#totally inappropriate first aid

[lets-try-some-writing]

I've eaten up all your feral!Orion content and it's SO GOOD!! Do you...have any thoughts on feral!Orion and Megatronus???

I do love me some feral Orion. So of course here is some more for you dear anon!

Previous part here.

The Terror of the Pits

Megatronus met Orion in a rather simple way. Orion Pax came down from the upper echelons of Iacon to ask him some questions about his ideals and beliefs. While not normally something he would entertain, Orion had a look in his optics that Megatron knew well, the gaze of a hunter. Thus, intrigued with the archivist, he allowed an audience... then two... then three... and before long he was having bi deca-cycle meetings with the head archivist.

Orion was well educated in all manners and knew far more than he likely should have about anatomy, methods of making mecha "disappear", and how to get out of arrests and assault charges. Not only that, but Megatronus noted nearly immediately the fanged denta the archivist had and the slightly clawed digits that he sported. At first he thought them mods or upgrades made for appearances sake, but upon meeting Ratchet around the time Orion began associating with him regularly, those thoughts went out the window.

He watched on in total bewilderment as Orion went from normal mech™ to possessive nightmare fuel straight from the deepest pits of Cybertron in under a Klik whenever Ratchet turned up. Orion did not play games when it came to his medic and Megatronus was quick to stay the frag away from any action that Orion saw as a threat. He was there to observe the archivist nearly shred a gladiator after the mech in question made an inappropriate comment toward Ratchet and since that cycle he never again judged Orion based off his appearance and kept himself in line.

Ratchet was off limits and that was fine in Megatronus's book. Orion was a good companion and grew to be an excellent aid in his efforts. Thus he could easily overlook a little hyper aggression on the archivist's part. He was content to merely observe Orion's little habits and keep himself out of them, however he should have known that as his and Orion's friendship grew stronger, so would Orion's tendency to act out of the norm.

It was small things at first, a simple lingering touch here, a slight growl there, and the odd instance of Orion stepping in front of him almost protectively. That was it for a while and despite being odd, it was nothing worthy of much note. They were friends and gladiators tended to behave similarly when they felt the need to make a point. Of course then Orion seemed to get bolder and those small things evolved into something more.

Next thing Megatronus knew, Orion followed him fragging everywhere when he was in the pits visiting. The archivist was not as tall as him, but Primus his field made up for the lost height easily. Orion took no slag and made himself to be Megatronus's personal guard even though it was completely unneeded. The younger mech was not afraid to size up gladiators nearly double his size nor did he hesitate to begin growling and making a show of himself with flared plating when he felt Megatronus was in any sort of danger.

It was odd, very much so. However when asked Ratchet simply shrugged and offered the truth like it wasn't the strangest thing of the century.

Megatronus: Why is he like this? Is he perhaps malfunctioning?

Ratchet: No, not at all. He's just got active base coding.

Megatronus: Orion Pax? The archivist? Who hurt him badly enough to have him acting on base coding?

Ratchet: No one. According to Alpha Trion he came straight from the wilds and the coding has just stuck.

Megatronus: Then all this-?

Ratchet: Its a sign that he cares. You get used to it.

It was worrisome at first, but Megatronus let it be. Orion could be as wild as he wished so long as he didn't cause any wars or civil unrest. Thus Megatronus also overlooked the scratches that were most decidedly not from battle that he found carved onto his back almost as boldly as a "kick me" sign. He got a bit of mockery for it from his fellows, but that mockery quickly evaporated like smoke when his archivist threw himself into the arena during a particularly tense fight and practically mauled Megatronus's opponent.

Orion was downright feral as he latched on and dug into his enemy with enough strength to have Megatronus considering weather or not Orion was a civilian or not. Of course what terrified him most was how Orion's mouth seemed to open far larger than it should have as he bit down on the other gladiator's neck all while his optics widened so impossibly that it was frightening. It took three separate mecha to get Orion off Megatronus's opponent and even then it also took Ratchet to calm Orion down enough to peel him off where he had practically welded himself to Megatronus's side.

Orion Pax was from then on known as a terror in the pits not to be trifled with. Not a spark dared go anywhere near Megatronus with anything but pure intent when Orion was around simply because there were also a few incidents reported to him by Soundwave of Orion hunting certain mecha down to leave ominous dead things on their porches.

It just kept escalating as their friendship grew and eventually Megatronus grew to appreciate the little things Orion did. He liked the way Orion wrapped his field around him and he greatly enjoyed the random gifts Orion brought. They were always a tad ridiculous, but he was proud to weave the bits of plating Orion collected from his foes into a charm that he wore when he wanted to make a statement. And while a little more irritating, it was rather humorous to have Orion go out of his way to bring Megatronus his energon for him and only after checking for contamination.

It was almost like he had his own attack dog, but Orion was far too clever to be awarded such a pathetic title. No, with the way he would hunt down those he thought wronged Megatronus with a vengeance? He deserved the title of Terror of the Pits.

In the end Megatronus took great pride in painting Orion's armor a few vorns after their meeting and proclaiming him an honorary gladiator with how often he somehow managed to kick the afts of his fellows during spars. Orion was a challenge the gladiators liked to face and Orion was always calmer after getting down on all fours and going wild against the heavily armored gladiators who could take a great deal more of a beating than the soft little city mecha.

Good times.

Megatronus never forgot those simple days and had a great deal of fun making bets with Ratchet regarding who Orion would fight and who would win. Ratchet usually won, but Megatronus told himself it was because Ratchet had known Orion longer.

[al-astakbar]

☆ Fair Winds and Following Seas -- Thrawn x reader ☆

> title ☆ Fair Winds and Following Seas

> summary ☆ In a loosely-controlled experiment, Grand Admiral Thrawn decides to dose you with a powerful aphrodisiac and makes you go about your day as usual. This is a direct follow up to Good and Faithful Service, I suggest reading that first.

> pairing ☆  Thrawn x reader ☆ word count [6.9k] ☆ warnings ☆ aphrodisiacs; mildly dubious consent; masturbation; cunnilingus; Thrawn eats ass (very brief); PIV sex; power dynamics & imbalance; fraternization; angsty at the end

> posted on ao3 ☆

You can’t have expected anything to change with you and Thrawn. Not really. It had been one night. You had offered your help before he had ordered you to give it. Even when he’d had you on your back, even with his cock in your mouth, neither of you had put aside your ranks. You were still ‘Lieutenant’, and he was still the Grand Admiral. He was still Sir. 

Except now you keep slipping. Months on, you find yourself unable to focus on much of anything. Distracted in meetings, forgetting things, neglecting the most basic military decorum. 

The Grand Admiral is perhaps more lenient than most senior officers, but he is only forgiving to a point. 

So when he comms you an hour earlier than normal one morning, you’re nervous. It could be a reprimand. It could be some worse, harsher punishment. He could be planning to dismiss you, have you reassigned. Between dismissal and punishment, you feel crazy for hoping it’s the latter. The thought of having to leave him, the thought that he has no use for you anymore… you mentally shake yourself. Totally inappropriate way for a junior officer to feel about her commander. You’re his aide, nothing more, nothing less. 

You quickly change out of your pt clothes into the uniform of the day, and hurry up to his office, which is a couple decks above your stateroom. You press the chime to let him know you’re outside, and then he remotely keys the hatch to open for you.

Inside, his office is almost pitch black. 

“Enter.” His voice calls from somewhere in the dark. You can’t pinpoint it. 

You step inside, and the hatch zips shut behind you. 

“Good morning, sir. Lieutenant--” you stumble over your own name, just barely managing not to yelp in surprise when you suddenly see a pair of glowing red eyes open, just a few feet away from you “-- reporting as ordered.” 

“Good morning, Lieutenant,” he says smoothly. He brings up the lights without offering any comment on why he’d had them off in the first place. Strange. He hadn’t said anything about the incident with the Nevow. Not one thing. At first you’d figured he was determined to act like everything was normal, just pretend it hadn’t happened. But just as you’ve been slipping, he’s had some odd moments as well.

He gestures to the seating area where he usually entertains senior staff or high ranking visitors. There is an elegant silver caf service laid out on the low table.

You gratefully accept the cup of caf he pours and then passes to you. You sit awkwardly, perched on the edge of the chair with rigid posture, while he sits back, regarding you thoughtfully.

“Thank you for coming early. Did I interrupt your morning exercise?” 

“Uh… of course, sir. And I had been just about to start. You know, unit pt down in the aft shuttle maintenance bay.” You gulp down your caf, noticing that it’s making you feel quite warm, especially in the usual chill of his office. “You started a droid-sparring trend, sir. I don’t know if you knew that.” With any other officer, this would be much too familiar. Too friendly.

The Grand Admiral just says, “indeed?” 

“Yes, sir.” You finish your cup, and he pours you a second. “Thank you,” you murmur. 

He sips his own, watching you with a strange glint in his eyes. Not unlike the way he had looked at you all those months ago in that hot, confined room. Your face heats at the memory, and you drink again to cover your blush. 

Not for the first time, you wonder if you should be the one to request a transfer. You can’t control yourself around him. Even now, just sitting here having caf, and you’re getting turned on just from the way he looks at you. Suddenly your collar feels too tight. The temperature of his office, so cold you normally have to clench your jaw to keep your teeth from chattering-- too warm. Some time ago, you had finally given in to your fantasies, and allowed yourself to imagine him while you masturbate. It had felt so, so wrong, a violation of his trust in you, a violation of your relationship as junior and senior officers. But it hadn’t stopped you. And it isn’t the same as the real thing. You stare down at your cup, thankful that, perceptive as he is, he can’t actually read your mind.

“Lieutenant?”

You look up. “Yes, sir?”

“Are you alright?” 

“Yes, sir.” You nod quickly, blushing even harder. 

You’re sure he can tell that you’re lying, but he doesn’t remark on it. He lets you fidget for a moment, and then changes topic. 

“Today, you will help me conduct an experiment.”

You sit up straighter, reaching for your datapad to take notes, but he stops you.

“That will not be necessary. You will be the subject, and I will… observe you.” 

That was intentional. That suggestive twist he put on the phrase, the way his voice went low and soft, like he knew how it would send a shiver of arousal up your spine. You swallow hard. “Of course, I’ll do whatever is required of me, sir.”

Grand Admiral Thrawn almost smiles. You both know his authority over you begins and ends with military matters, and you’re pretty sure whatever this is falls well outside of those boundaries. “Thank you, Lieutenant. Now, allow me to explain. I have put some of the galvi root in the caf you just drank. I had to guess at the dosage, but am I correct that it has already begun to take effect?”

You nod tightly, head spinning at this revelation, though in hindsight you should have expected something like this from him. 

“I see… it has affected you more quickly, then.”

“Are you-- are you sure?” At his slight frown, you continue quickly. “I think you may not have noticed it right away because you had the distraction of the ceremony. Sir.” 

The Grand Admiral leans back, tapping the arm of his chair. “Yes. Yes, I believe you are right.” He pauses, and gives you an appraising look that makes you squirm.  

“You could have asked me!” You finally say, a little testy. 

“And you would have agreed to it, would you not?”

You nod again, flustered at how easily he can read you. As to why you would agree to it so readily— you’d rather not risk exposing your embarrassing crush on him by arguing the point. 

“Therefore my asking beforehand would be unnecessary.” 

You very nearly glare at him. Not like it would be the first line crossed today in terms of what’s acceptable between a junior and senior officer. Instead, you say, “I hadn’t factored in the time for this in today’s schedule, sir. If you need me to--”

“Not to worry, Lieutenant. You will accompany me for the entire day. I have arranged for your colleagues to cover your other responsibilities. As part of the experiment, we need to test how well you are able to perform your daily routine, or at least an approximation of it.”

You aren’t sure how to argue about this, if you even should, because the idea of it seems ridiculous. After all, he had been totally incapacitated by the drug within two hours and now he expects you to just go about your day. Will you be allowed any privacy? Will you be allowed relief?

He seems to be contemplating the same questions. What he says next makes you bite back a gasp and you nearly drop your cup. “Recall: you sucked my cock and I came in your mouth.” 

This is the first time since that he’s directly acknowledged it, and he says it so calmly but the shock of hearing those words in his cool, modulated voice sends a visceral pulse of desire through your body. You shift, trying to hold yourself still. Can’t keep your hands from shaking. With a rattling clink, you put your cup and saucer on the table.

At that, Thrawn continues, “-- but the effects of the drug were not lessened. It was alleviated, very briefly, but then only grew stronger. It was the same when I masturbated. That is what we will test today. And your ability to withstand it.” 

You have no idea what to say, other than a weak ‘yes, sir.’ 

For a few more minutes, the two of you sit quietly. Thrawn finishes his caf and you think on what he’s just said. Recall, was his order. How can you not? You’ve thought about it every day for months. How he had tasted, how he’d fucked you. How he had sounded when he’d come that last time, a low, almost feral growl as he’d pushed deep inside of you. 

Then he checks his chrono, and it’s time to go. Nearly 0700. He’ll be expected on the bridge for the morning report.

He stands, and at the last second, you remember to do the same. Not a good sign. Protocol dictates you stand at attention whenever the commanding officer enters or leaves the room. The Grand Admiral is usually rather lax about such niceties, but if you let the little things slide, it’s only a matter of time before you make a mistake that he would deem significant. 

//

You follow Grand Admiral Thrawn to the first task of the morning, the familiar route through the passageways up to the bridge feeling much longer than normal. This is fine, you try to reassure yourself. You do this with him every day. And it’s possible the aphrodisiac doesn’t even affect humans the way it had affected him. After all, your hosts all those months ago could have dosed you, too, but didn’t. Maybe they had known it wouldn’t really work. But-- no.

You’re here, now, at his elbow on the command walkway, already failing your duties. You’re supposed to be paying attention, and taking any notes he might need. Instead, you’re sweating. You can feel a trickle of it down your back, and where it’s beading in your hairline.

Commodore Faro grimaces at you, and makes some comment about droid-sparring for pt getting out of control. You apologize to her, a hurried ‘sorry, ma’am’, and then excuse yourself because the Grand Admiral has made that vague gesture with his hand that means he has something for you to do.

But all he wants is for you to come stand by his side. Throughout the morning and the rest of the day, he insists on keeping you close, and the proximity only makes your desire flare hotter. The way he smells, and his tall, broad-shouldered frame, and the way his arm sometimes brushes against yours. His long-fingered hands, which, though he’s wearing his white gloves right now, you can still picture so clearly, blue against your skin. 

You take your seat at his right hand in the morning meeting, only to fidget and shift the whole time. Every so often, he gives you the side eye, so you will yourself to stop, to be still, control yourself. 

He leans over, commenting quietly for only you to hear, that your core temperature is elevated. His voice maddeningly calm as always. Raising one eyebrow at you, almost a challenge. Ask for what you need, Lieutenant.

You need him. You need his cock, you need to feel him again, don’t give a damn if it’s fraternization and every other officer in the room would see your life ruined-- both you and Thrawn-- if they knew you’re even having these thoughts. You need him to bend you over the conference table and fuck you until you can’t walk. 

At last, he stands, dismissing everyone from the meeting. Except you. You check your chrono, and it takes you a moment to read it. You feel delirious, every sense flooded with overwhelming arousal. Every nerve charged.

“Forty-five minutes, Lieutenant.” The Grand Admiral’s cool, soft voice washes over you. You have to close your eyes against it. Against what it does to your fraying self control. Officers of the Galactic Imperial Navy do not think about dropping to their knees and begging their commander to make them cum.

“Until? Sir?” You only get the formality in as a force of habit.

