#do not doubt your emotions op

[fictionkinfessions]

mmm people are getting too comfortable with me when they recognize my source i think. heads up, if you find out someone is kin or a fictive maybe don't immediately approach them joking about one of the worst things that's happened to them? glad that you personally can laugh about it, i've been having nightmares though so i'd prefer if we didn't talk about it. sorry that this makes me a buzzkill apparently. maybe i'm being too harsh but aghhh i dunno, after half a year of hearing the same divorce joke over and over it's starting to get to my head i guess - #💌🌌🎶

x

#fictionkinfessions #fictionkin #💌🌌🎶 #prevabuse #ableism cw #mod party cat #thats perfectly reasonable to feel and know #do not doubt your emotions op

[tropes-and-tales]

Five Times Vigilante Definitely Does Not Have Feelings (and the One Time He Does)

Characters:  Adrian Chase/Vigilante x f!reader

CW:  Crude language; yearning.

Word Count:  3982

Adrian Chase will tell anyone:  he doesn’t have emotions like people do.  He doesn’t feel sad or angry or embarrassed.  When Peacemaker gave him the nickname “Thimble,” he certainly didn’t cry.  When Peacemaker was sent to prison, he certainly didn’t feel lonely.  

Not having emotions is what makes him a more evolved human.

And yet, when ARGUS springs Peacemaker and sets up a black ops outfit in Evergreen, Adrian finds himself toeing the line of feelings.  He doesn’t have emotions like people do, but he comes awfully close a handful of times…until he crosses the line entirely.

The Time Vigilante Definitely Does Not Feel Vulnerable

As the Vigilante, Adrian gets hurt all the time.  He’s become proficient at stitching up his own wounds.  His body is littered with the scars of his own handiwork.

But when Goff tortures him for information, and when the ARGUS team comes to his and Peacemaker’s rescue, he finds himself missing half of a pinkie toe.  It’s the most important toe on the human body, and he’ll probably never walk again…and no one seems to care.

Except for you.  In the van as they return to headquarters, you sit across from him, watching him as he studies his mangled foot.  You murmur something that sounds sympathetic, but he barely hears it over Peacemaker laughing at him.

At headquarters, you look at him and jerk your head in the direction of the back office.

“I can stitch you up, if you want,” you offer. 

He starts to shake his head, but the mean blonde woman—Harcourt, her name is—makes an offhand comment about your superior patch-up abilities, so he accepts your help.  He limps painfully behind you, follows you into a room that has been converted into a rough sort of exam room and budget clinic.

“Hop up on the table,” you tell him, and even though he doesn’t trust you—or any of your team—he does as you say.  It’s clumsy.  He hurts in a hundred different places:  his half-amputated toe, his electrocuted crotch, all the scrapes and bruises from the fight with Cobra Kai. 

“I won’t take off my mask,” he warns you.  “I take my secret identity very seriously.  If you saw my face, I’d have to kill you.”

“Duly noted,” you reply dryly.  “But I only need to see your foot.”

He pulls off his boot and regards his mangled half-pinkie toe sadly.  You pull on a pair of latex gloves and turn on a bright lamp, angling it at his bare foot.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” you say as you prod the wound gently.  “In fact, you really didn’t lose anything but a couple layers of skin.”

“The blade was as dull as fuck,” he replies. 

You wheel your stool over to a cabinet, then pull out some supplies:  needle and thread, disinfectant, gauze and tape.  Then you wheel back over to him and set to work.

The mean blonde woman was right—you’re quick, efficient.  He looks down at your bent head as you stitch him up, and he sees that your needlework is better than his own.  He doubts he’ll even have much of a scar once it heals.

But it’s the strange feeling that creeps over him:  makes his vision waver, makes him feel a little light-headed.  Your hands are deft but also gentle.  Adrian can’t remember ever being touched so gently.  Maybe when he was really small.  Maybe his mom was gentle like that when he was so small that he can’t remember it now.  It makes him break out in goosebumps.  He shudders at the touch of your warm hand bracing his foot, and you misunderstand the involuntary gesture.

“Almost done,” you murmur, and a moment later you tie off the last stitch and snip the thread.  You wrap his toe in gauze, pat his knee softly in a reassuring way.  Then you straighten up and ask if there’s any other injuries he needs patched up.

“Goff electrocuted me,” he blurts out.  “With a car battery.”

You look at him, level, but the corner of your mouth quirks in a near-smile.  “You want me to look at that for you?”

“Oh, no.  No.  No, I just wanted to mention it.  I’m not asking you to look at it.”  He’s grateful for the mask; he can feel his face heating up at the idea of taking off his suit in front of you, and the sudden flush confuses him.  Irritates him.  Something about the thought of being exposed makes his stomach churn in a way he doesn’t understand.

You hum thoughtfully, then turn back to the cabinet of supplies.  You rummage around, then pull out a small white tube that you hand him.

