out in front of him, forcing him to acknowledge it. He won’t.

Zim, at his most genuine, is paranoid.

Paranoid enough to fabricate an entire personality from nothing after having the entirety of Irken knowledge downloaded into his PAK, only minutes after having been freed from his tube.

Zim is a bootlicker. Zim couldn’t care less about the Tallest. Zim seeks absolution from the Tallest because he knows that he was Made Wrong and that the things he’s done are unforgivable, but he can’t help himself. Zim only goes out of his way to gain their attention because he knows that’s what the average irken desires. All of these are true.

Zim is only drawn to invading in the most superficial way possible for an irken. He enjoys the idea of invading, not because it is personally "appealing" to him in any sense of the word, but because he knows that it is for others. It's an esteemed title. An invader gets to have respect. An invader gets to be addressed directly by the Tallest.

Being an invader is the best thing. Not for him, but for his act.

He needs the act. The act will save him from his imperialistic society. The act is the worst thing to ever happen to him.

Zim is nothing without it. He’s nothing with it.

He hates the act.

(“Hey, you’re a worse flier than I am!”)

And it’s very, very likely that he hates himself because of it. Much more than anyone else could ever hate him, because their hate for him is as superficial as his allegiance to the Empire is.

Zim does not fit in on Irk because Irk doesn’t need a Zim. Irk doesn’t need an irken soldier whose sole identity is to destroy.

Which is why Zim fits in so much better on Earth as its villain. On Earth, he gets to be a part of the story, not a fool that has to force himself on stage to even have some semblance of a spotlight.

Zim was already firmly set into his role before arriving to Earth; but coming there, and meeting Dib, further instills Zim with the drive to keep it up. Dib exists to be a hero, after all! And heroes need their villains. Zim fits into that role perfectly. And of course Zim, being nothing BUT a role, is drawn to it. He'll feed into Dib's alien obsession because Dib's alien obsession fits into Zim's "character". The big bad guy that needs to be fought against.

Which makes sense.

If he's the big bad that everyone hates, he doesn't have to worry about wondering if anyone loves him, because he knows they don't.

His first words were “I love you.”

The Zim we know does not love.

The Zim we know is nothing but an elaborate, one-irken act, stuck playing the same role in the same show for as long as he draws it out for.

One which would collapse if anything ever brought attention to it.

this post would not have been made without the help of @short-and-ugly and @animatorfun. seriously. like they wrote it. they were my editors.

this is NOT a headcanon post, im for realsies. this is metatextual analysis. i genuinely believe this is what zims character is supposed to be ((even if not necessarily intentionally))

#iz #invader zim #zim #iz analysis #long post #very long post #vermi.txt #Zim Larp Theory #named soafter our google doc about it

891 notes · View notes

Last Seen Blogs

alyxmin

sswexplore

𝐒𝐒𝐖 𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐄

niceinchnails

Blog of Dr. Zoidberg

lunitysmoon

just peachy(¿)

deademon777

💎Imagine All People Living Life In Peace💎