“Since.”

Your eyes snap to his. “Since?”

He tilts his head, studying you. His gaze sweeps down your body, his lips part slightly. There’s that hunger you had seen before, when he had been the one whose desires were laid bare by the drug. “Since you took the dose.”

Your heart drops. “That’s it?!” You blurt out, and he raises an eyebrow at your unprofessionalism. “Sorry, sir. I…” You hesitate, “I’m just going to the ‘fresher real quick before our next meeting.”

“No.” 

You freeze in your tracks. “Sir?”

“I have not excused you, Lieutenant. And I assume your purpose in going is to be able to masturbate in private?”

You stare at him, mortified, and unable to answer. 

He tilts his head slightly. “Interesting.”

“What?”

“I have never seen a human produce so much facial heat before.”

You huff, and close your eyes briefly. “Sir, I… I can’t do this. Could I just be excused for the day until it wears off? I’ll just tell Medical I ate something weird that I bought at the last port call.”  

“Perhaps you misunderstand, Lieutenant. I am permitting you to masturbate. But you will do it here.”

It clicks in your mind. Observe. 

You lick your lips, and meet his eyes once more for confirmation. He lets his gaze sweep down and back up, positively indecent. It makes your pulse spike, knowing that he’s thinking about you like that. 

Too fast, too eager, you pull up your tunic, unbuckle your belt and shove your pants down just enough. 

“More,” Thrawn orders. He points rather lazily to your legs, and how they aren’t spread wide enough for him to see much. You obey, and then fall back into the chair, bare from hips to ankles. Thrawn is close. He stands right in front of you, regarding you with imperious authority.

The effect of the drug is powerful enough to dampen some of your embarrassment, but you are still sitting here, legs spread wide for your commanding officer. Anyone could walk in.

“Do you need more specific directions, Lieutenant?” He asks dryly. 

“No, sir.” You reach your hand down and find you’re already slick and wanting. Wet enough to be fucked, your mind supplies unhelpfully, but you know he won’t give that to you. You start circling your clit, can’t stop yourself from whimpering in relief. Plunge one finger in, but it’s not enough, so you work in a second. It feels good, so good. The drug has its claws in you now, some primal force coaxing you faster, faster -- if you can just take the edge off. None of it is enough. You rub your clit, and push your fingers in as deep as you can, curling them to that perfect spot. Your climax is almost too easy to find, right there within reach-- 

“Look at me.” 

Your eyes fly open. Your breath hitches --“y-yes. Yes, sir,” -- and you’re coming, hard and fast. You can feel your inner walls fluttering around your fingers, and you chase the feeling as long as you can, touching a bright, fleeting pleasure that has you moaning wantonly.

But the drug steals away any true satisfaction. Makes it shallow, and over too soon, and leaves a tight, twisting need in your core, verging on pain.

“Did it help?” He echoes your question from months ago, but you both already know the answer.

It made it worse. You shake your head and quickly make yourself decent. You’re about to wipe your hands on your trousers when he catches your wrist-- the hand that you’d fucked yourself with-- and licks one of your fingers. Then he sucks both of them fully in his mouth with a sinful hmm. As if he’s been waiting for his chance to taste you.

You give a shuddering whimper. Again, you have to close your eyes against the sight of him, against the feeling of his mouth and tongue. Against everything. 

When he’s done, he wipes your face and hands with a handkerchief. He gives you a once-over, and straightens your rank plaque himself. Once you’re deemed presentable, he leads the way to the next meeting. 

He keeps finding little ways to touch you, and you’re sure it’s on purpose. Even his hand on your shoulder makes you have to refocus your self control, exhale as the warmth of his touch makes you ache with need. After the Ops brief, he leans in close and picks a possibly nonexistent piece of lint off your tunic.

By 0930, he hasn’t allowed you to masturbate again, and you’re a wreck. “Sir…” you sway on your feet, distantly pondering the consequences if you were to simply disobey him, and sneak off to a ‘fresher. Or you could jump a random officer, get him to fuck the drug out of you for a few hours. Or… you gaze at Thrawn, not bothering to try to conceal your lust… 

He regards you dispassionately.

“Sir, please…” 

“Would you ever have asked me for it, Lieutenant?” His authority, his very presence seems to fill the now-empty executive conference room. “I’ve been wondering if you would. I did promise you a dose. You never added the time for it to my schedule.”

You swallow hard, not quite trusting yourself to speak coherently. “You already have so much on your plate, sir. I didn’t want to overburden you.” You know it sounds like a lame excuse. 

Evidently, he thinks so too. “I see.” He brushes a strand of hair off your face, tucks it behind your ear. 

You shiver at the contact, at how cool his hand feels next to your burning skin.

It’s gone all too soon. He turns away and you dutifully follow along, wondering if your lie had just cost you a chance at relief.

You endure another couple hours or so-- you only know the time because Thrawn keeps reminding you. But as the minutes tick by you feel more and more delirious, and occasional spasms of pain start to wrack your body. Somehow you manage to stay on your feet, standing at his elbow as he conducts a walkthrough inspection of the ship’s TIE Defender maintenance shop. After that, you accompany him for a brief break in the senior officers’ mess, and have to watch him as he calmly sips his caf while you squirm in the seat next to him. He makes conversation with a few other officers, but you can’t focus on anything they’re saying. Every thought you have is of him. Every impulse, the heat between your thighs, urging you, screaming at you to throw yourself at him, to bend over so he can mount you, or better yet you could ride him. Straddle him, brace your hands on his chest, feel his powerful, long legs flexing as he pumps up into you.

He glances over at you just once, and raises his eyebrow, as if he knows exactly what you’re thinking. 

The next meeting, you get through by white-knuckling the conference table and crossing your legs very tightly. Desire burns in you like a fever, narrows your awareness to just your body and the undeniable, agonizing need the drug has stoked in you.  

You stand at attention with everyone else when Thrawn gets up and dismisses the meeting. And once again, you’re alone with him. 

He fixes you with a dangerous look, a curious gleam in his glowing red eyes. He seems almost… entertained.

“Sir, please, I… I need to…” You shouldn’t speak first, typically. Junior officers don’t talk this way to their betters, but nothing about this is typical. 

“Truly remarkable,” Thrawn says softly. “The power of this drug, and your resistance to it. You’ve done very well so far, but I fear it may harm you.” 

He begins pulling his right glove off, finger by finger. Your pulse jumps in your chest. “Take off your boots.” 

You barely pause to question it, though worry rattles in the back of your mind. What if someone comes in? Won’t there be another meeting in here soon? Thrawn isn’t worried. Perhaps doesn’t care. 

He approaches, backing you up to the large conference table. When you come up on the edge of it, he lifts you by your waist and sits you up on it. With swift, deft movements, he undoes your belt and strips you of your trousers. He slots himself between your bare legs and you hear yourself panting. Pushing your hips closer to him, needing to rut and grind. Without asking, you reach a hand down, eager to touch your clit. He stops you, catches your wrist and you actually whine with disappointment.

He ignores this, looking down at you contemplatively, and it registers then, just how close you are, how you’d dreamed of this for months and now you’re close enough to kiss him. “Please,” you try again. “I did it for you.”

“Yes,” he agrees. “But this is an experiment, not an exchange of favors.”

And with a fluid, graceful motion he gets on his knees and buries his face in your soaking pussy. 

His lips immediately find the bud of your clit in a lewd, wet, open-mouthed kiss. A shuddering, throaty cry tears from your lips, and Thrawn only pauses to warn you to mind your screams. Someone could hear. At this moment, you can’t bring yourself to care. You both know the consequences were someone to walk in and see the Grand Admiral with his face between your legs. But he doesn’t take risks unless he’s confident in the odds. Or he’s just decided it’s worth it. 

He lifts one of your legs over his shoulder. You can feel the cold metal of his epaulet digging into your skin. The change in position opens you to him. You fix the image in your mind, of Thrawn there between your legs. The contrast of his blue skin against yours, the alien ridges of his forehead, his lips and tongue lapping at your pussy like he’s never tasted anything better, his red eyes locked on you.

Without thinking, you put your hand on his head, stroking your fingers through his sleek, dark hair. Too intimate. Again, he catches your wrist, moves it away. 

“Sorry,” you say. He doesn’t answer. He wraps his arm around your thigh, yanking you closer to his mouth, and then pushes one finger into you. More. The drug wants more. He works a second in easily and lets you ride them for a moment before pinning your hips down. 

“Please fuck me.” You don’t care how desperate you sound. You’re already close, oversensitized from the drug and the hours of torturous denial. 

“Not yet.”

“Why not? When?”

His eyes meet yours. “Questioning a superior officer?” He pauses, with a deliberate, slow lick of his tongue right over your clit. You nearly cry.

“Lieutenant?” He prompts you. 

“N-no sir.” Your voice is breathy, broken. You can feel pleasure starting to roll over you in waves, your body responsive to every little touch.

He takes pity on you. Doesn’t tease or hold back or draw it out, at least not any more than he already has. Perhaps his way of saying thank you for what you did for him. Because you know him, as much as anyone can know Thrawn, and you know better than to expect to hear it.

The drug steals any more coherent thought, but Thrawn claims your pleasure. He is relentless, drinking it down, alternately suckling your clit and lapping at your folds with the broad flat of his tongue, his fingers reaching the perfect spot that yours couldn’t, that you haven’t been able to satisfy for months. He curls his fingers, and you’re gone, dissolving like sugar in his mouth. He lets you ride his face, keeps fucking his fingers into you as you moan and twitch, and squeeze your thighs around his ears. Again, the drug makes your release blaze bright and fast, but ultimately leaves you wanting.

At last, you sag backwards, legs wide, a wanton, debauched picture. Your tunic hangs open, and for a quiet moment you lie flat on the conference table where just minutes ago the Chimaera’s senior officers had gathered. Thrawn rises effortlessly, and when he does, you see his complexion is tinged indigo, and there is an obvious bulge in his trousers. 

He’s watching you, taking in the sight of what he’s done, and you spread your legs wider. He licks his lips, eyes blazing. 

“Now?” You ask hopefully. 

His expression hardens, and he orders you to get dressed. He has to wipe off his mouth and chin, which are shiny with your arousal. Then, it’s back to the day’s schedule.

At least six more times, Thrawn decides to let you come, before you start to lose track completely. Rather than depriving you, he overloads you, flooding you with stimulation at every opportunity. He pulls you into a disused office, sits you up on the desk, and eats you out again. It shocks you each time he gets on his knees for you. He’ll smudge his white uniform and then everyone will know, they’ll see you together and know, Grand Admiral Thrawn is fucking his Lieutenant.

Following obediently after him from one part of the ship to another, you can feel how wet you are, your constant arousal dripping down your legs, you can feel your pussy slick as you walk. After the evening Intel brief, he backs you into a dark corner in a passageway, slips his hand down your pants and permits you to come on his fingers. There isn’t even the assurance of a hatch between the two of you and anyone who could come along, and yet you thrust and grind shamelessly against his hand, unable to keep quiet. He almost smiles when he tells you, really, Lieutenant, I expect you to at least attempt to control yourself.  He kisses you, sealing his mouth over yours, swallowing down your keening cries. The one thought you can grasp, through the haze of lust, is that he’s achingly hard, pressing his erection against your hip as if he’s just barely holding back from touching himself.

Each climax tightens the drug’s feverish hold over you, and by the evening you can hardly stand for the desire boiling in your veins. Your uniform is a mess, rumpled and with an odd stain you hope is caf but you can’t remember how it happened. You imagine your face must be worse. Thrawn again straightens your rank plaque, and makes sure your cover isn’t askew.

His nearness makes you tremble. 

He leads you back to the bridge once more for the evening report, and finally-- your heart leaps when you recognize the familiar path-- to his quarters.

The room is cold. Always cold, the way he likes it. You have wondered often what his home planet is like. Freezing, you assume. Somewhere icy and hospitable only to his people. You’ve wondered why he would ever leave it, when he so clearly doesn’t fit in here. The Empire has an ideal, and as brilliant as he is, Thrawn is not it.

He leaves you standing there in the center of his art collection, and dims the lights. 

You wait for him as attentively as you can, though you’re shivering, standing at a tense parade rest. 

After a stretch of silence he speaks. “Could you say ‘no’ right now, Lieutenant?” His voice is silky. His eyes seem to glow brighter in the dark. The sudden question puts you off balance.

“It-- it would depend on what’s being asked. Sir.” 

“Imagine I were not your commanding officer, but a stranger. Or an enemy. And at this very moment, I am promising you relief from the effects of the drug, in exchange for classified information.” He circles behind you, and you turn to look at him but he stops you. “Eyes forward.” 

Your pulse jumps, and you stand straighter at the command. A reminder of your rank, of your position, and Thrawn’s. “I would never do anything to compromise the Empire.” But your voice is too breathy to be convincing, and Thrawn steps closer, pressing himself against your back.

“But I’m offering.” 

You make an inarticulate, desperate sound. 

“Do you think you’d be able to refuse…?” He uses your given name, knowing exactly the effect it will have on you. The drug makes you dangerously suggestible. 

“I would--” You understand his point. But there’s only one way to answer. “Yes, I would uphold my duty.” 

“Your resolve is admirable. But I do not appreciate lies. Especially when they are so obvious.” He crowds you forward, so your hips hit the edge of his desk. The desk you’ve stood next to many times, attending to the Grand Admiral and whatever he asks of you. He puts a palm between your shoulders and forces you down face-first. His tone goes cold. “So I will allow you one more chance to answer. If I were anyone else, would you be able to control yourself?”

The only saving grace allowing you to reply at all is being able to hide your face in the crook of your arm, and not look him in the eye. “If it had been anyone else trapped in that room, I wouldn’t have offered in the first place.”

He stills. “I see.” Quietly, deliberately, he strips you of your service belt and your boots, pulls your trousers down to your calves. You whine in anticipation, shaking with need. It’s an effort not to lean in to every little touch. 

You watch, fascinated, the scene in the dark, shadowy reflection of the transparisteel viewport. Behind you, Thrawn going to his knees. His hands opening your body to his inspection. Then, with no warning, his mouth is on your cunt again. His tongue licking hot and wet up your slit, one broad stroke, higher, no hesitation as his thumbs dig in to your flesh, holding you open and then he swirls his tongue around your asshole. 

"Thrawn!" you squeal in surprise and embarrassment, completely forgetting his rank.

“Hmm.” He says. “You don’t like it?” 

“I… ah…” You’re drooling on his desk. Like and dislike are beyond understanding. There is only need. You raise your hips, seeking contact. He gives it to you. He licks your hole again, flicking his tongue over and over until you’re panting, before he places his fingers there. He massages them gently around the sensitive, puckered skin, teasing you with penetration but never quite going in. You moan when you feel his tongue drag over your clit, reaching for the exquisite, building pressure, enslaved to the whims of the drug. 

A day-- months’ of pent up need swells all at once and begins to overflow. Distantly, you hear yourself wail, feel yourself rocking against his face, no concept of anything except this sweet relief and him, between your legs, bestowing it upon you. At last, he pushes one finger in, and closes his lips around your clit, sucking slowly in time with your pulse, not stopping even as your legs shake. Your mind goes completely, divinely blank as pleasure sweeps over you, drowns everything else, wave after wave after wave…

//

It is a very different position in which you awaken, you don’t know how much later. You’re warm and cozy cocooned blankets, totally naked, in a stateroom you don’t recognize. It’s much bigger than yours. 

Thrawn. You sit up with a jolt. It has to be his room. His bed. Turning, you bury your face in the pillow. It smells like him, though not strongly. 