“Antibiotic gel for cuts and burns,” you say.   “You can put a cool cloth on…well, any burns you may have.  If there’s blistering, don’t pop them.”

“Okay.”

“And, you know…if you have any lingering side effects of being electrocuted, you should see a specialist.”

Vigilante reaches down and pulls his boot back on, but already his toe feels better.  “What sort of side effects?” he asks.

He looks up at you in time to see that same half-smile.  You peel off your gloves, toss them in the trash.  

“I can imagine where you were electrocuted,” you reply.  “So if those parts don’t typically work the way you’re used to, see a real doctor.”

Adrian Chase is not good at nuance or subtlety.  “Huh?”

You blink at him before you say, “if you can’t get or maintain an erection, see a urologist.”

“Oh.”  He blinks too, behind his visor.  “Okay.”

You turn to leave the room but then glance over your shoulder before you do.  “Thanks for your help tonight,” you say.  “The mission was a success because of you.”

Neither Vigilante nor Adrian Chase ever get any thanks.  He flushes even hotter under his mask, and he grumbles in reply, uncomfortable to be seen, to be recognized for the first time.

To be vulnerable.

The Time Vigilante Definitely Does Not Feel Embarrassed

The next afternoon, he’s at Peacemaker’s trailer, helping him clean up from when the police tossed the place.  They are blasting Guns and Roses, drinking beer…it’s like the old days, almost.

A knock at the door then, and Adrian has only a second to pull on his mask before you stroll in.

“Hey, Chris.  Vigilante.”  You nod in greeting, then reach into your bag to pull out a thick manila folder.  You hand it to Peacemaker.

“Murn wanted me to bring this by.  It’s the latest intel we got from Goff’s place.”  

You stand there as Chris takes the folder and sinks down onto his couch, already paging through the information.  Vigilante stands there too, awkward, so he crosses his arms to keep from fidgeting.  There’s a long stretch of silence once the Guns and Roses record ends, and Vigilante struggles with silence.

“I got hard last night,” he tells you.  “And this morning too.”

“Dude, what the fuck?” Peacemaker sputters.  “She doesn’t want to hear that!”

“She mentioned it last night!”

Peacemaker scoffs, twists his face into an expression of disbelief.  “Yeah, I’m sure she mentioned your dick last night.  Sure.  Okay.  Fantasize much?”

“She did!”

“You seriously need to get laid, dude.  Stop making shit up.”

“He’s not lying,” you tell Peacemaker with a sheepish shrug.  “Though I mentioned it in the context of his injuries and not…some other context.”

“See?”  Vigilante says, and Peacemaker rolls his eyes, makes a jacking-off motion with his hand.

You don’t linger.  You beat a hasty retreat, waving over your shoulder as you leave the trailer, and Peacemaker gives him more hell—calls him weird, calls him annoying.

“No wonder you’ve never had a real girlfriend, dude,” he says as he turns back to his folder of intel.  “You say the creepiest shit the minute a cute girl is around.”

Vigilante doesn’t think about it much more until later.  That night, in bed, he lies awake for far longer than he usually does.  He replays that moment, tries to understand why he just blurted that out.  

He wonders if you would have stayed at the trailer longer if he hadn’t been creepy.  His face burns in the darkness of his bedroom, and his stomach twists painfully as he replays the moment over and over.  He replays his stupid blurting out about his dick, and he has no idea what it means.  He never obsesses over his stupid mouth like this.

If he had feelings like other people, he’d recognize the emotion as embarrassment.

The Time Vigilante Definitely Does Not Feel Despondent (and Comforted)

Adrian gets himself arrested on purpose.  It’s the best way he can help Chris:  get arrested, get booked into the same prison as Chris’ racist supervillain father, then kill said racist supervillain father.

Easy enough.  It’d set Chris free and make his life so much better.  Allow him to move forward and not be bogged down, like Adebayo said.

Adrian fails.  He only manages to make things worse—clues Auggie into his plan accidentally, possibly points law enforcement in Chris’ direction.  So Adrian doesn’t just fail—he fails miserably.

He’s released that night.  He’s surprised at first, but as he changes back into his clothes and collects his personal effects from the guards, he realizes that ARGUS has its sticky fingers in all sorts of things and probably sprung him with just a few keystrokes.

When he leaves the prison, you’re sitting out front in your car.  You lower the passenger window and call out to him.

“C’mon,” you say.  “Harcourt sent me to take you home.”

He’s too upset to even feel bad about his cover being blown.  He climbs into the car.

“I think I made things worse,” he says, and he tries not to cry.  He only wanted to help his best friend (even if he’s not Peacemaker’s best friend).  Somehow he messed up, and it could ruin everything.  

“Okay,” you reply softly.  “It’s okay.”

You drive him home.  He doesn’t give you his address, but you know it—another screw-up, he thinks, getting tangled up with people who easily cracked his secret identity.  You know his name, his face, where he lives.  Some instrument of vengeance he is.  You probably even recognize him from his job at Fennel Fields.

Outside of his apartment, you park, then turn to face him.  In the half-light from the streetlamps, he can just make out your soft smile.

“This entire ops is nothing but mistakes,” you tell him.  “And yet, we’re doing okay.  We’ll figure out how to handle Auggie Smith.  Don’t worry about it.”

He nods, and something about the barest bit of comfort—paired with your smile—makes him turn to face you too.  

“I’m Adrian,” he says, even though you know his name.

Your smile broadens and you say your name, even though he knows it.  You hold out your hand and after a beat he takes it.

“Good to finally meet you, Adrian,” you reply as you shake hands.  

For whatever reason, as low as he feels, he falls asleep that night with a weird lightness in his chest—because he doesn’t dwell on his failure at the prison.  

Instead, he falls asleep with the memory of your smile, your kind words.  Your warm hand in his.

The Time Vigilante Definitely Does Not Feel Protective

The attack on Goff’s house yielded some leads, and the team travels three hours away to take out a nest of Butterflies.  Everyone is exhausted, filthy, and bruised up.  

It’s in the van—you sitting beside Adrian—when you start to nod off.  He catches it the first few times, the way your head dips forward, the way you jerk back awake.  It’s cute, the way you fight sleep, and then it happens.

You fall asleep and you don’t wake up.  Your head drifts towards him, then settles against his shoulder.

Adrian freezes.  

He and Peacemaker—they used to go out together, looking for crimes or bitches or both.  He’s no virgin.  He fucks.  He’s no stranger to touch, and he’s certainly no stranger to women.  And yet…this feels different.  It feels new.

Peacemaker notices.  “You got a new girlfriend, dude,” he points out with a laugh.

Harcourt rolls her eyes at the teasing.  “Leave her alone.  She puts in way more hours than you, asshole.”

“I put in plenty of hours,” he replies, defensive.  “It takes a lot of time to maintain this impressive physique.  Do you know how long I work on my small muscle groups alone?”

Harcourt rolls her eyes again, then returns her attention to her phone.  Peacemaker turns back to where Adrian sits, rigid, as you sleep against him.

“If you get hard, just don’t tell her about it,” he advises the younger man.  “You’ll creep her out again.”

It’s strange, the feeling of your head against him.  It’s not sexy at all, obviously—in fact, it’s a little uncomfortable.  He doesn’t want to move you, doesn’t want to jostle you and wake you up.  Harcourt said you’re tired, and you took a hell of a beating as you fought the Butterflies.  

Adrian has always approached his work as Vigilante from a perspective of vengeance, not protection, so the feeling is strange:  how he wants to let you sleep, how he wants to protect your sleep.  How he wants to make you comfortable.

A quiet falls over the team; the swaying of the van lulls everyone into comfortable silence.  Adrian breathes in carefully through his nose, then shifts his body.  Slowly, carefully.  He leans away from you, allows you to lie against him more.  He changes the angle enough that he can get his arm out from where it’s trapped between your body and his.  He shifts again, gets his arm around you.  Gently moves you—changes it from your head awkwardly pressed against his hard molded shoulder pad to your head tucked against his chest.

You wake, a little, as he moves you.  You blink up at him sleepily, say his name—Adrian, not Vigilante or Vig or V—and your voice is husky with exhaustion.  There’s a questioning lilt to how you say his name, so he shakes his head softly.

“Go ahead and rest,” he says, quiet.  “Everything’s fine.”

You nod, then settle back against him.  It takes only a moment until he feels your breathing slow down, deepen.  He feels your body go heavy and lax against him.  Tucked against his chest, his arm holding you against him, he can smell you, feel how warm you are.  If he moves his head just a little, he can press his cheek against the top of your head.

Go ahead and rest, he thinks.  Everything’s fine.  I’ll keep you safe.

Vigilante has always been an instrument of vengeance, but this is the first time he’s felt protective of anyone.

The Time Vigilante Definitely Does Not Feel Fear

The 11th Street Kids have one chance to eradicate the Butterflies forever:  if they can kill their only food source, the so-called cow, they will eventually all die off.  When they make their final assault on the farm, the team splits up:  Adebayo and Economos stay back, while the warriors—Peacemaker, Vigilante, Harcourt, and you—charge into action.

Whether the cow is killed or not, Adrian doesn’t find out until after the battle is over.  He fights off the onslaught of Butterflies, but for the first time, his attention isn’t entirely on his own fight.

His attention is on you, now, too.  

He manages to keep you in his sightline for the beginning of the fight.  He sees you, admires the sight of you when you’re in your berserker mode:  furious and deadly, well-fitted black suit, guns flashing as you empty clip after clip into the skulls of the Butterflies.  

Then he loses sight of you. 

His chest clenches in an unfamiliar tension, and when he finally catches sight of you again, that tight-chest feeling cedes to something else, something worse:  an ice-cold shard of fear that lances through him, settles in his gut where it sits like a stone.

When he finally catches sight of you, it’s the exact moment you are shot by a Butterfly.