The galvi root has worn off. You only feel exhaustion, and uncertainty. Here, in Thrawn’s quarters, in his bed, a decision solidifies in your mind. You know what you have to ask him. Across the room, you see your uniform, neatly folded on an armchair. You ignore it. You lie back down, pulling his scent around you, and stay like that for a time, gazing out the viewport at the dark field of stars. 

When you’re nearly asleep again, the hatch opens. Thrawn. You don’t know how to act around him anymore, which military courtesies to show him, but the idea of jumping out of his bed, naked, and coming to attention seems ridiculous.

“Did you get the data you needed?” Insofar as what you did today could be called an experiment, and a flawed one at that.

“I did.” He glances at your folded uniform on the chair, and comes around to stand at the side of the bed, his back to the viewport. 

So many times you had dreamed of getting closer, of Thrawn letting you in. And now you’re going to distance yourself. “Sir, there’s something I need to--”

“I’m recommending you for promotion.” His tone is cold, his posture stiff and formal. Very much the Grand Admiral, and nothing of the man beneath, the glimpses you’d caught of sly humor, of tenderness, of want as strong as yours, kept under rigid control.

You sit up, blood rushing to your ears. He holds up a hand, and you fall silent. 

“To Commander. You’ll serve as First Officer aboard the Imperial Star Destroyer Carnage.”

For a second, you’re too stunned to speak. Jumping ranks was almost unheard of-- Thrawn had done it, of course, multiple times, but your service record in the Imperial Navy is nothing like his. And First Officer aboard a Star Destroyer-- people worked their whole career to earn a position like that and he’s just handing it to you. “I’m not… that’s…” 

“If you are going to protest that you’re not qualified, I’ll remind you that you have spent the better part of three years aboard this ship, serving by my side. You know the requirements and duties of an admiral and a Star Destroyer better than most, so you will be well-equipped to excel in the role of First Officer. As long as we are not in combat, you could probably run the ship in my absence. Or Commodore Faro’s, for that matter. I have complete faith in you.” 

“Are you recommending me because of this? Because I slept with you?” You wince. It sounds so sordid and cliche. It wouldn’t be the first time ranks and promotions and choice assignments had been exchanged for favors. 

He looks mildly surprised, as if it’s a question he hadn’t anticipated. “No. I already put in the recommendation a few weeks ago. It has nothing to do with our…” he pauses, showing rare discomfort “...association.” 

You look down at your lap for a moment, chewing your lip, unsure what to say. A great emotion swells in your chest. You have to swallow it down. You aren’t sure whether it’s better that you didn’t have to ask for a transfer. “When?”

“Tomorrow.”

“The drug’s gone,” you tell him, as if he doesn’t know that. “I feel better now.” 

He fixes you with a piercing stare. He is dark in silhouette in the unlit room, with only the starscape behind him.

You don’t want to leave. You don’t want to have some of your last experiences with the Grand Admiral tainted by something beyond your control. Feeling brazen and reckless, you let the covers fall, leaving your breasts exposed in the cold air. You look up at him, and lean back against his pillows, as leisurely as you please. His eyes flash and the air in the room seems to have gone very still. Have you angered him? Of all the lines crossed today, and the time before, was this the one too far? Is this a mistake? 

You throw the covers back, and don’t miss the way his hand open-flexes and then closes into a tight fist. You slide out of bed, to your feet, standing in front of him. Close. He doesn’t touch you. Doesn’t even move. He is tempted, you think, but hiding it well. He’s thought about this, like you have, but never imagined giving in to it. 

Heart pounding, fully expecting that he’ll catch your wrists again, you reach for his belt. He inhales sharply, but doesn’t stop you. You pop the catch, and let it fall into your hands before tossing it on the bed. His collar clasps next. These take a moment. You get them undone, but it’s always harder on someone else. Finally the sealing strip of his tunic. You peel it back, he slips his arms out, and you fold the white fabric carefully. 

He lets you undress him. One final act of service under the intensity of his gaze. He seems to understand that you like tending to him. That it means something to you. He sits so you can pull off his boots. You unfasten his trousers and pull them down, listening to the sound of the fabric and his breathing in the dark. 

Your body thrums with arousal, so potent it’s making your hands shake, every brush of your skin against Thrawn’s electric-charged with the knowledge that you’re choosing this and so is he. 

Then he’s finally bare, completely, and gathering you in his arms.  

His lips hover over yours, he whispers your name and then he kisses you, sweet and soft and you feel like you’re falling. You moan into his mouth and he pulls you closer, answering your need. The momentum of it carries you down to his bed together and you wonder distantly how often he even uses it. More times than you can count, you’ve come into his office to find him asleep at his desk. Something in your heart aches for him, a feeling so fragile and incomprehensible, you shove it far, far down, almost enough to extinguish it. 

The quiet makes your touches measured and slow. Not wanting to rush anything. Not wanting to betray that you’re suddenly nervous, without the structure and expectations of rank between you. The Grand Admiral. That’s all you’ve ever known Thrawn as, and now he’s kissing your neck, leaving a bruise high enough that your collar won’t cover it. 

You gasp his name, and he huffs a quiet laugh, as if he’s been caught at mischief. He kisses lower, your breastbone, covering your breasts in his hands, his fingers plucking at tightened nipples. 

He watches you closely, riveted, pinning you with the same intense focus you’ve seen when he’s studying a piece of art, or commanding the Chimaera in battle. Except now you’re at the center of it, arching to his touch, so turned on you can hardly breathe, you want him so badly. 

You can feel his cock achingly hard against your stomach, he’s rolling his hips, so you lift to him. He’s shaking as he enters you. He braces himself on his forearms and rocks in slowly, inch by inch. You whimper at the stretch, at how kriffing good his cock feels filling you up.

He chases your mouth, like he can’t kiss you enough, swallowing down each tender little sound you make. You can almost taste when his resolve begins to slip. You’re so slick and hot around him and this is the last time and anything after this doesn’t matter. 

He fucks you deep and steady, grinding his hips and you move with him. He takes in the sight of you beneath him, something to keep for later; the light sheen of sweat, tendons going tight in your neck and you start to moan at every thrust. Both of you holding back, trying and failing to draw it out, all the tightly-held control swept away. Thrawn presses forward, hard, his thick length splitting you open over and over.

Clinging to him with a longing cry, you come, pulsing and tight, riding the pleasure as long as you can, not wanting it to end. And Thrawn is there with you. He’s trembling, his abdomen tense with the climax building in his body, just driving in until he comes with a harsh moan, burying his face against your neck. 

//

Two weeks later, you’re wearing the rank plaque of a Commander of the Imperial Navy, and things are going relatively smoothly aboard the ISD Carnage. Thrawn had not attended your promotion ceremony, nor had you asked him. You’d only been his aide, after all, and it would have looked strange for a Grand Admiral to show up for a subordinate so far beneath his rank. 

You wish he would’ve been there to pin the new rank on your chest. It would have been easier, at least, with him there, instead of being by yourself to weather the suspicious, jealous glares of other officers who were wondering what exactly you’d done to get the promotion. But you’ve assumed the post of First Officer aboard the Carnage all the same, and now you try not to think about him too much.

You check your terminal one morning, and find, among the frankly disgusting number of messages you get every day, one from [GADM THRAWN] with the subject [PROPOSAL (OPTIONAL)].

You can’t click it open fast enough. 

Commander,

I hope you are settling into your new assignment comfortably.  

The Chimaera is scheduled for a port call at Brentaal IV at the same time as the Carnage will be granted shore leave on the neighboring Chandrila. I propose a meeting to continue experimentation with the galvi root extract. Specifically, it would be beneficial to run additional controls without the drug. If you are amenable, contact me on my private frequency--

You still know the one. Know it by heart. You can’t help smiling to yourself.

--and we will discuss logistics. 

V/R

Grand Admiral Thrawn

ISD Chimaera, 7th Fleet

//end.

☆ tag list ☆ join ☆

@crosshairs-wife @vibratingbonesbis @thrawns-teef-weef @debonaire-princess

Also tagging a few others who had expressed interest in a part 2 :)

@annoyinglylegendarygoose @erusanya @courier-jackalope

[balloonboyismyson]

Okay first off, that found you piece is fantastic.

Second off and the actual question, What are your head cannons for Monty's relationship quirks? Pet names, things he likes doing with his partner/ to his partner Just casually, things like that. Hugging, teasing, flirting etc etc?

Thank you very much, I am so happy you like it :oD !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I had a fun time rendering it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

And huhuhuhu >:o)c

I really like the headcanon of him calling people "Cher"! This also includes him speaking in French when he wants to say something really loving to you because even though he has a tough exterior, my GOD does he get flustered easily, and he wants you to not understand quite the amount of love he holds for you

He WILL hold your waist. Not even in an inappropriate way, he just likes to pull you in close and feel that you are right next to him. He LOVES warmth and well. You are a warm Creature

He has a habit of staring at you

If he could he would be next to you 24/7. He is typically a Lone-Alligator type guy, but when he falls for you, you are ALL he wants to be around

If he knows something you like (ie his teeth) then he will CONSTANTLY tease you. You look at him, he just flashes a wide smile at you, or he gives your shoulder a kiss before biting you a bit, and if you like his claws he would lightly scratch your back in a public setting, or always touching you in some way etc.

You CANNOT do it back to him though or he will totally crumple into himself in a blushing embarrassed mess (you do it anyway ;o] )

Because you are shorter than him, he will always place a kiss on top of your head as soon as you see each other!!! He and/or may also bite the top of your head

When you hug, also because he is bigger than you, he purposefully engulfs you, almost as if he is shielding you from everything else in that moment

He likes to hold SOME part of you in his mouth whether that be your hand, your arm, your head it really does not matter he just wants to lightly cha-chomp you

Prepare to eat lunch everyday because he LOVES cooking for you. He wants to make sure you are well taken care of. He also reminds you to drink water

He is QUITE nervous over your health, so if you even bump yourself he is taking you to a first-aid station (even if you do not even have a black and blue)

These are some of the things I was able to think of :o) !

[princessofmerchants]

Hey ! first of all: I recently discovered you blog & totally fell in love with it🥺, especially after my "Nessian Hangover".

I know this might be a bit off-topic from your usual content, but there's something about Cassian's relationship with Mor that really irks me...and I'd love to hear your thoughts on it.

His actions, like pulling away from Nesta's hand in ACOWAR, left me feeling frustrated and sympathetic towards Nesta. And then there's that whole thing in Wings and Embers where he's all secretive about Nesta with Mor and doesn't wanna tell her about Nesta, which gave off major mixed signals?? I mean, describing Mor as something between a lover and a friend, while also being like family? That was so confusing, how can she be all three to him? it just felt so ... inappropriate and I felt so bad for Nesta bc obviously she deserves someone who has only eyes for her.

But then in SF he says all romantic feelings turned into familial bonds after the incident so what was that about then in WaE and pulling his hand away in ACOWAR?

Also in WaE it sounded like he primarily slept with Mor out of jealouy but in SF it does seem like he did had romantic feelings towards her ? :/ ...

And when he thought in SF about how hauntingly beautiful Mor is and how it takes his breath away and that she is lovely and perfect .... it just drove me mad tbh because this sounded very romantic coded to me which made me feel so bad for Nesta.

it has been all so confusing and inconsistent to me and also just frustrating how he talked so poetic about a woman he slept with (or did he also call Nesta also hauntingly beautiful or lovely or perfect and I'm not remembering it?), or how he didn't wanted to show Mor that he has feelings for Nesta?? :/ - so I just wondered what you thought about all of that, in hopes to calm me down or clarify bc it really almost ruined him for me (maybe I was misinterpreting stuff?).

hope that's not a weird question bc of how spesific it is haha

BTW I love your love for Nesta bc same🖤.

I love this ask, Anon, and how detailed and specific it is. It is a question after my own heart! My response is long so it's after the break.

Thank you for saying you love my love for Nesta - that means the world to me. What I especially like about your ask is, it is about canon Nesta, who is the Nesta I most treasure, and by extension about canon Nessian. I sometimes feel like a lone voice in the drafty moors of Tumblr with my deep and abiding love for canon Nessian, so the fact that this ask lets me talk about them in canon makes me happy!

I have given this a lot of thought since receiving your question, and I'm not sure how satisfying parts of my answer will be, so my apologies in advance for the fact that I am not actually going to offer an explanation for how and why all the details you listed can co-exist in a single, utterly comprehensive whole for the Cassian-Mor relationship when Cass is unquestioningly Nesta's by the end of ACOSF.

Instead, here's why the lack of things utterly lining up for these three doesn't bother me in the long run, and only slightly bothered me during the pre-ACOSF / post-ACOFAS era.

It is clear to me as a reader that SJM pivoted in a significant way between ACOMAF and ACOWAR when it comes to Mor.

I came across a post recently that explains exactly my thoughts on this. The post focuses on the current ship war but the evidence in it describes how during ACOMAF it was clear Moriel (Mor and Azriel) was likely to be endgame, but then SJM shifted Mor's arc to where she was more attracted to women, which meant needing to retcon a lot (and unfortunately a lot of Mor's charm and nuance was collateral damage that I am still hoping SJM repairs).

I think Cassian in ACOMAF needs to be read in the context of a planned future love triangle of sorts between Azriel-Mor-Cassian, into which I do think SJM planned to throw Nesta as a big bomb that beautifully blows up Cass's corner of the triangle. But the parts in "Wings and Embers" where Cass says to the reader he is worried about what Mor will think about his fixation on this human woman, I think were meant to preserve some kind of angsty triangle for the next book, which SJM (thankfully) jettisoned. I hate love triangles so I honestly would not have been a fan if that had been where SJM landed.

Now, in ACOWAR and ACOFAS, I think the Mor stuff with Cassian gets a bit more confusing, so I agree with you there. Cassian doesn't know for sure Nesta is his mate until she screams for him during the Battle of Hybern at the end of ACOWAR, so the stuff before that - e.g., him removing his hand from hers - I read in a few ways. I think being buffer to Mor with Azriel all those years messed with his head a lot, and in a way, Mor finally coming to terms with her sexuality is a really solid catalyst for her beginning to distance herself from the triangle dynamic she was a part of for 500 years, which I think was more healthy for everyone involved.

But remember, Nesta is still proud and surly in ACOWAR, not in any inherently bad way but in a way that probably didn't signal to Cassian she was particularly interested in him, even as he was drawn to her like a magnet and couldn't keep away because part of him loves her claws so much. Cass rightly protects his own heart when he has the foresight to do so in ACOWAR and ACOFAS. I always knew they would work their shit out eventually, but during the messy process of doing so I don't begrudge him a little distance when Nesta, in her trauma response to what was happening to her and around her, sometimes lashed out at the strongest individual in her vicinity who she knew could take it like a boulder weathers the storm - that person was always Cassian for her.

When I first read ACOSF, I absolutely assumed going in that Mor was going to be catty about Nessian finally starting to get together. When she wasn't, it was jarring to me. But once I finished my first reading of ACOSF, I came to a striking conclusion about Mor, ACOSF, and SJM:

The story SJM needed to tell in ACOSF would not have been aided or forwarded by Mor intervening in the Nessian dynamic in a catty way, or being a foil to anything about Nesta in that story's arc.

In other words, SJM could have written a version of Nesta and Cassian's book that included Mor challenging Nesta's right to be with Cassian, but that was unequivocally NOT the book SJM wanted or needed to write (hopefully my double negative landed correctly here, lol).