One shot hits your shoulder, spins you around.

Another shot hits you square in the chest, makes you stagger backwards as the force is absorbed by your vest.

The final shot hits you low in the belly, and Adrian (who has studied your gear closely) knows you have little protection there.  The icy fear blooms in him, fills up every bit of him until it feels like it’s in his veins.

He screams your name.  He barely even feels the bullet that hits him (“oh, shoot” he mutters, and tosses a knife behind him to kill his own attacker), but then he stumbles and falls, and he loses consciousness.

He wakes a moment later.  He has no idea how much time has passed, but he manages to get to his hands and knees, then to his feet.  He makes his way to where you fell and he finds you.  

It’s bad.  It’s so bad that the icy fear turns acidic in his veins, makes him burn with fear.  With terror.  You gaze up at him but you don’t seem to see him, and each breath makes a fresh pulse of blood trickle from your mouth.

Adrian has never been very good at social situations.  He never knows the right thing to say and if he does, he doesn’t know the right time to say it.  He wishes these things came more easily to him; if it were Chris here right now instead of him, Chris would know the right thing to say.  He’d know how to keep you awake, how to give you comfort.

All Adrian can offer is what you told him the night he got out of prison, when you drove him home.  Now, as you lie under the night sky, dying in front of him, as he presses one hand against the worst wound to try and staunch the bleeding, he repeats your words back to him.

“It’s okay,” he says, and he says it over and over and hopes you believe it.  “It’s okay.  It’s okay.  It’s okay.”

The Time Vigilante Definitely Feels Love

You have no memory of the fight at the farm.  The last thing you remember is the drive there, but everything after is a blank.  Adebayo stops by when you finally wake up and fills you in on the salient details.  

She tells you how Vigilante—who was also shot, who had been blown up earlier in the day—carried you to safety.  How he kept you from bleeding out, how he held your very life in his hands and kept you from dying.  How hospital security had to separate him from you, once you were laid out on the gurney and being wheeled into surgery.

How he still tried to fight to stay by your side, and how he only failed because of his own injuries and blood loss.

“That man is stupid crazy about you,” Adebayo chuckles with a shake of her head.  “I don’t even think he’s really a psychopath.”

You chuckle with her, wince when the action pulls at the thousand stitches and staples that are keeping you held together.  “He’s not bad, right?”

“We’re literally the Island of Misfit toys,” she replies.  “But yeah, he’s alright.”

-----

Adrian is hospitalized too, and once he’s healed up to a point, he starts sneaking into your room to visit.  It’s not really sneaking—every time he undoes his IV and heart monitor, it sends the nurses into a panic—but after Adebayo’s press conference revealing the existence of Task Force X, the hospital staff is pretty tolerant of his harmless shenanigans. 

He helped ward off an alien invasion, after all.  You both did.

You have to agree with Adebayo.  You’ve never quite believed that Adrian is a psychopath or a sociopath or whatever.  You certainly never believed him when he said he didn’t have feelings or emotions.  The guy is nothing but a walking ball of emotions:  obvious love for his friends, a yearning to belong, a sweet desire to be liked and included.  Sure, he kills without compunction, but he seems to love in equal measure, even if he doesn’t believe he does.

When he visits you, he doesn’t talk about feelings.  He chatters endlessly about his and Peacemaker’s exploits—criminals they’ve busted, ways they’ve destroyed old appliances in the woods behind Peacemaker’s trailer.  He talks about how it was when Peacemaker was in prison, how he kept calling and leaving voicemails to make it seem like everything was normal.  He talks about his job at Fennel Fields, all the terrible customer service stories he has.

He discharges himself against the advice of the doctors (he’s healed enough, he tells you), and you think he’ll stop visiting, but he doesn’t.  He visits every day still, and when you start physical therapy to build up the muscle tone and endurance you’ve lost, he sits in a nearby chair, watching you.  Cheering you on.

Adebayo wasn’t wrong.  You know Adrian has feelings for you.  You’re more socially adept than him, and you’ve had relationships before.  You’ve had crushes and been the object of them.  You guessed his infatuation early on, and you can guess that it’s only grown for him since then.

It probably confuses him, you guess.  You know what love feels like.  What a crush feels like.  All that feeling, in so many places:  the fluttery stomach, the pounding heart, the thoughts that just circle ‘round and ‘round about a single person.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t have similar feelings for him.  He’s easy on the eyes, sure—but he’s earnest and sweet, a brutal killer with a heart of gold.

You can also guess that Adrian might never make a move.  This has to be unfamiliar territory for him.  You know he’s no virgin (he’s chattered endlessly about his and Peacemaker’s exhaustive threesomes too), but he seems to have no relationship experience.

But your entire short working relationship with him has been give and take.  You stitched him up, comforted him when he was feeling low after his failed attempt to kill Auggie Smith.  He let you rest against him, held you gently as you slept after a mission.  He saved your life, kept you from bleeding out.

Give and take.  The best kind of relationship, in your opinion.

“Hey, Adrian,” you say one afternoon after PT.  You’re exhausted and sore, but you’re quickly approaching your own discharge.  You are healing up nicely.  You have things to look forward to.

“What’s up?” he asks, and he bounces over to your bedside like a Golden Retriever puppy, eager.

“Doctor says I’m good to go in a few days.”

“That’s great!”  His face breaks open in a wide grin that transforms him from nerdy-handsome to downright gorgeous.  “That’s good news!”

You swallow, push down the nerves that flare up.  “I thought maybe we could celebrate.”

“Yeah!”  He grins at you.  “I can call Chris—”

“I thought maybe just me and you,” you cut in, clarifying.  “Just this time.  Maybe we include Chris some other time.”

“Oh.”  The smile falls from his face, and he looks at you.  His brows are knit in confusion.  

No sense in backtracking now.  “Like a date.  Would you like to go on a date with me?”

“Oh.”  A beat.  “With me?  Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

What you’re asking him finally sinks in—a beat longer than it might with someone else, but that’s just part of Adrian’s charm.  The smile returns to his face, brighter and wider than before.

“Yeah,” he replies.  “Hell yeah, dude.  I’d love that.”

#adrian chase #adrian chase imagine #adrian chase x reader #vigilante #vigilante imagine #vigilante x reader #peacemaker #tropes-and-tales

[transmascissues]

hey i know your post about your mom was mostly just a personal vent, but i have to say, do you realize that also happens with trans girls and their fathers? literally happened to one of my friends. i’m not trying to downplay your experience or something but i found it strange that you seem to think this is something that only affects transmascs

i have one question for you: so fucking what?

i don’t doubt that trans girls have experienced similar things and yeah, that’s bad too, but what the fuck does that have to do with me and the specific things i’m facing as a result of being a trans man? i never said “look at this thing that happens to ONLY trans men and NO ONE ELSE,” i just said “hey, isn’t this thing that happens to a lot of trans men, including myself, fucked up?”

i would also like to point out that what you’re talking about is in fact a different (albeit similar) thing. the way cis people treat trans people can differ dramatically based on the cis person’s gender because their commitment to gender roles is, like, a major part of problem. the specific way a cis mother reacts to her trans son’s transition is often going to be very distinct, while a cis father will likely respond to his trans daughter in a different but equally distinct way.

what i’m talking about is a very specific kind of ownership and control and self-victimization and total lack of boundaries masquerading as love and care and maternal concern that cis women (i would argue white cis women in particular) project onto their transmasc kids when we do literally anything to our bodies. i’m talking about a phenomenon which is closely related to the way moms often pass eating disorders onto their daughters (or children they view as daughters) because they see a body that looks something like theirs and project all of their insecurities and ideals onto it. i’m talking about a form of parental transphobia and projection that’s specific to the dynamic of a cis mother and her child who was “supposed to” be her daughter.

if you’ve never felt that, you’re not even remotely qualified to tell me shit about how i should be talking about that experience, and if you couldn’t recognize that experience when you read my post, i’m guessing you probably haven’t experienced it because the replies to that post made it very clear to me that anyone who has experienced it firsthand immediately knew exactly what i meant.

like, yeah, cis dads also project onto their trans daughters, but are they likely to have a reaction like running away with actual tears streaming down their face? do you expect them to passive aggressively make comments about how sad their kid’s transition makes them, how it’s such a difficult emotional time, how it’s so tragic because their kid’s body was so beautiful before? do you think their go-to transphobic reaction will be weaponizing their emotions? i’m sure there are some dads out there who are like that, but i think we can agree they’re in the minority because that’s not how cis men are taught to react and parents like this tend to be pretty damn committed to following the gender roles they were taught.

and even if i’m wrong and our experiences are exactly the same, let me reiterate that i never said this was an experience exclusive to trans men. all i said is that it happens to us. that’s just a statement of objective fact.

this started in my life when i got my hair cut short for the first time almost a decade ago and it has not stopped since. i’ve watched my mom cry over me changing my name and respond to being asked if my happiness matters more to her than my name by saying “i care about both”, i’ve watched her melt down in a mall over me getting a suit for prom and give me the silent treatment for days after, i’ve heard her plead with me to stop t because it “looks unnatural” and she’s just so “concerned for my health”, i’ve watched her stare at me post-op and say “my poor baby” over and over like she’s looking at my corpse in a casket. i’ve watched her turn herself into the victim of every single aspect of my transition. i’ve had to live with this for 9 years and spent the early years of the pandemic literally locked in a house with it. this has been my entire adolescent and adult life, and the question of if i’ll have to cut her off someday (and maybe never see my cat or my little cousins who i love more than anything in the world ever again as a result) haunts me every single day.

who the fuck are you to tell me how to talk about that?