So, SJM pivoted, and sent Mor to Vallahan, so SJM could write the story she needed to write. As a writerly choice, I adore everything about it - Nesta didn't need to be fighting with another woman over rights to her mate, she needed women friendships that were pure and gloriously blank slates upon which and with whom to write and tell her and their collective story - so SJM introduced Emerie and Gwyn. SJM even brought in Mor later to teach Nesta the waltzes, and their brief exchange in which Nesta called her Morrigan and Mor invited her to call her Mor, and Nesta accepted the invitation to do so, is another breathtakingly vulnerable moment for Nesta that fills my heart right up. To this end, the promise that Mor will begin to train with the Valkyries in the next book has me so excited.

Now, there are two lines in ACOSF I still want to comment on (then I'll reign in this very long post, lol). First, I agree that Cassian's observation in his pov of how breathtakingly beautiful Mor is at the cafe toward the start of the book can come off romantic coded, though for him at this point I don't think it is. But whether it is or not, we need to remember he and Nesta still have a whole book's worth of stuff to work through with their romantic relationship.

I suspect SJM included that moment in part to set up some stakes for the Nessian arc - that, although Cassian hasn't had sex since he met Nesta, he is still a man who is drawn to admiring a beautiful woman inside and out. If Nesta had already won his exclusive attention in this regard before any of their arc began in that book, what would be the point of the book? (By the end, I do think Cassian only has eyes for Nesta, and it is absolutely because they claim each other - I don't think in the long run he would have been able to settle for less, and nor should he have.)

And, since Nessian aren't in a relationship at that point in the cafe at the beginning of the book, I'm not mad at him for admiring Mor's beauty per say. I think if Nesta invited it then, he would admire hers a lot more, and with a much more deep seated attraction. ACOSF is about them both letting their inner barriers down to allow the other to love them, so that kind of attraction still needs to be earned between them at that point in their story. His observation about Mor's beauty is in a different category entirely from where Cassian eventually lands with Nesta, so there is nothing threatening about it for me.

The other line that feels weird to me most times I read it, is when Mor baldly tells Nesta early in ACOSF that she would have sent Nesta to live in the Court of Nightmares. The only explanation I have for this moment and exchange is that for SJM it was more in service of Nesta's arc, and less about making sense coming from Mor. What I mean here is, at that moment Nesta feels wretched and all things terrible about herself, and it's a feature of that kind of disordered thinking that others around you either seem to echo what you're thinking about yourself, or sometimes do echo it in reality, if through a trauma response you've hurt those around you (*she says from personal experience*), or if through their own trauma response those around you respond in kind (as I think may have been happening with Mor in this scene).

Do I love that Mor says something so cruel to Nesta in that moment early in Nesta's healing journey? No, I do not. Do I see why it helps to heavily charge these early scenes for Nesta as she truly hits rock bottom regarding her feelings about herself? Yes, I do.

Which leads me to how I'll conclude this. I hope SJM intentionally develops Mor's story so she isn't just a device in the story arcs of others. For better or worse, some kind of reckoning between her and Az needs to happen, likely in the next book, for either to truly move on. But I hope Mor gets the attention a character like her deserves in future books.

I am A-OK with her mostly-absence from ACOSF because I don't think she would have been a productive part of Nesta's healing arc, and at the end of the day that is the heart and soul of ACOSF for me - Nesta healing.

The reason ACOSF-Nessian has my whole heart is because, it's so clear to me the ways Cassian supports Nesta's healing and is the catalyst for a lot of her growth into a person who loves herself and sees herself as worthy and deserving of love and happiness.

If he was a bit of a hot mess in the period between first meeting Nesta and getting to finally be with her as accepted mates, I don't begrudge him that.

[palettepainter]

Lips or Floyd for the HC question!

Why not both?

A few spoilers to Muppets Mayhem, the shows been out for a while now and come June/June 10th I’m probably gonna stop putting spoiler warnings in my post buuuut just incase for anyone who hasn’t seen it

////////

Lips:

-So Lips is shown to have a lot of connections in the latest series, so I think it’d be funny to imagine Lips also having dated a bunch of big shot names before he joined the band. Of course all broke up on friendly terms and Lips continues to have very happy catch up chats with his many famous ex’s when they bump into each other (the band are shocked every time) 

-I feel like he’s got a proper dad bod, he’s got a healthy amount of chub and is so body positivity 

-Since he knows so many people in Muppets Mayhem I think it’d be neat if he knew how to speak a few other languages. Once again it shocks the band everytime, but it’s still helpful to have a guy who can speak Mexican when you end up chasing after your drummer whose after a squirrel. Possibly also know about sign language and things like stimming since he might have had to work with kids who where mute and or on the spectrum 

-The best hair routine and care his hair is like touching cloud nine 

-Such a dramatic worry wort always jumping to the worst case scenario, he probably developed this from babysitting kids so much as a manny (kids get themselves into the craziest shenanigans). If someone cuts their finger while chopping veg Lips has got the first aid kit and band aids ready before anyone can so much as stand up from their seats this man is prepared for everything 

-Speaking of which he’s also extremely hard to catch off guard. Working with kids for so many years this man will walk into a living room, see the tv broken, sofa on fire, a wild raccoon scratching the curtains and Animal stuck on the ceiling fan and he’ll just ask if anyone wants a coffee

Floyd:

-Occasionally smokes from time to time, likes to blow the smoke through his nose to show off 

-Him and Piggy are constantly at each other’s throats, no two ways about it. But there’s also a mutual respect that the two can just be themselves around each other. There’s no need to keep up appearances or pretend cuz the two know each other that well to know when the other is putting up a facade. Neither will admit this to the other of course or to anyone else, it’s a silent agreement between them. Enemies dynamic with substance

-Hates hates HATES Piggy’s dog Foofoo sm you have no idea 

(Floyd, glaring, scratched, bitten and looking like he got put through the ringer, holding Foofoo at arms length: God I hope you hurry up and go to doggy hell already 

Foofoo, alive from pure spite: Grrrr…) 

-Basically confirmed in Muppets Mayhem but total dad. He’s a lot better with kids then people believe and is a lot more responsible with them too. Whenever Robin is in the studio and he walks into the same room as him Floyd will always, always, flick away his cigarette or stub it out. He will actively shoot Pepe and Rizzo an unimpressed look if they start talking about something inappropriate and will - and probably has - cover Robin’s ears when Big Mean Carl starts screaming something little ears shouldn’t hear. He actually gets a little offended when people assume he’s not good with kids cuz…come on that’s a child he’s not that irresponsible 

-He rarely gets angry, getting him angry is a chore. Quickest way to get him mad is to insult Animal (that’s his son don’t you bring him into this-). The gloves will come off and he will throw hands, Janice will hold him back until then, in which case she’ll basically go “I’m not for violence, but-“. Not even Piggy uses it as an insult 

[marablakus]

Business Casual for Women: Choose the Right Work Attire

Knowing what business is casual for women may be such a tribulation these days. What you put on to paintings will have a brilliant effect on the manner others see you. It is for that reason that nailing each workplace outfit is of crucial importance.

Business casual dress for women ranges depending on the metropolis, nation, and the office you work for. However, dressing appropriately can make or spoil your profession. If you are among the ones girls who wonder what exactly enterprise informal for girls approach, you’re in the proper vicinity.

In this guide, you’ll research the do’s and don’ts of girls’s business informal apparel. You’ll additionally experience confidently constructing your very own dresser primarily based on the seasons and what flatters your body kind while retaining professionalism. You’ll leave with an arsenal of commercial enterprise casual dresser outfit ideas. Ready to get dressed to electrify and turn a few heads?

Let’s get started!

What’s commercial enterprise casual attire for women

In this bankruptcy, I’ll explain a few girls’s business casual outfits for women dress code fundamentals. I’ll start with the aid of giving you a right definition of business casual for women. I’ll also make clear what’s no longer taken into consideration suitable for girls’s enterprise informal apparel. And then, I’ll share a few useful guidelines.

What’s an informal commercial enterprise for ladies?

Womens casual summer dresses are one way or the other a mixture among business experts and casual wear. So, you should mix elements of formal business women’s attire like a fit skirt or a blazer with more informal garments which includes a pinnacle or leopard print residences. 

Your appearance has to be appropriate and respectable for the office. That’s why finding the proper business informal portions is difficult for lots of girls. It’s better to pick out items in neutral shades, which includes grey, army, black, or beige, due to the fact they’re less complicated to combine and healthy.

There are some primary women’s commercial enterprise casual staples like blazers, fits, shirts, slacks, knee-period skirts, elegant clothes, etc. Deciphering what to put on to work is tough as enterprise informal get dressed codes for girls vary from organization to business enterprise. It relies upon on your daily basis, the town you figure in, and your running surroundings, to call some. 

Even if there’s no general definition, there are some elements that typically work for most businesses. I strongly advise you to be aware of what your colleagues and executives wear. This will give you a concept. If clueless, you could additionally attain the human resources branch for some guidance. 

Most of the time, you’ll be safe mixing one formal commercial enterprise garment with a casual one. Yet, it’s pivotal you be careful for now not displaying your body an excessive amount of. You have to womens short sleeve dress for the workplace, not for a night out in the membership. So, be aware of your clothes duration, neckline, sleeves, and match. Pick garments which are business-appropriate. 

What’s taken into consideration now not workplace-appropriate business casual attire for ladies?

The business informal get dressed code for girls isn’t written in stone. However, there are some aspects you must recall when selecting your business casual outfits for women. First of all, you shouldn’t put on garments like shorts, skorts, yoga pants, leather-based pants or skirts, and tops or dresses with skinny straps.

You must also keep away from each dishevelled and terrific tight garment. You shouldn’t wear garments with sequins either. Showing your bra is totally inappropriate. Crop tops, halters, and strapless tops aren't appropriate for paintings. Besides, you need to avoid carrying turn-flops. 

Well, the whole list is pretty long, as you may consider. These are just some examples of gadgets that aren't adequate for ladies’s enterprise casual attire. Think of any garment you typically put on for placing out with pals, happening on a date, partying; it won’t be appropriate for going to paintings. Remember you want others to recognize you and value you for your work. 

[dumsterrentals]

Free Junk Removal: Too Good to Be True?

These days, it’s clean to be tempted by using offers that appear too accurate to skip up — like loose junk removal. But because the announcing goes, if some thing sounds too precise to be authentic, it possibly is. While the concept of having rid of your unwanted items totally free is enticing, there are several motives why “unfastened junk removal” may not be as fantastic as it seems. Hassle-free trash bin rental los angeles—fast delivery, affordable options, and the right fit for any cleanup project!

Here’s why choosing a professional junk elimination service, despite the fact that it comes at a fee, is regularly the higher desire.

What Is Free Junk Removal?

Free junk removal generally refers to offerings that claim to take your unwanted objects off your arms with out charging you some thing. These offers can sound appealing, specifically while you’re going through the trouble of clearing out old furnishings, home equipment, or family clutter. Not to say, illegal dumping is a sizeable problem that comes with major results.

Some businesses or individuals market it these offerings as a way to help lessen landfill waste with the aid of reusing or recycling objects. However, there’s often extra to the tale than meets the eye.

The Hidden Costs of Free Junk Removal

While free junk removal sounds handy, it can come with hidden expenses and dangers. Here’s why “free” isn’t usually the first-rate deal:

Limited Services

Many loose junk elimination services handiest take delivery of objects that they are able to resell or recycle. This method they will refuse to take broken, broken, or dangerous substances, leaving you with greater work to do. In comparison, a professional, paid service will get rid of all styles of junk, ensuring you’re completely freed from the load.

Unreliable Timing

Free junk elimination is often finished on the agency’s or individual’s schedule, not yours. Since there’s no money concerned, you may turn out to be waiting days or maybe weeks for someone to return by. Paying for junk removal way you’re on top of things of the timeline and may realize what to expect out of your junk removal service.

Unethical Disposal Practices

Not all unfastened junk removal services are reputable. Some may additionally clearly unload your gadgets illegally or inappropriately, which can cause environmental harm and even felony problems for you. Ethical, professional groups like ZTERS make certain your junk is disposed of responsibly, following neighborhood policies and recycling every time feasible. Clean up with ease—roll off dumpster rental los angeles that are fast, affordable, and sized for every project!

No Guarantees

Free junk removal offerings often come with no guarantees or warranties. If some thing goes wrong, like damage to your house or a mess left behind, you can haven't any recourse. Professional services, alternatively, are certified, insured, and held to a better fashionable of duty.

Why Professional Junk Removal Is Worth the Cost

Paying for junk removal ensures you’re running with a reliable, ethical employer. At ZTERS, we pride ourselves on supplying superb carrier that you may trust. Here’s why it’s really worth the investment:

Complete Service: We cast off everything—no choosing and selecting.

Efficient: We paintings around your time table to offer timely removal.

Ethical Disposal: We follow all rules and prioritize environmentally-friendly practices.

Insured and Professional: You get peace of mind knowing that our crew is educated, licensed, and insured.

The Risk of Scams

Unfortunately, the arena of loose junk removal is also ripe with scams. Some organizations may additionally offer to cast off your items at no cost but later hit you with hidden prices or sell off your assets in an unlawful area. Protect yourself from these risks through choosing a reputable carrier that offers transparency in pricing and practices.

Is Free Junk Removal Ever Legitimate?

In some instances, free junk elimination can be a valid service presented by using charities or recycling businesses. However, those services frequently have strict pointers on what they may accept, and they may not offer the whole elimination services that you need. If you’re seeking out a complete solution, a paid service is in all likelihood your exceptional guess.

Conclusion: Invest in Reliable Junk Removal

At the stop of the day, you get what you pay for. While loose junk removal would possibly appear like a good buy, the capacity downsides far outweigh the blessings. When you pick ZTERS, you’re choosing a reliable, ethical service that ensures a problem-free experience. Don’t fall for “too true to be actual” offers — put money into a junk removal service that receives the activity achieved right.

Also Read : Why Dumpster Rentals are a Must-Have for Hollywood Events and Productions

End-of-Summer Garage Cleanout: What to Keep and What to Toss

[tonystarktogo]

(this could’ve been) a villain’s origin story part III

Tony lied.

Which is to say, he didn’t lie because lying would imply that he knows for a fact that what he’s said isn’t true. Which he doesn’t. Just because Tony has Opinions™ on supes doesn’t mean he’s got friends -- or even half-way stable contacts really -- among them.

[You have to understand, supes do not tolerate outsiders any better than unenhanced people tolerate supes. And tolerate is already one of the highest possible achievements. To say that relations between the enhanced and unenhanced segments of society are strained would be a gross understatement.

And who can blame them? Either of them?]

[How dare they?]

So Tony honestly has no clue why supes avoid professional medical attention like criminals on the run no matter their alignment or security labeling. He can guess though. Oh boy can he guess.

[After all, there is no such thing as a naturally enhanced human.]

Long, bleak hallways, empty of life.

Acceptable failure [read: mortality] rates.

‘For the Greater Good.’

[What does it take to make a human? What does it take to improve the design?]

What do you do with a weapon you can’t neutralise once the war is over? 

Tony probably isn’t the first unenhanced to offer his services to the supe community. Certainly isn’t the first activist to fight for their rights, to criticize the status quo, to reach out and offer.

Maybe some of those other people meant well. Maybe some didn’t. Maybe some where accepted, maybe they weren’t. It doesn’t matter. Tony Stark has never been the type to sit and wait for others to find him. He’s never been the type to stop, simply because his efforts aren’t wanted. He’d never have gotten anywhere in life if he did.

So Tony stumbles upon the bloodied, motionless figure of the Winter Soldier -- clearly recognizable by the goggles and the metal arm, even with the blood everywhere and the ruined costume. And he drags him to his store, a small garage that may or may not have five more levels underneath it than any official plans would show. Really, the design would do any supervillain proud.

And Tony is nervousworriedexcited about his first, not-yet-conscious customer, but he isn’t stupid.

[Which is to say JARVIS politely reminds him.]

He doesn’t drag the Winter Soldier into the med section. Because the med section is for Tony’s own accidents that occur more often than the long-suffering JARVIS would like, the old spoilsport, but it’s also bright neon lights and surgically clean surfaces and disinfectant heavy in the air.

The workshop -- messy, messy, messy, oil smoke and fire-extinguishing foam everywhere -- it is.

There Tony sets about ridding the Winter Soldier of his ruined clothes -- hello, abs -- though the goggles stay firmly on once JARVIS’ scan confirms that there’s no serious damage on the guy’s face because Tony can politely respect a secret identity, okay, that’s a boundary if he ever heard one and he can totally respect that, no matter how curious it makes him, shut up JARVIS.

The supe’s wounds aren’t actually that bad, which brings Tony to the slightly uncomfortable realization that most of the blood on the guy isn’t his own. Yuck. Although that makes his job easier -- Tony might have plenty experience with first aid, but he’s really not that kind of doctor -- so Tony puts the matter out of his mind.

After having taken care of the wounds -- the deeper cuts are already knitting themselves together, so Tony doesn’t bother stitching those, just plasters his collection of Teletubby band-aids all over them and calls it a job well-done -- and covering the guy with a blanket -- though JARVIS reminds him to also leave sweatpants and a shirt within easy reach, just in case this guy isn’t running on the super-hot side of the temperature scale [there’s no question about his rating on the hot-ness scale, 10s all the way] or is shy or something, not that Tony really grasps the concept of shyness -- Tony focuses on the important thing.

Namely the metal arm.

Which is the coolest thing Tony has ever seen and his fingers are already twitching to reach out and make it better.

Now, Tony isn’t good with boundaries. He really, really isn’t, just ask JARVIS. 

[Asking Tony will get you nothing, safe perhaps for an incomprehensive stare and a “Of course I’m not stalking you, I was just curious and look, I got you a new TV and a better internet connection because that thing was a travesty and your landlord should be fired, now there’s an idea, hang on for a sec--” because he honestly doesn’t get it. People are so confusing and needlessly complicated sometimes.]

But even Tony gets that working on some guy’s arm while he’s unconscious and injured might be taking things a step too far. If only because JARVIS made him read all those articles on medical consent and patient confidentiality. Though that was, admittedly, for a very different reason.

[Tony doesn’t wonder whether the Winter Soldier lost his arm in an accident or whether it was decided that a literal inbuilt firearm would be more convenient. He doesn’t wonder whether anyone even asked the guy-- Nope, totally not going there.

He already knows the answer anyway.]

There’s no harm in taking a look at JARVIS’ scans while he makes himself a hot chocolate and waits for the guy to wake up though. The thought of a hot chocolate makes Tony wonder if his customer would appreciate one... if he has the grip precision to hold a cup with his metal hand without breaking it... if the sensors can be fine-tuned... if there could be heating pads inserted in his palm to warm a cup via hand... or burn an enemy... or--

Somehow that hot chocolate never does get made.

Instead, half an hour later, when JARVIS flashes code RED for the first time since Tony implemented his new and improved warning system, Tony is neck-deep in the design of a portable heating system strong enough to melt through an average safe door.

It’s more surprise than fear at seeing code RED in action that has Tony ducking, narrowly avoiding a metal wrench to the head, and grabbing the first two things he can get his hands on to defend himself.

Which ends up being an eraser and a open pack of marshmallows that were supposed to go into his never made hot chocolate. Wonderful.

Tony hesitantly stares up at the Winter Soldier in all his half-naked, very much armed glory -- where the fuck did he hide that knife?!? -- carefully edging away to put a table between himself and the possibly confused supe. JARVIS doesn’t say a word, but Tony doesn’t have to glance at the flashing screen to know his overprotective AI wants him to enact Protocol SKYNET For The Win. Which-- Tony never would meet any interesting people if he let JARVIS bully him into activating his idea of appropriate protection every time he encountered a tiny set-back.

So.

“Want some marshmallows?”

*

This ‘verse is not getting out of control, whatever gave you that idea?

[espinosaurusrexex]

Ok can I request a one shot please?? I saw this post of text messages and I can’t stop thinking about it being a conversation between Bucky and reader. You can pick who’s who in the convo, although I like the idea of Bucky being the blue bubble 🫠

New Slang

a/n: Okay, so I had this sitting in my asks for a while, and that was because I had such a hard time figuring out what the dynamic between the two should be. I tried to compare it to similar dynamics in the MCU and I feel like Bucky is definitely in there somewhere (especially the blue would be such a Bucky response in this situation). Also, I’ve never really written such a bold reader, but it was so freaking fun getting to explore her. So please enjoy my take on this really cool ask. Thank you so much @rolcea, I had a lot of fun with this one!

Word count: 3.4k

warnings: some cursing, some inappropriate touching, and some very confusing feelings

↑ This! This right here is the face he would make in the very moment you're gonna read about now.

“What happened?” Bucky asked as he passed by the medical quarters, coming to a stop when he saw Y/N hunched over the first aid drawer.

“Oh, nothing. Just a small cut,” she mumbled. The bloody towel on her hand told him otherwise, though. And as she retrieved the needle from the kit, he stepped into the room.

“Doesn’t look like nothing.” He nodded towards the stained cloth as he crossed his arms in front of his chest. There were more blood stains on her shirt as well - he hadn’t seen those from the doorway.

Y/N just shrugged and continued (or rather attempted) to stitch up her Hand with the other trembling one. She had cut her dominant hand, so naturally, the other struggled to fulfill its task. But he decided to watch her toil a little longer. Who knows, maybe she’d even ask for his help. 

Well, obviously that didn’t happen, because Y/N could be just as stubborn as him when it came to seeking assistance. And that, for one, was something he could understand. Not like other things...

“Wow look, that’s America’s Ass right there!” It echoed through the halls of the compound as Y/N walked past Steve in the kitchen of the Avengers accommodation. Steve shot up at that remark, turning around to catch the last bit of Y/N disappearing in the door frame. When his eyes wandered to Bucky sitting at the kitchen isle with a cup of black coffee, the concoction of shock and confusion was written all over his face. 

The two old-timers had shared this look on a daily basis. An exchange of horror and confusion and total astonishment for this modern way of communication. And while Steve had a stronger urge to stay true to his values, Bucky slowly found amusement in the situations they were exposed to constantly. He dipped his head down to hide the smile creeping onto his face and shook it slowly. 

“I will never get used to this.” Steve ran his hand through his hair before he resumed unloading the dishwasher. 

Bucky stayed silent. He had the coffee mug in both his hands and watched the reflection of his smile in the dark substance. There was something funny in this situation, and despite the horrible things he had endured in his life, moments like these seemed - as silly as they were - like a tiny escape from his real-life problems.

There was a difference, though: This was real life, too. The new real life, he couldn’t change. A society he had to fit into because it was where he was stuck now. Sure, there were a bunch of helpful things now. The internet - very helpful, mobile phones - also very practical, but weird slang - kind of offensive and definitely not helpful in any way. It just added to the confusion all these new impressions brought to the Super Soldiers.

So in order to not have to deal with yet another aggravation, Bucky had decided to just be entertained by it. And it worked most of the time - whenever those remarks were made to other people, but he still found himself startled when they were directed at him.

After a while, when Bucky had decided she’d struggled enough, he reached out to her with sympathy. 

“Let me help you,” he said steadily. And even though a deep sigh escaped Y/N’s chest at his approach, she handed the needle and tweezers over to him, defeated.

Bucky got to work, concentrating on the task at hand, but savoring the moment at the same time. Because despite the rather unfortunate situation, he enjoyed the times without arguing and witty remarks. Though those little altercations were a habit within the whole team, Bucky acknowledged the days they weren’t as concentrated. He didn’t wish them away. They were part of his relationship with Y/N and Sam, and he knew that they were not meant to harm him in any way. But every now and then Bucky struggled with the way they affected him.

“What was that for?” Bucky scolded Sam who had just whacked him over the head with a newspaper. But his friend just stood there shrugging his shoulders and enjoying the frustration building up in Bucky.

Bucky’s eyes narrowed in response. It hadn’t been a great day for the Super Soldier to begin with, as he was woken up from the rarity of sleep by a loud stereo that blasted ‘The newest album from Harry THE ICON Styles’ - he had learned that after he had made the mistake of investigating for the disturbance. So instead of falling back to bed and trying to rest for another hour, he had to sit through the entire Album plus the added information about various ‘fan theories’ as to what these songs could be talking about. Then he had made the second mistake. He had asked who this Harry guy was and that had led to another thirty minutes of lecture about a ‘boyband’ - That was new, too. They didn’t have those in the 40s. - that had split and all the drama that came along with it. But - really - all he took from this, was that Bucky couldn’t grasp why people were so invested in strangers’ private lives and that he didn’t really understand the part with the podcast scandal either.

So the morning had been even more exhausting than normal and getting slapped for no reason just added to the attitude brooding under the surface.

But Bucky decided to let it go. It was only 1pm, so a lot more day to go and if he would let his anger loose now, the rest of the day would be governed by it. He resumed the thing he was doing before the incident, but before he could even turn back around, a familiar voice quipped up.

“Don’t act like you don’t like getting spanked. We all have our kinks, Bucky, it’s nothing to get embarrassed by.” Y/N strode past him to retrieve another cup of coffee, a knowing smirk on her lips as she waited for his reaction.

That was it. That was what had caused the fire because now Bucky just didn’t give a shit anymore. “Y/N, my God. Can you be serious for one second?” It really was enough that he had to deal with the ever so slight remarks about his age and the old school ways he pursued in his daily life, but those were things he could brush off. He was old - so what? It was an entirely different thing, however, when these remarks made him uncomfortable. And since he had yet to cope with the modern openness about various topics, remarks like these usually made him shut up. Right now, though, their aggravation mixed with the tiredness and the struggle to keep his heartbeat steady.

Bucky glared at her, trying to convey how serious he was about challenging his patience today, but Y/N seemed unbothered. 

“Oh.” Her eyes darkened with mischief and her eyebrows raised in a daring matter. “Yes, Daddy.” She pulled her lips between her lips in amusement but Bucky just growled.

“Oh for fuck’s sake!” His arms bulged as his fists clenched by his sides in anger.

“Hey, Language!” This was the last straw. He didn’t like acting out like this, but something snapped that morning.

“Steve, I swear to God.” Bucky pointed at his friend with a warning and Sam couldn’t contain his laughter anymore. “And you-” he stopped himself, his head twitching as his lips pressed into a thin line.

Without another word, he sped past his incredibly aggravating coworkers and disappeared into his room for the rest of the day.

Bucky lifted his head to check how Y/N was doing, but she upheld a stoic demeanor. She watched him as he carefully placed the few stitches in the palm of her hand. Sometimes her fingers twitched, though. She couldn’t hide that from him. Other than that, however, Bucky couldn’t tell what she was feeling.

He could never really read her. That was another thing he didn’t understand. There was just something turning differently in that head of hers, and it drove him nuts not to be able to pin it. Bruce always said, ‘It’s just another generation.’ But that didn’t add up. Because Bruce, who wasn't Bucky's generation either, didn’t behave like that; and Peter, well, he was just annoying. So what was wrong with her?

It wasn’t rare that Y/N's unpredictability had gotten Bucky in situations, in which he had quite literally no control over anything. That wasn’t particularly new. But sometimes... well, sometimes she found new ways to shock him into the new century he was in. Like the day Bucky had walked in on Y/N and Sam having a stimulating discussion over some gossip press article. He hadn’t been sure what it was about and really, all Bucky had come into the common room for was a glass of water, but all of a sudden he had found himself attacked by the most horrible scenario he could have ever imagined:

“No, like why should that be a problem? Bucky touched my ass the other day. It’s no biggie.” Sam said out of the blue and Bucky froze in his movements. He turned away slowly, trying to escape this situation without being noticed. But his attempts were in vain as Y/N had already spotted him and jumped up. She took his hand and lead him to the sofa where he sent a desperate look Sam’s way. It was supposed to say “Please don’t let me get dragged into this,” but apparently, Sam was determined to ignore his silent cry for help today. What a dick.

Before he knew it, Y/N had both his hands in hers, facing Sam and guiding them to her breasts. HER BREASTS. HE WAS TOUCHING BOOBS. COWORKER BOOBS. OH MY GOD. This was horrible. Bucky was sure there was nothing worse than this very situation. It was beyond inappropriate and uncomfortable. But the worst part was, that everyone else acted as though it was totally fine. He felt alone with his values and that made the whole situation a hundred times worse. He didn't know where to look and he didn’t know what to do with his fingers. So he decided on no eye contact with anyone and definitely no movements in his hands. One slip of a finger and this could go reeeeally wrong. 

“You see this Sam? This is touching. And this.” She turned around and walked past him, but when she squeezed by him, her palm grazed his butt cheek. Wowwowwow this was so uncomfortable. But despite his head feeling like exploding from embarrassment, Bucky couldn’t move. It was as though he was scared of Y/N at this moment. She was so unpredictable, god knows what would happen if he were to resist. “This is also touching but it’s worse because it’s disguised as an accident when you know damn well it was intentional. That’s coward touching.”

Sam had his elbows resting on his knees, his chin resting on his hands. It looked like he was taking mental notes of this very situation and Bucky just stood there, feeling exposed and vulnerable as his eyes wildly switched from one end of the room to the other. Just no eye contact with anyone was the take he focused on.

“So you’re saying Justin Bieber assaulted a woman because he squeezed by her in a crowded club?” 

“Exactly. He could have at least owned up to it.” She flopped down next to Sam on the sofa again, her arms crossed in front of her chest and a content smirk on her face.

Bucky just stood in front of them, nervously shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He didn’t know what to do but he knew that he needed to get away from these crazy people. The problem, however, was that he was still scared to move. It was as if Y/N had a weird power over him, especially after what she had just done so shamelessly.

“Can I go?” He asked almost timidly but eager to escape.

“Yes, thank you for helping me prove my point.”

He had just nodded and then he had sprinted out of there, the water long forgotten as his mind had been occupied by a wave of aftermath panic.

“You know, you’re pretty cute when you’re nice.” Her Statement came out of the blue and ripped him right off his memories, but Bucky decided not to interpret too much into it.

Seemingly ignoring the sudden compliment, Bucky mumbled his next words mindlessly: “What am I when I’m not nice?” 

He threaded the last stitch while waiting for the answer to his question - embracing a casual conversation. What he was about to hear, however, was definitely not the expected reply.

“Hot as fuck.” His head shot up, the movement so sudden that the needle in his hand accidentally poked his skin. He suppressed the hiss in his throat as his eyes were concentrated on her. Y/N’s expression remained unaltered. As if she had said a normal thing just now. But then again, this was normal now - for her at least - he had to remind himself of that. 

Y/N just stared back at him with a total seriousness in her eyes. And Bucky couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something hidden beneath her stare. Was she being serious? Or was this just another of her snarky antics? It was frustrating not to be able to tell the difference. This was just something so Y/N that it was impossible to distinguish.

He must have been staring at her for some time because all of a sudden, Y/N hopped off the exam table, picked up the towel with her healthy hand, and shot a casual ‘Don’t worry about it, Bucky.’ at him. Then she disappeared out of the room, leaving a startled Super Soldier behind. He stared at the doorway for a while longer, remaining frozen in his stance, with the needle still wedged between his fingertips and the tweezers in his other hand. 