#i hope you weren’t expecting me to take this in good faith and give a nice measured response #because just so we’re clear you didn’t have a chance in hell of doing anything other than pissing me off #like in case you forgot i am a real person who this is happening to #in what world did you think i’d care about how an anonymous stranger feels about how i describe it when im the one who has to live it #idk man. some of y’all clearly do not see me as an actual person capable of emotion and it shows #also like. using a friend’s experience is wild bc 1) how do you know it was the same if it didn’t happen to you #and 2) would that friend really want you using their experience against another trans person experiencing something similar? #anon hate #ask answered #examples of transandrophobia #transandrophobia #transandromisia #transmisandry #virilmisia #virilphobia #anti transmasculinity #transmascphobia #trans men

[laufs-very-serious-medical-blog]

I'm gonna say out loud something I suspect a lot of people can relate to but are afraid to vocalise.

It is okay to be scared or feel uncertain about getting top surgery. I know I was. It does not make you any less trans to feel hesitant about going forward with a major surgery that leaves large scars on your body you will have to look after for at least a few months afterwards, especially when for many of us top surgery is our first ever surgery. It does not mean you don't want it if you have to take some time to seriously consider it. It is okay and honestly perfectly normal to be scared, even if you rarely see trans people online exrpessing any sort of fear or doubts.

I knew I wanted my top surgery, and I certainly do not regret it, but I also questioned it. I weighed out the pros and cons, the possible complications following my surgery, whether or not I was truly mentally prepared for such a big surgery, and I even went so far as to question whether or not I truly wanted top surgery. I am grateful that I took the time to do that, even if to others in my life it looked as though I was rushing into this decision. I questioned everything, but I was also deeply aware of the fact that if I were to express my fear and hesitation I would likely be met with scrutiny over whether I truly wanted the surgery or if I am even really trans to begin with. I fear this is the reality for a lot of people, and I wish we could treat gender affirming surgeries the same way we do any other major surgery and allow ourselves to feel fear without facing judgement for it.

I do not regret my surgery, but it is still a major surgery, and thus takes some time to get used to. When I first saw my results after my surgery I felt a mix of emotions. I was happy, of course, but I was also possibly for the first time in my life seeing what 6 days post op looks like, and it is not very pretty. A very small part of me also questioned my decision then, and while a much larger part of me was ecstatic and knew very well that my results would look much better with time, I still want to acknowledge that small part. I feel that there is often not given much room in our community to express these feelings, leading many of us to shamefully hide them away while convincing ourselves we're the only ones who feel this way. That is simply not true.

So, if you're reading this and feel scared or hesitant, know that you are not alone. It is normal and healthy to take the time to seriously question whether or not to majorly alter your body in this way, even when you know it will eventually make you happier and more comfortable in your body. Never forget that.

#top surgery #trans #transmasc #trans man #trans healthcare

[ellie-probably]

little note for one of my friends

one of my friends was questioning as aro-spec so i thought i would maybe give a few terms here

greyromantic/grayromantic - experiencing romantic attraction at a lesser frequency or intensity as the societal "normal" person. this happens to be me!!! it also doesnt exclude different attraction types

lithromantic - you like people... but you have absolutely no care for actually acting on those feelings or knowing someone likes you back.

frayromantic - you like people until you have a strong emotional bond with them, after which the attraction fades away.

quoioromantic - do i like this person?? is it a different type of attraction?? is romantic attraction even relevant to me????? who the fuck knows, cause thats what this term is all about!!!!! (op realizing this term may fit them somewhat)

aegoromantic - "romance seems cool i guess, i dont think it's for me tho haha, like its cool fantasizing about romance and thingies but like idk i would rather not do that irl" - someone, somewhere, explaining aegoromantic

i mentioned different attraction types in quoiromantic earlier, so heres a list of different attraction and relationship types

sexual attraction - needs no introduction, you just horny, moving on

sensual attraction - like physical but non-sexual desires, like hugs, hand holding, etc

alterous - my favorite!!! this type is basically indistinguishable between romantic and platonic attraction, im pretty sure i feel this a lot, either that or its queerplatonic. see op cant even distinguish them and they are the chronically online autistic who researches queer wiki pages in their free time lol

queerplatonic!!!!!! - my actual favorite move over alterous, this is basically the ultimate platonic relationship, most would probably see it as romantic relationship cause it sees a level of devotion and commitment not often seen in platonic relationships. if i may blatantly steal from the lgbtqia+ fandom, "deep mutual trust, emotional closeness, and loyalty" normally seen in romantic relationships are a defining factor of queerplatonic relationships. if you want a good example of one ive seen people say that frances and aled from radio silence (alice oseman, 2016) are a queerplatonic relationship, and one that i am VERY jealous of but ive already talked about that here.

remember, nobody expects you to figure this out immediately. i doubt even alloromantics get crushes every week to develop their understanding of their attraction (but im aro-spec so who knows), so i doubt you're gonna find a billion crushes to dissect your attraction with, it's probably gonna take a while, but hey, if we... (*remembers that making jokes about humanity killing themselves and their homeworld bring the mood down*) ...have a community, why not ask around?