For the fraction of a moment, he had thought to have cracked through her shell, but in reality, he had just scratched the surface. Bucky liked the soft Y/N better. The calm and serious Y/N. The one he could have a conversation with without fearing a sarcastic attack. And maybe that had shone through for a tiny amount of time whenever situations were serious - like this one - but then she had closed that crack in her shell and Bucky was as clueless as before. 

It took a couple more breaths to collect himself, before he disposed of the items in his hand and left the room as well, still with the ever so slight nudge of confusion clinging onto his mind. And just like every other time, it didn’t let go for the remainder of the day. 

It was late at night now: one, maybe two in the morning - Bucky didn’t know. And he didn’t really care either. He’d much rather get that stupid thought out of his head that led him to toss in his sheets. Normally, after an incident like that, Bucky would get to bed when he was tired, hoping that sleep would finally take over his confused brain and erase the doubts and uncertainty from his body overnight. He just needed to get to the sleeping part, and that proved to be particularly difficult tonight. 

What was so different? He’d gotten into many situations with Y/N he didn’t know what to make off of. Maybe it was the fact that none of them had ever suggested her liking in him - none of them had ever been a direct approach to a topic Bucky hadn’t considered in decades: dating, love, interest in anything other than work and getting by.

Bucky threw off the covers - they were way too hot anyway - staring at the moonlit ceiling and taking a deep breath. He decided to get up. He knew that he would not be able to sleep anymore, there was just too much on his mind.

So about five minutes later, he was on his way to the gym. Maybe a late-night training session would finally tire him out.

With that in mind, Bucky went straight for the punching bag and immediately started hitting it. He went on relentlessly for what felt like hours. Hit after hit landing the bag and drawing sand from the slowly ripping seams. His breaths rhythmically pushed out with every impact of his fists. 

The weird comment, however, never left his mind. 

A right hook. Maybe it was because she had said it so seriously.

Another hit. No, she'd done that before.

A right hook again. Maybe it was the way she had looked at him.

Another. No way, she had looked at him like that a hundred times before.

And another one, this time with the left, pulling the bag off the carabiner and slamming it into the wall. Or maybe it was the fact that her comment had stirred something within him. Something, he hadn’t felt in a long time.

“Guess I’m not the only one restless tonight.” Steve strolled into the gym, casually wrapping up his wrists. 

“Why are you up?” Bucky wiped the sweat from his brow, walking to the bench to retrieve his water bottle and eyeing his friend.

“Too hot in my room.” He grabbed another bag and hung it on the ceiling. “What about you?”

“Too much to think about...” His voice trailed off, his eyes trained on the floor. 

Steve didn’t ask further, he just nodded and proceeded with his task. He knew that Bucky would talk if he wanted to. And normally, that would be an attribute he appreciated, but right now, Bucky really wished for a nudge. Because he wanted to talk. He wanted to tell Steve all about what was going on in his head, he just needed a little encouragement. 

“You okay, Buck?” Steve asked after some silence and lack of movement on Bucky’s part.

The brunette watched his feet for a couple more breaths and then he lifted his head and looked his friend directly in the eyes. “What does it mean when someone tells you you’re hot when you are mean?”

“What?” Bucky didn’t answer. And apparently, he didn’t need to, because about two seconds later, Steve added scoldingly: “Did Y/N say that?”

Bucky was still mute. His gaze now focused on the mirrored wall behind his friend, desperately trying to avoid his own eyes.

“I thought you wanted to ignore what she’s saying.” Steve stepped further, reaching for his water bottle and unscrewing the cap. 

If only it were that easy. “That’s the problem, Steve. I can’t ignore it anymore.”

There was something different in the interaction he had with Y/N that day. Something had felt altered, and he refused to believe that he was just misinterpreting things. Y/N had meant what she had said, he was so sure of that. But the really confusing part was, that Bucky didn’t mind that much this time.

“And why’s that?” Steve looked genuinely invested by now. He had his hands resting on his hips, watching as his friend paced from one side to the other.

“Because...” Bucky trailed off. Yeah, why was that? That was the whole point of this late-night training session. Bucky didn’t know, and the past hour of incessant punching hadn’t brought any more closure. Who would have thought? He’d actually need to think about his feelings in order to understand them.

There had been this weird thing in his stomach when Y/N had said ‘the thing’. He couldn’t quite place it back then, but right now - thinking about it - it came really close to butterflies. No, could it be? Bucky didn’t get butterflies. He hadn’t felt them in a long time - he wasn’t even sure he still knew what they felt like. 

Bucky remembered, however, he’d gotten them back in the 40s, when his dates would touch his chest while dancing, or when the girls applied those pretty red lipsticks in the tiny pocket mirrors. But after everything he’d been through, he didn’t think things like that would ever happen to him again.

The earlier incident showed him otherwise, though. It was like a little hint that suggested: Maybe he wasn’t as corrupt as he thought, after all. And somehow the possibility of that brought a smile to his face. 

Bucky looked up at Steve, his eyes wide, but his voice still conveyed a certain calmness - acceptance even. “I think I like her.”

[ask-aphdeutschland]

As a Hetalian, it is possible to be both respectful and informed on this situation.

The original post (not the one I am reblogging; the picture attached, don't be mean to the person I am reblogging this from) is neither of those two things.

There is a very prevalent issue with antisemitism not only within Hetalia as a fandom and community, but also the world at the moment, and yes. There are people using what is currently happening in Gaza and also in the West Bank and also in Lebanon to justify their antisemitism. This isn't even remotely acceptable, so understand that first and foremost. This is not a "Jewish" problem. Zionism is the cause of this violence. Not Judaism. And it is horribly inappropriate to conflate the two of those things, and project hatred of one onto the other. Zionists may claim to be Jewish, but they do not uphold Jewish beliefs, and there have been countless instances of orthodox Rabbis begging for a ceasefire, actively protesting, praying with other Jews and with Muslims alike and literally trying to remind people that this is not done in their name. This is not their will. Jewish protesters have been actively fighting what is happening for years, because this has been an ongoing issue for years. Decades.

More than Jews live in Israel. More than Muslims are Arabs. And to those who want to use blanket statements, stay out of discussion. Because ignorance is only adding to further harm to both the Jewish communities and also to Arabs and Muslims, as well as those currently trying to not be murdered in Gaza.

No one who is decent is calling for Israelis to be murdered. No one who is a decent person is saying that Israelis cannot exist, that they should not be allowed to live. Because that is absolutely not the case, and not the sentiment held by Palestinians. If that were true, Israel would not exist, because the people who first came there back in the 40's would have been ousted immediately. They weren't. They were welcomed, even if somewhat hesitantly. And since that time, since al-Nakba, the only thing that has happened is the Israeli government pushing and corralling the Palestinians into smaller and smaller land, taking away their ability to collect water by forbidding them to collect rainwater, by destroying their wells, and controlling the input and output of everything in Gaza, especially. Gaza is under an air, land, and sea blockade. They do not get aid in anywhere near as much as they need, and especially not since the 7th of October.

They are still actively being bombed. They are still actively being shot. They are still actively being starved, to the point that dozens of reports of children under the age of 9 dying of starvation and malnutrition are beginning to flood in.

They are still trying to collect food when it is barely brought in, expired, and oftentimes partially unusable. They still have to collect aid that's dropped when packages either kill people upon landing, or are used as a point to target and shoot those going to collect it. They have no choice. Palestinians, not Israelis, are the ones being actively told by those who support Israel and by some Israelis, as well, that they cannot exist. That they should die. That they are glad, and hope to see the purging of Gaza, its total destruction, for the land to be "made clean" and made into a fucking Starbucks, as a way to mock those who are begging for protest so that some impact is seen. So that their murders are not ignored, as they have been for the last 76 years.

Palestinians are being silenced. People supporting Palestinians are being silenced. By those who use the genocide against Palestinians as a way to validate their antisemitic behavior, by those who straight up refuse to believe that such mass murder could be committed because Israel is the "good guys", by those who are celebrating their deaths and hoping for the total eradication of Palestinians, and with them, Palestine.

Israel is not the victim in this situation. Israelis who refuse to serve in the IOF have been arrested by their own government for refusing to commit murder. Israeli Jews who protest are beaten by the IOF, there is plenty of footage of it.

So do not use what is being done to the Palestinians as justification for being antisemitic. But do not allow people to wash over this with the typical islamophobic mindset that especially those of us Americans have been raised with. Not all Palestinians are Muslim. Not all Israelis are Jews. And neither deserves to be killed for simply being alive.

Israel should not exist as it currently does. Point, blank, period. It is a settler colonial state that the United States and United Kingdom have directly funded and helped create via the forced mass exodus of Palestinians and also their systematic ethnic cleansing and now genocide. But that does not mean that those who wish for the land to return to being called Palestine want Israelis harmed. That's not the case at all. It just means that people will have to start calling the land what it has been since before 1948, and should still rightfully be called;

Palestine.

Those who were born there should be still allowed to live there, and I believe most Palestinians would agree with that sentiment. Those who want the death and eradication of Palestinians should be forced to move back to wherever they or their families came from, which--btw, most Israelis are either Americans who decided to move there, or of European descent. If they won't cohabitate with Palestinians, and want them dead? They should not be living there. They should not be allowed to live on stolen land while actively wishing for the harm and deaths of those it has been stolen from.

But ultimately, Hetalians, you should understand this:

Arabs are people. Muslims are people. Jews are people. Christians are people. Israelis are people. Palestinians are people.

And you should not call for the eradication of any sort of people. Even if you disagree with them. The only people in this instance who deserve death are those who are currently enacting and leading it. And I will not elaborate on names for the sake of not losing this account, but I hope it should be obvious what is meant.

Because these are the latest updated numbers out of Gaza and the West Bank as far as total deaths and injuries.

There are still over 8,000 people missing, most who are by now rightfully assumed to be dead, as painful as that is to say. And this kind of death toll out of 6 months, just civilians, alone, is not proof that Israel is trying to minimize casualties. These numbers do not tell a tale of Israel being the one being attacked.

It is Palestinians who are being murdered daily. And using this time to center Israel as the victim is grotesquely inappropriate. Yes, antisemitism is rampant. Yes, it is actively getting worse because of what is going on. Yes, it is inexcusable, and should be stopped. There is no reason to blame Jewish folks for this, just as there is no reason to blame all Arabs or all Muslims for the deeds of the few who are being hateful.

But the genocide needs to stop. The guilt-tripping by claiming anyone who stands with Palestine is equivalent to Nazis or is antisemitic needs to stop. Because it is not Palestine that has made Gaza into an actively carpet-bombed concentration camp. The Israeli government and military are squarely the ones who have done that. Their government and military's actions are most closely resembling the Nazis. Not the people who are protesting and begging day in and out for a ceasefire, for the thousands of murders to stop. For the deliberate starvation to stop. For the bombing of hospitals and schools to stop. For the people needing medical aid and supplies to get what they so desperately need.

Israelis are not Nazis, to be clear. That is not what I am saying. But the Israeli government? The IOF? I can't honestly say that they are not as bad as the Nazis, when they are actively enacting a genocide against the people they have been abusing and killing and keeping prisoner for decades now. And the Israelis hoping that this continues? The Israelis actively mocking the Palestinians being murdered? They're equally as evil and horribly ugly inside, and I hope they change their fucking ways.

Americans, stop listening to whining and guilt tripping propaganda from pro-Israel accounts who cannot provide actual reports of what they are alleging.

Because here is the death toll out of Israel. And it has not changed much since its revision by the Israeli officials themselves. Because it is not Israelis who are being murdered at present. It is not Israelis undergoing collective punishment and war crimes at the hands of their captors and occupiers.

That would be what is happening to the Palestinians. There are countless hours of footage proving that, much of it coming from the journalists who have been routinely targeted and some killed by the IOF. Because at least 97 journalists out of Palestine have been killed since this resurfaced in the public eye in October, last year.

For you Hetalians, if you didn't know: only 69 journalists were killed during the entirety of WWII. Sixty-nine. Over six years. And Israel has managed to kill 97 over the last six months.

They are deliberately trying to choke out all information from all media platforms by killing journalists, while actively having killed at least 33,800 civilians over the span of the last 6 months.

Hetalia is supposed to be a community that loves history. That learns from history. That loves the world and seeing how diverse it is, how much it's changed over time. You should all know better, and be better informed, and have a more active interest in breaking down ignorance taught to us via school/education systems, families, what have you.

The entire point of this community is to reach out and learn. And the joy of this community comes from getting to meet people around the world who want to share and learn history as much as we all do.

So use this time to educate yourselves. Don't be antisemitic. Don't be islamophobic. It's 2024 for fuck's sake. Grow up. Hate for the sake of hate is wrong. Hating others for matters they cannot help--being Jewish, being Muslim, being Arab, being POC, what have you--has no place in 2024. And neither does supporting or ignoring genocide.

So, from the bottom of my heart: Free Palestine. Free Sudan. Free the Congo. Free Yemen. And do not give in to those begging you to turn a blind eye to unlawful imprisonment, ethnic cleansing, and genocide. Don't use this violence to excuse or incite further violence, be it islamophobia or antisemitism. They are both equally wrong.

Children are being killed by Isr*el but ok. There's video evidence everywhere but ok.

Also Palestinian jews exist too, and actual H*locaust survivors are protesting what Isr*el is doing to the Palestinians.

Didn't know saying "Killing innocent civilians, especially children, is horrible and there should be permanent ceasefire" was so controversial but ok.

[michelle-is-writing]

Family Matters, Greg House

Word count: 1.7k~

In the time I’ve worked at Princeton-Plainsboro teaching hospital, some might say I'm the bubbly doctor in our group. Although I don’t know how true this might be, I do know everyone can agree I'm definitely more bubbly than doctor Gregory House, but that's for another day to discuss. I'm usually the one people send in to try and cheer up patients. Because of this, I mostly work in the pediatrics ward where young, sick children are. Sometimes, I have an easy time talking to the kids and making them happier, and sometimes, I don't; usually, when I'm upset, I have a hard time.

Right now, I'm having a very difficult time.

A young New Jersey girl at the age of 11 had developed mastoiditis, an infection that affects the mastoid bone above the ear and is typically caused by a middle ear infection. Usually, this all clears up, but sadly, this infection had grown to be so bad that the girl ended up with only twenty-three percent of her hearing left in the one ear. Although this is the case, I'm not having a hard time because of the girl's loss of hearing, no.

I have my own problems at the moment.

Since I'm working in the children's ward, I don't get to see Wilson or Greg as much as I want to. Despite Greg's tendency to be an asshole, he's still my best friend and not to mention that Wilson is the kind of guy anyone can talk to about anything. However, our schedules are all different, so, as I said: we don't get to see each other that often.

At least they're still in my life though. For my family, I can’t say the same. Recently, I've just lost the closest person to me in my family; although it wasn’t through death, but through immaturity and childishness. Because of this, all of my other family members have closed me out as well, causing me to be alone. With all of my friends busy and my family shutting me out, I have no one to talk to or enjoy time with... no one. I can't even get a boyfriend for Christ's sake, and it's not like the guy I have my eyes on actually likes me back. Greg is the type of guy you can easily fall in love with, yet at the same, you really shouldn't.

"Doctor (y/n)," the young girl by the name of Jessie states. Putting all my focus back on her, I remind myself not become distracted anymore today. This isn’t the first time, unfortunately. "Will my hearing ever return?"

I smile sadly at her and shake my head. "I'm sorry, Jessie," I tell her. "Your hearing in that ear won't return, but it's not a bad thing!" I assure her. She smiles in relief. "We can always get you a hearing aid, and that will help get your hearing back to normal again, but the wait might be a little long," I explain. "Is that okay with you?"

She nods her head at my question. "I'm okay with that, doctor (Y/n)," Jessie tells me, "I'll have my family help me until then," she smiles brightly. "You can always look up to your family, right?" She states, confident in her words.

Tears slowly rising to my eyes at the thought, I nod and quickly blink them away. "That's right," I tell her, still smiling. "And don't you ever forget it," looking toward her parents, I nod my head. "The discharge nurse will be here in a few moments with the papers. If you'll excuse me..."

Without another word, I quickly leave the room and walk as fast as I can to the nearest empty room. I prefer going to James’ office instead, but it's two floors away, and I don't want any awkward elevator trips. So, before I have a mental breakdown in the middle of the hallway, I find an unlocked janitorial closet before walking in and closing the door behind me, ultimately sliding down the hardwood door once it's shut.

Sitting on the cold, tile floor, I begin sobbing as quiet as I can, my hand covering my mouth. I already had my family drama on my mind all day, but for that girl to unintentionally throw it back in my face? That was the frosting on top of the already leaning, three-layer cake.

Tears stream down my cheeks like raindrops as I cry my heart out. I can tell my cheeks are red by the sensation of heat I currently feel on them; my hands feel it too. I'm crying so hard my chest begins to heave up and down as if I were having a panic attack. Oh God, I can't have a panic attack. Not here, not now.

Behind me, I feel two knocks on the door, causing me to halt. The only problem is: the knock wasn't above me, it was where my back is against the door. Remind you, I'm currently sitting on the floor. The only way someone can knock that low is if there is a midget behind the door there or someone used something like a cane... it's Greg.

Slowly moving up a little, I shakily open the door and let the grey haired man in, watching as he looks at me with pity. I've never seen the confident doctor House look like this with anyone. It's like a... a totally different Greg.

Sitting down beside me against the door, Greg drops his cane beside him as he sighs and wraps his arm around me before gently tugging my body close to his. Shocked, I tense up, tears no longer pouring out of my eyes. Greg never comforts anyone like this. He always makes fun of them or says something that many people take offense to, but he never... he never cares. He always brushes it off his shoulder, yet for some reason, he seems like he actually cares this time.

"What's wrong?" He asks, his voice deep as usual with no emotion.

I wait a few seconds before lying. "Nothing important," I tell him, my voice wavering from my scattered emotions.

Pulling me back to face him, Greg looks me in the eye before sighing again. "I know you've been crying by the wet tears on your cheeks, slight puffiness, and redness to your eyes, and fast-paced breathing - and I don’t even have to be a doctor to notice that," he breaks down my current state, lifting an eyebrow. "Now, are you going to begrudgingly tell me what's wrong or do I need to stay in here with you until you finally give in to all my unrelenting sexiness."

His comment makes me laugh, causing a grimace of a smile to fall on House's lips. Out of all of us, I've been the only one to do that. I've been the only one to break Greg's stone exterior and interior. Plus, It doesn't help that I like Greg romantically. I like the fact that he's confident and witty; he's not afraid to be himself. Although, he can still be quite an ass to others, but to me, he’s always been nothing but kind. Even when I first started working here, he was still patient and sweet - a rare sight to everyone else. It used to hurt me to think he’ll never feel the same way as me, but I’ve gotten so used to that fact that it doesn’t even bother me anymore.

"It's just... my family," I explain, Greg pushing my head back onto his shoulder as he holds me. At this point, I'm not shocked by anything he does. The infamous doctor could be high for all I know. He probably took a few Vicodin tablets before coming down here now that I think of it.

"They've completely... shut me out," I explain, shrugging as I rest my hand on his shoulder. "They never talk to me anymore, they've blocked me in any way of even trying to talk to them. My cousin just sent me an email last night telling me that I didn't need to contact them anymore as they no longer wanted me in their lives," I close my eyes, tears rolling down my cheeks. "Plus, I wish I could work with you guys again," I take a breath before saying the next thing. "I miss you."

A few seconds of silence pass before Greg leans down to my face level. Opening my eyes, I'm greeted by his own sapphire orbs, watching as he continually inches forward until his lips plant themselves on mine. Our eyes close at the same time in response to the touch of our lips, and they stay that way too. With my heart beating fast and a different fire in my cheeks, I instantly respond to his kiss while placing my hands on the sides of his face, feeling his hands attach themselves to my hips as I do so. We kiss until we have to breathe, both of us pulling apart simultaneously.

"They don't deserve you," Greg tells me, a little out of breath. "You are wonderful; a decent and kind human being, inside and out," he takes a small pause, flashing his blue eyes down to mine. "I never thought I’d say this, but… because of you, I think maybe not everyone is a horrible person and that maybe I can be a bit nicer a time or two," he then smiles at me, kissing me once more. "You have made me feel love believe it or not."

Smiling, I lean up to kiss his forehead before sitting back down and resting my head against his chest, my eyes cast upon him as he looks down at me. "You've also made me feel love," I confess to him, my voice shy. "I've grown to love you as well. You and your sarcastic comments and witty comebacks and your insults to apparent stupid people," for once, he laughs, making me grin. "I can't help but love it all."

After a few moments, Greg speaks up. "I know I can't be your entire family," he murmurs, holding me close. "But I can try to be your... your..." He draws on, clearly trying to come up with an appointed title for himself. After a few seconds, I giggle and cut him off.

"Boyfriend?" I ask, making him roll his eyes.

"I was going to say significant other," he argues, looking over to me. "The term boyfriend is so, well, childish," he complains, making me giggle.

Leaning closer, I peck his lips. "Good thing you have a childish mind," I tease him, pressing my lips to his one more time before he responds to my comment with something horrible or completely inappropriate. It is Doctor House we’re talking about, after all.

[innerstar-u]

why does everyone continue to buy AG when they have shown nothing that supports LGBT? in fact if anything they do the opposite, they represent all homophobic time periods, they have dolls that are against LGBT marriages in their faiths, and if they introduce a muslim doll they too don't accept LGBT. just wondering why everyone cries in this community so much for change they refuse to bring? like I seriously doubt we'll have LGBT character..ever...

You make a lot of assumptions in this ask, which makes me think this is rage bait. If this isn't, my apologies for my own assumption and I hope this post helps you use language around certain social topics better. I'm going to answer this regardless because I think that, even if it's not asked with the best of intentions, the answer may still be helpful to others.

Note: I am using the acronym LGBTQ+ in place of a more blanket umbrella word like "queer" because I know it makes some people in the community uncomfortable, even when used in a way that reclaims it. LGBT are not the only letters represented here, identifying as queer for oneself is totally valid, and that + does matter and is included in this discussion.

First up, there is no such thing as a "homophobic time period". There have always been LGBTQ+ people in history, and there have always been people who were not part of the community who have accepted us. It may not have been so publicly talked about in a given era, and it may have been more socially acceptable to more people to shame or even harm members of the LGBTQ+ community, but the community has always persisted. I recommend Jessica Kellgren-Fozard’s videos on LGBTQ+ history for more info on the topic.  

Your wording is a little funky when you say "all homophobic time periods." I'm not sure if you mean they represent all of the homophobic time periods that exist or if you mean that all the time periods they represent should be labelled as homophobic. Both readings of this are incorrect. See the above paragraph, plus remember that Stonewall and what many today might think of as the beginning of the LGBTQ+ rights movement was in 1969. Julie and Courtney’s stories come later in time. Julie lives in San Francisco of all places, and while the representation is lacking in Courtney’s stories from what I understand (haven’t read them in full yet), the AIDS crisis is still mentioned, even if they divorce it from the gay acceptance issue that it represents. And the LGBTQ+ rights movement didn’t exist in a bubble that suddenly popped in 1969. It existed well before then. 

AG does dance around some important discussions sometimes, but the company is not all bad. I think eventually we will get more gay representation. I don’t think it’ll come soon, especially not in the form of an LGBTQ+ main character, but I think we will get more. We’ve already gotten Kira’s gay aunts and the World By Us LGBTQ+ rights stickers in the community center and with the fridge. That’s absolutely not enough. Bolded for emphasis, and I am absolutely not saying or implying that it’s enough. However, it’s a start. I’m going to keep speaking out saying we need more representation (because that’s the only way we’re going to get anywhere), but I’m also going to reward the behavior we want to see, even if more should be done. 

Another point: it’s wildly inappropriate to speculate on a character’s beliefs based on their faith alone. I recommend this post about Rebecca's faith. Maybe the above anon I'm responding to was the asker on this linked post, or maybe there are two people wondering similar things. Either way, read the post. Read the post and reflect on how nobody following a large religion believes the same as every other person in the same religion. There are plenty of LGBTQ+ Christians, Jews, and Muslims. There are plenty of allies in these religions. And there are thousands of other religions in the world that also include LGBTQ+ people. 

I’m Christian, bi, and trans. I know several other Christians who are part of the LGBTQ+ community. I know Jews and Muslims who are also part of the community. If you’re going to say that all people of faith are against LGBTQ+ rights, you’re barking up the wrong tree. 

[watermelonlovershigh]

A Day of Breastfeeding

Thank you to this ask for the request of this one shot prompt

Things to help you read this easier:

(Married for 3 years/Any solo Harry era)

(I pray that this photo doesn't get my account in trouble again. It's an innocent photo with no real nudity shown.)

Today has been a busy day with you and your four month old daughter. She woke you up at the early hour of 5:00 am and you've been up ever since.

When she woke up at five, you crawled out of the warm bed you and Harry were sleeping in to go into her nursery. Her reason for awakening was hunger. Instead of feeding her in the nursery like you do most mornings, you carried her back into yours and Harrys bedroom so you could feed her in the comfort of your bed. You climbed back in bed with a hungry baby and laid her on your newly exposed chest. She latched instantly and you may or may not have dozed back off again due to exhaustion.

At 5:30 am Harrys alarm goes off, letting him know he needs to wake up to go to the studio for a few hours and record new music. He reached for his phone, shutting the alarm off, and turned around to glance at his beautiful wife. Beautiful wife who some how stayed asleep through the sounds of his alarm. What he wasn't expecting to see was his equally beautiful baby girl laying on top of your naked chest with your nipple exposed to the cold air of the room. Presumably due to your daughter having finished eating and your nipple falling out of her relaxed mouth. Harry sleepily smiled to himself. How did he get so lucky he thinks internally.

Harry knew he needed to get ready to be at the studio but he just couldn't help himself. He got up and quietly walked around the bed to pick up your sleeping daughter from your chest. Your eyes shot open at the loss of contact with her but Harry was quick to whisper, "Shhh my love. I'm just going to take her to her nursery and let you get some comfortable sleep. Then I'm leaving for the studio. If you need me, call me. I'll come right home. Love you." He bent down to place a kiss your lips and you give him a thankful smile. Right before he let the room, he covered your exposed chest with the blanket so you don't get cold.

Harry decided to burp your daughter on the walk to her nursery knowing she hadn't burped yet. She let out a soft little burp from her tiny mouth on her daddy's shoulder and Harry kissed her soft head in appreciation. He noticed her diaper was dirtied, so being the father he is, Harry changed her poopy diaper and cradled her back to sleep. He placed her back in her crib and gave her one more good bye kiss on his way out. Then Harry got dressed and left for the studio.

Your daughter let you sleep until 7:00 am when she got hungry again. You got up to feed her and decided to just stay awake and start your day. After you fed your daughter and changed her soiled diaper, you went down the stairs to make you something to eat. While you ate your yogurt and berries, the four month old played in her playpen. Then you put her down for a midmorning nap so you could clean up a bit. Around 11:00 am, you breastfeed her again while you watched a bit of tv. She fell asleep shortly after and you called Harry to let him know you were doing fine and talked about dinner options.

Through-out the rest of your day, you pretty much alternated between breastfeeding your daughter, changing dirty diapers, putting her down for naps, and did house chores: dishes, vacuuming, laundry, and dusting. Around 5:00 pm, you felt super disgusting from all the sweating you did today. The only problem was you were home alone with your daughter and there was no one to watch her while you showered or bathed. Usually you'd wait until Harry came home but the sound of a relaxing bath sounded heavenly to your ears. So the only reasonable fix to your problem was to bring her in the tub with you.

Harry and yourself have allowed her to get in the tub with either of you before. Sometimes Harry will be taking a relaxing bath and you'll kill two birds with one stone and have your daughter get a bath with him. Being only four months old, its still expectable for her to bath with her daddy. Or sometimes while you're taking a bath and Harry is watching her, she starts to scream and cry, needing or wanting you, so Harry has no other choice other than to bring her in the bathroom and allow you to comfort her to your warm, wet body.

Now in current time, you're in the bathtub with your naked daughter laying on your bare chest, just relaxing and cooing gentle words into her ears. It feels super nice to have all this skin to skin contact with her, but you're just praying she doesn't pee or poop in the tub. Maybe you should have kept her diaper on.

At first she was calm and relaxed, just staring off into the distance, but now she is grabbing at your boob wanting to be fed again. You reach down and position your nipple to her mouth and she laches on quickly. Your nipples are painfully sore from all the feedings you give her through-out the day, everyday. Harry has told you that you should start pumping and give your nipples a break but you can't seem to do that. Even though its quite painful each time she sucks, it's one of the best feeling to have a baby feed from you directly. That may not make much since to just anyone but you're sure other mums will understand.

While off in your own little world, you don't hear Harry come in the house. He finished for the day at the studio and came home to be with his loving family. First he questions where you two are. He walked in the kitchen to find it empty. Then he walks up the stairs and to the nursery to find it empty. Lastly he walks into your shared bedroom and it's empty as well. He starts to get worried until he hears a soft voice coming from the bathroom in your bedroom. He carries his sock covered feet to the bathroom door and gently pulls it open to see a pretty sight. You breastfeeding your daughter.

"Now we're feeding in the tub, are we?" Harry softly speaks with a content smile. He startles you at first but then you force yourself to relax so you don't disturb your baby.

"I needed a bath and had no one to watch her. Then she got hungry for the millionth time today. I actually think my nipples are going to fall off." you reply back and though you sound like you are joking, Harry could hear pain in your voice when you talked about your nipples falling off. He hates you're in pain.

"I'm sorry my love." he sincerely speaks while kneeling beside the tub to run a gentle hand over the babies back. He has always been infatuated with watching her feed from you. Not in a inappropriate way because they are the same boobs he loves to see jiggle when having sex but in a way where he's in total awe.

Seconds later your daughter spits out your nipple, so you ask Harry, "Could you maybe burp her and get her dressed for bed please, so I can properly wash myself."

Harry responds immediately with, "Of course darling. Anything for you." He bends forward to peck your lips and stands to grab a towel to wrap her small body in. He returns with a towel dedicated just for babies. It's made with thin, soft material so it won't be too rough on their skin. Then with the towel over his shoulder, he bends down to pick up her wet, naked body and lays her directly on his towel covered shoulder. She whines from the cold air but he shushes her. "Shhh my little love. It's alright." he whispers to her while wrapping the towel around her frame and begins to pat her back so she can burp. Before he steps out of the bathroom, he turns to you and says, "I'll be in her nursery. Yell out if you need me for anything."

"Okay." you comment back. As you began to wash your hair and body, all you can think about is how great of a husband and father Harry is. He never puts up fights when it comes to taking care of his daughter. It doesn't matter if it's 3:00 in the morning or while he's working. He'll always come to her aid or your aid for that matter.