if anybody has stuff to correct me on, or stuff that you want me to talk about too, please just reach out!!

and to that friend i wrote this for, a lot of this you've probably seen already, but i hope i could help a bit :3 - aidan/ellie

&

#aromantic #arospec #aspec #lgbtq #attraction #lithromantic #greyromantic #aegoromantic #queerplatonic #frances and aled #questioning #did you know #you're reading the tags #wow

[bleeding-star-heart]

These tags on a reblog of my Anders analysis are another problem I have with DA:2's writing

#god i have so many feelings about this#cuz i romanced anders my first playthrough#and i hated that our relationship did a 180 as soon as I was like#“im not gonna let you gaslight me into doing war crimes”#was it OOC?#i don't know#I can't say#I haven't studied anders as a character or taken the time to contemplate him enough to speak on it#but i just know it was such a turn off that i started a new game entirely EDIT: I have removed the word "gaslighting" from this meta owing to the fact that technically, Anders isn't gaslighting, because gaslighting is something different. Gaslighting being trying to make someone doubt their perception of reality, among other things. What Anders ACTUALLY does falls under emotional manipulation. I would say to the OP that yes, indeed, this is VERY "out of character", so to speak. Most definitely for JUSTICE, the spirit inhabiting Anders's body. But also for Anders as well. Think about it: emotionally manipulating one's romantic partner is an inherently unjust thing to do. It is not something two people who respect and love each other do. Yet the spirit of Justice is completely silent when it happens. A being that supposedly embodies nothing but Justice simply...allows his host to guilt his lover into doing something they disagree with. He does not protest or try to stop Anders from engaging in a truly toxic form of emotional manipulation. If written properly, Justice should immediately have called Anders out on this. Which should prompt either an apology from Anders or a long, seemingly one-man argument between the two. But that doesn't happen. In fact, Justice only shows up if you, as Anders's rival, manage to turn him AGAINST blowing up the Chantry. And then, only to railroad Anders back into the role of terrorist. This, combined with Justice's general lack of reaction to any injustice or violation of rights that DOESN'T have to do with mages, causes him to become little more than a cheap plot device. Now as to why I don't believe a properly written Anders would do it, either. Anders at this point in the story is a revolutionary, yes. He is passionate about his cause. But he is also MORE than that. And part of that 'more'-and also WHY he's a revolutionary-is that he was a victim of a controlling, emotionally manipulative institution. One that bombards people like him with all kinds of unhealthy messaging. Messages like: the outside world is guaranteed to hate you, your (unchangeable) nature is inherently wrong and sinful. As well as: you can't trust yourself at all, you are one bad day from being a monster, you need to let us control you for your own good. Anders probably saw more than one person like Keili-that girl in the Mage Origin who actively believes she's evil and prays to 'not be a mage'. He probably encountered a lot of mages with varying degrees of religiously based self-loathing. He probably had some himself. And he lived in the Ferelden Circle. He's also a person who not only left a toxic institution, but actively sees and complains about how toxic the institution is. People who've suffered from toxic environments/relationships and RECOGNIZE how toxic those environments/relationships were, tend to value healthy relationships/environments. They try and work on themselves to remove any lingering psychological effects of that toxicity. It is highly likely that Anders would NOT want to repeat the kind of emotional manipulation he and others were subjected to. While he might not agree with Hawke about methods, Anders would not believe guilt to be a good tactic because guilt is one of the very tactics the Chantry used on him! Guilt about being a target for demonic possession, guilt about what the magisters did, guilt about being a mage in general.

Guilting his partner into agreeing with him, is, essentially, him doing what the Chantry did to him. And if the writers had put any thought into his character, they would have realized that too. And thus, if they were smart, or and simply give the player the option to permanently decline the quest with no negative consequences. The other option is to lean into that, and purposefully make it a character flaw, that he's too blinded by trauma to see that. But the writers did NOT have the time to be able to successfully pull that off. Thus, yeah. They make Anders, who suffered from religious based emotional manipulation...into someone who emotionally manipulates his partners. Which is yet another thing done in the name of a less-than-stellar ending and plot beat. EDIT: I have removed the word "gaslighting" from my part of this meta owing to the fact that technically, Anders isn't gaslighting Hawke, because gaslighting is something different. Gaslighting being trying to make someone doubt their perception of reality, among other things. What Anders ACTUALLY does falls under emotional manipulation. Which I still don't believe a properly written Anders OR Justice would do, for the reasons stated above.

#dragon age 2 #dragon age #anders #anders dragon age #dragon age meta #dragon age ii #da2 #anders da2

[rowanwithaz]

I know a lot of people were pissed off about the 11 op,for good reason,they downplayed Ochaco and Katsuki's arcs in this intro,but the thing they did that pisses me off the most is they made everyone doubt the lyrics were from Katsuki's POV. Due to Katsuki barley being in the intro it made everyone think the lyrics were from Izuku's POV,which doesn't really make sense especially the full version of the song,Bokurano. I could count every time Katsuki was on screen,which was I believe at most four times. And even these four times were so LITTLE.