Harry successfully burps her and lays her down on her changing table in the nursery. Before any accidents occur, he puts a clean diaper on her bum and finds some clean pjs to keep her body warm. "Alright. All done sweetheart." he tells his baby with a kiss on the cheek. Harry carries her with him to the kitchen, her face burred in his neck. She's awake but the warm bath and feeding did make her sleepy.

In the kitchen, Harry tries to decide what is best for dinner. He decides on a veggie pizza to pop in the oven, knowing you should agree with that choice. Right as the pizza goes into the pre heated oven, you come walking down the stairs in a loose fitting shirt and pajama shorts. "Feeling better?" Harry questions you with a dimply smile while soothingly rubbing your daughters back.

"Much. Thank you for getting her ready for bed." you tell your husband.

"You don't need to thank me. It's my job as much as it is yours. She 'our' baby." he responds.

You take your daughter from his hold and walk into the living room to feed her one last time before you put her to sleep. Harry takes the cooked pizza out the oven and plates you and him a slice. Then he makes his way to the living room, deciding you both can eat in there tonight so you're more comfortable. You eat and breastfeed at the same time, doing mummy multitasking. When Harry finishes eating, he takes your now sleeping baby girl from your hold and carries her to the nursery. Like every time before he leaves her room, he makes sure to lay a soft kiss on her head. Once all that is done, he comes back to you in the living room.

"Please use the pump for tonight. Your boobs need to rest and also that way I can get up to feed her through-out the night and let you get some proper sleep." Harry says to you as you're cuddle each other on the couch.

"But I'm scared if she uses a bottle that she won't want me again. She may realize the bottle is better than my nipples." you mumble in his neck.

"That's silly. Of course she'll want your breast again. You're her mother. She very much enjoys the bonding time with you when you breastfeed her but she's getting to the age to where she needs to have other options. In a month, she'll be able to try baby food. She'll still need your milk but just introducing solids to her diet." Harry calmly speaks while rubbing over your back in a calmly manner.

After a lot of convincing on Harrys part, you decided to try and pump for the first time. So you both stand from the couch and head to your bedroom. Harry grabs the milk pumper from your closet and you get comfortable on the bed. You take your shirt off and pull the covers to your waist. Then he brings the machine over to you and sets everything up. He helps you attach the pieces to each of your nipples, being very gentle knowing how painful they are. Once they are suctioned properly, he turns the machine on and asks, "Are you alright by yourself if I go take a shower? I promise I won't be long." You nod your head and Harry grabs a pair of clean boxers, than makes his way to the bathroom and began his showering.

When Harry returns from his quick shower, the two bottles that collect your milk are near about full. He helps you remove the suction cups and disconnects the bottles from the pump to place them in the fridge for later tonight. As he returns, he see's you standing in front of the huge mirror in your bathroom, just staring at your boobs. Specifically your nipples. Your nipples even look painful he thinks to himself. He walks up behind you, resting his chin on your shoulder and caresses your ribcage with his fingers, looking straight ahead at your body in the mirror. "Go lay in bed and I'll put some cream on them." he whispers in your ear.

You follow his instructions and exit the bathroom to get in bed. Harry grabs some cream and returns to you. "I'll be gentle." he says in his tired voice, straddling your lap. He dips his ring less fingers in the soothing cream and bends down. Cradling the sides of your boobs with one hand, he uses his other to rub the nipple itself. His movements are slow and if it was under other circumstances, you swear you would have just gotten turned on by his actions. He looks to be in extreme concentration and you can't help but feel happy. For the second time today, you realize how great Harry is to you and your baby.

Once Harry has covered both your nipples in the cream, he helps you put a bra on that has leaking pads in them, to prevent the ointment from making a mess on the beds covers. Then he goes to wash his hands and comes back to crawl into bed and snuggle with you. "Love you y/n." Harry whispers quietly.

"I love you too babe. And I know you said not to thank you earlier, but thank you. I'm grateful to have you in my life." you blindly reach up to kiss his lips and then shove your face into his neck, smelling the manly scent of his body wash.

Through-out that night, anytime your four mouth old daughter woke up needing a feeding, Harry got up and warmed a bottle from the fridge and sat in the rocker located in the corner of her nursery each time. She would curl up on his tattooed chest, sleepily drink the bottle, and he would rock back and forth, lightly singing to her in a sleep ridden voice. Then he burped her after each feeding and put her back to sleep comfortably in her crib. That night, you got the most uninterrupted sleep you've gotten since before she was born and its all thanks to your wonderful husband and baby daddy, Harry.

MASTERLIST & My Favorite Harry Styles Fics MASTERLIST

[linkedkeysau-official]

Ack someone else asked about Paint, my go to, um... Go on infodump on Rulie or Legend I guess? I have a favourite bit of the timeline.

Unfortunately Rulie has also been picked but I can do Legend!

-self-proclaimed atheist. Yes he knows the goddesses exist. He knows Sky is even married to one. But he's so sick of being used as the goddesses' errand boy that he decided he "doesn't believe in them" anymore because fuck all of them in particular.

-Aside from Wind, he is one of the only ones in the Chain who has any experience with sailing, however being on the ocean causes him great anxiety, and understandably so given what happened in Link's Awakening.

-His hair is naturally pink! He used to dye it more of a red-blond color because nobody took him seriously when he had pink hair, but after a while he just stopped caring and let it grow out naturally.

-I know I often refer to Legend as "he" but they are actually nonbinary, and simply use all pronouns. They're also bisexual.

-Legend's uncle is alive! And Legend still lives with him and helps out in the orchard in between adventures.

-Legend has heart problems, specifically Inappropriate Sinus Tachycardia (which if you didn't know means your heart will beat way too fast for literally no reason. Also totally not projecting here too haha). This was a side effect of being turned into a rabbit, since rabbits naturally have a fast heartbeat. Of course it doesn't bother Legend when he's in rabbit form but this guy is too stubborn and proud to want to stay that way, so he just takes his chances.

-another side effect of being bnnuy is that Legend can't eat meat very often. She can eat it, but not while in rabbit form, and even as a Hylian she will get sick if she eats too much. She also will munch on carrots as her go-to snack, and not give a fuck what anyone says about her bunny stomach (that is, if anyone is stupid enough to make fun of someone with a powerful kick and teeth that can break fingers).

-Legend may come off as a total bitch and a walking entity of sass. But in reality they're a total softie. Of course the sass kinda leaks out no matter what, but really they're all bark and very little bite. Legend also happens to be very good with kids, and will spoil the younger Chain members every chance they get. Mask actually refers to them as his uncle/aunt/auncle.

-Legend has actually killed a fellow hero once: Minish, in the Palace of the Four Sword. And he has deep, deep regrets about it, despite not initially knowing who exactly the dark links (the corrupted Elements) were.

-A man of many, many skills. Legend plays just about every instrument imaginable. He is very good at sewing as well, and can do anything from repairing clothing to making dolls. Has quite a bit of first aid training as well and is the Chain's go-to when Hyrule is unavailable to help.

-and of course, no matter the situation, he's "got an item for that". And usually some spare useful items to lend to a friend too.

[jerzwriter]

This isn’t related to OH, your pairings, choices or even fanfiction.

But I could really use an advice and I feel like you’re someone with a lot of experience in human relationships and I really admire your views about life. But feel free to ignore if this is too weird :) I totally get it.

We are a group of best friends for 10+ years. One of them has a bf, they have the most chaotic relationship, nothing "too big" but they have broken up and gotten back together a lot of times. 👈🏻Unrelated to those times...

One time he touched one of our friends inappropriately ( 👋🏻 on the 🍑 ) while dancing, “cause he was drunk”, after this happened they broke up but got back together and my friend (the gf) vowed to never force us to be around him then he cheated on her “cause he was drunk”, my friend didn’t tell us (shame I guess?) rinse and repeat (broke up then took him back). My other friends from the group and I were so disgusted by the first situation but suddenly they seemed to forget? Eventually they started to be friendly with him again, I just couldn’t. After the cheating, it was the same, some sort of “we hate him” until they didn’t. Now he’s asking us for help to propose to my friend. And they’re so excited. And I’m so confused.

Is this okay? Am I wrong for being so freaking perplexed by the situation? Like guys what are we doing how is this ok I just…

But at the same time I feel like I’m wrong? Because if the “offended” part is fine with it, shouldn’t we all be too? I mean he didn’t cheat on me. But the idea of helping him propose it’s not appealing at all. But I don’t want to miss this part of my bff’s life. And I don’t want to lose my friends by making a bigger deal out of it. They all have this view of "friends support each other" and if being with him is what she wants...

But also feel like “oh well, I guess if someone touched me like that against my will, I won’t count on you? Because it’s not a big deal to you?”. I hope I made sense, and this isn’t too much, I just don’t know what to do. My bf agrees with me and we don’t hang out with them when is all the couples. Just when it’s me seeing my friends. But I guess eventually I will have to?

Hey there. First, I want to say I wish I could give you a hug. It literally pained me to read this because I remember these situations when I was younger, I have the benefit of seeing how they turned out (SPOILER: NEVER good), and I am now seeing them happen with younger people in my family. I'm going to be honest, it's harder to watch it now because I want to shake them and say, "Can you not learn from this, this, and this?" But sadly, we don't always learn from other people's experiences.

I'd love others to chime in too. My opinion is just that, and it doesn't make it right. But after living and seeing a lot, I assure you, it's also not wrong.

I hate to see this. The other word for "touching a friend inappropriately" is sexual assault, and being drunk is no excuse. I've been drunk in my life. Most people I know have been. How many times have I assaulted someone? None. "Being drunk" is a classic excuse that abusers love to use. And here's a 411. If he can't handle his alcohol to that extent, then he should stop drinking. But to then cheat and once again blame it on the alcohol, sorry, this guy is a piece of shit, and I feel bad for your friend. She's about to sign on to a lifetime of pain.

What do friends do in these situations? It's such a hard thing to say, but I will always err on the side of trying to get through to them, knowing damn well it may backfire on me. But having grown up in a home where there was abuse and having worked with domestic violence survivors for years, I can honestly say we should never aid and abet someone trying to find a reason to stay with an abuser. Helping plan the proposal? Honestly, that's not aiding and abetting; that's celebrating and giving blessings to. I don't blame you for not wanting to be involved.

Knowing the little I do, I would tell you don't do anything your conscience is telling you not to do. Your other friends may see things differently, but I don't believe we "support" bad choices. If your friend had an addiction, would you "support" her? It's very possible this man is an addiction of sorts.

The sad part is, it is likely others will see you as the problem. But that doesn't mean they're right. If there is one lesson I wish I could have learned younger, it would be to do what I BELIEVE is the right thing and not be led by others because anytime I've gone against my gut, I've lived to regret it.

I really don't envy the position you're in. But I assure you, this will not end well for your friend - and I shudder to think they may bring children into it as well. Men like that don't change.

If you ever want to chat, my DMs are open, and I won't share your identity. I wish you the best in a difficult situation, and I will manifest for your friend to find clarity. ❤❤❤

[marshmallowgoop]

[Image description: A screenshot from Episode 49 of Detective Conan/Case Closed. Shinichi, sweating, smiles as he says, “You [Hattori] got it all wrong!” End image description.]

Also, I know it’s an over-analysis, but I think a lot about how Heiji’s first appearance in Detective Conan coincides with Shinichi’s first return to his body after being poisoned. Because it’s much more than mere coincidence—Heiji’s presence is what literally draws Shinichi out. It’s unmistakably the alcohol Heiji brings that triggers the change.

[Image description: A screenshot from Episode 48 of Detective Conan. Heiji hands Conan a cup, saying, “Here ya go!” Conan holds the cup, answering, “Oh, thanks....” End image description.]

But in a more metaphorical sense, the fact that Heiji’s introduction, even prior to offering Conan a cup of baigar/paikal/baijiu, is so loudly and explicitly tied to locating his missing rival, can’t help but be meaningful to me. Heiji enters the series purely to find Shinichi, and he does. Practically instantly. Almost as if Shinichi physically cannot keep hiding behind Conan when Heiji is present.

I’m particularly fond of Heiji’s opening lines in FUNimation’s English dub because his words quickly become unambiguously directed to Shinichi. The third sentence he ever utters on the show is an emphatic, “Yo, [Kudo], can you hear me?”, which he then follows up with, “You can stop hiding now! I’m waiting!” 

And Shinichi can’t seem to help doing just as Heiji says. Conan stumbles through the Mori Detective Agency door, and as Conan puts it later, when advising Ai to drink the baigar/paikal/baijiu in Episode 177, Heiji “[casts] the ultimate magic spell” on him. Just as Conan gets Ai out of the locked wine cellar, Heiji gets Shinichi out of Conan. He’s able to truly be himself, to solve a case as himself, for the first time since Episode 1. All because of Heiji.

[Image descriptions: Two screenshots from Episode 177 of Detective Conan. In the first image, Ai, wearing Conan’s glasses, holds a bottle of baigar/paikal/baijiu. In the second image, Conan, with an earphone and a microphone, smiles broadly. He says, “I’m going to get you out of that room. By casting the ultimate magic spell on you.” End image descriptions.]

Of course, that Heiji gives alcohol to a six-year-old he doesn’t even know is grossly inappropriate. But paradoxically, you could say that it’s exactly what he needed to do. There’s no way that Conan would have ever thought to drink alcohol, let alone baigar/paikal/baijiu specifically, as an antidote for his condition. But because Heiji seeks Shinichi out and places the cure in Conan’s hands, the wrong person isn’t imprisoned for the murder of Isao Tsujimura. Heiji himself doesn’t (generally) continue to treat unsolved crimes as games to win or lose. Ai doesn’t lose her life to the Black Organization when she’s held captive by Pisco. While Ran’s right and she should say it when she shouts Heiji out for his actions— even unhesitatingly calling him “conceited” and “thoughtless” in FUNimation’s English dub—it’s undeniable that those very actions drastically change and save lives, too.

I also take interest in how Conan genuinely does seem to view the baigar/paikal/baijiu he receives from Heiji as a magical panacea, directly implicating it as the basis for the temporary antidote he receives in “The Desperate Revival”:

[Image description: A screenshot from Episode 194 of Detective Conan. Conan, a hand over his chin in thought, walks beside Ai. He says, “I guess with only Paikaru’s ingredients, a full antidote can’t be made.” End image description.]

Notably, it is strongly implied that Conan isn’t fully correct here; Ai did manage to save the APTX 4869 drug data she transferred from Pisco’s computer, and that undoubtedly at least aided in the creation of a cure. Yet, the significance Conan places on the alcohol isn’t totally misplaced, either. If it weren’t for the baigar/paikal/baijiu, Ai likely never would have managed to procure that information in the first place.

And I know it’s an over-analysis, I do. But as much as I love that Heiji so quickly sees Conan for who he truly is, and how he always thinks of Shinichi as himself afterwards, I also love and think a lot about how Heiji’s gift—and by extension, Heiji himself—literally serves as the key to free Conan and Ai’s true selves. I think a lot about how Heiji is present near every time Shinichi returns to his own body, and how he’s right there supporting Shinichi when he struggles with the drug wearing off, and that the sole time Shinichi takes a temporary antidote in the films is for Kazuha and Heiji’s sake in Crossroad in the Ancient Capital, and I think a lot about all the implications of that, like how it seems to say, to me, that Heiji unlocked this door, and he’s darn well gonna be there on the other side of it, where Shinichi wants him to be!

It just. Really gets to me.