These were his biggest moments on screen.

(damn look at Katsuki's tits in the second photo)

But,even in Katsuki's bigger (and obviously bigger tits) moments in the OP,everyone else is there. And Ochaco is even taking most of the attention away from Katsuki. Yes,this was a really important arc for Ochaco,but they framed it wrong in the intro,her whole thing was moving from Izuku,she was growing to be her own person/hero without Izuku. Katsuki's arc was about growing to and with Izuku,but the way they framed it made it seem very different. Some of the lyrics really reflected Katsuki's growth,but that was overlooked because the intro fucked it up.

Lyrics for the scene: "No matter where you are, I'll come running to you" HMMMM,now that sounds familiar...

Oh,yeah,it was Katsuki who vowed everyone and himself to be there for Izuku. Those lyrics are so goddamn beautiful,reflecting how Katsuki wants to grow with Izuku,but the intro again FUCKED it up. There were so many beautiful lines like that in the song that really speak so much of Katsuki's feelings,growth,and relationship with Izuku. But,that was overlooked because the intro made it seem like it was about Ochaco and Izuku,so everyone assumed it was from Izuku's POV,but if you actually listen to the whole song,there's a line that makes it beyond obvious that it's Katsuki's POV.

"To an unforgivable degree,something I regret terribly." Why are people doubting this is from Katsuki's POV? Well, that was a rather rhetorical question. Because of how they framed the intro. Now,don't get me wrong,it's my favorite one so far,and the animation is IMMACULATE. But,they really ruined a lot of the charter arcs in this because of it. It also made a lot of Izuchakos hopeful,so now Hori is going to get even more hate when it doesn't become canon because the intro misled them into believing it was about Ochaco's arc being about Izuku.

I saw a couple people saying, "If it was Katsuki who held Izuku's hand,no one would be mad ." First,no,I don't want Katsuki to take Iida's moment,I wanted Katsuki to have HIS OWN moment with Izuku. It's already been done though,so,not much we can do about it. But,I just hate that people undermine Katsuki's charter arc in this season,and that's mainly because the intro made anime onlys think it was an Izuchako season. Which,it was the exact opposite. So,they're all bitter and are saying Katsuki's arc is "Out of nowhere" and his moments with Izuku, "Don't make sense."

That's about it. I just have been listening to Bokurano for the past month non-stop and I love the lyrics so much and I hate how that get misinterpreted as Izuku's POV.

My favorite lyrics are:

"As I shout,my soul acts in concert with your feelings."

"Burn your life up with emotion."

And , "I took action rather than just thinking,Because that's what you taught me."

GOD,THIS IS SO BEAUTIFUL. JESUS CHRIST. AND IT WAS SUNG SO WELL!

#mha #bkdk #dkbk #bakudeku #bnha #dekucchan #GreeNade #bakugo katsuki #bnha season 6

[weenwrites]

About the Scarlet Witch!Reader, imagine she heard the discussions from the Autobots about her chaos magic powers could lead to destructions and Reader will turn mad with power (which is completely the opposite, she's stable as she can be and kind and generous) and they should "keep an eye of her" in case she'll go crazy and in need to keep on lock her up, which made her feel more outcast from them as much she's outcast from society which depressed her more. One day, in a terrible battle between them and the Decepticons, she "sacrifice" to save them and everyone believe she died with it (but secretly gets away from them in complete isolation from everyone, both humans and Autbots, living in a farm or something), How Team Prime (Op, Ratchet, Ultra Magnus, Bee...your choice) will react of her death and their guilt ?

(P.S, you can add IF Team Prime's reactions IF they EVER heard that she's alive somewhere FAR away from them. would they want to reach her again or....?)

Optimus

Optimus treats them as he would any of the other humans, but he does keep a mental note of Ratchet's (and possibly the government's) concerns about them in mind. But so long as they don't do anything that goes against his morals—or just anything harmful in general, he won't see them as any threat.

When he witnesses them die, he goes beserk. He burns though vehicons faster than they can be deployed, and the Decepticons are forced to withdraw before they lose too many soldiers. Their death affects him like the rest of his team, but it's a bit less noticeable than the others. But when he learns they faked their death, he's... Confused, perplexed, upset—he feels a lot of things. He doesn't understand why they would fake their death, and of course he's upset that they did that in the first place. But that doesn't mean that he's not relieved to hear that they're alright.

While Optimus would like to talk to them, it's difficult for him to find the time to. But depending on whether or not they were someone who concerned the government, he may let agent Fowler know they're alive.

Ratchet

Ratchet's the one who primarily feels as if they're a threat here. He's seen just how twisted and corrupt one can become as a result of power—just look at Megatron for example. However, he doubts that someone as powerful as they are can be contained by any high-tech prison. They can only be contained by something that can rival their own power, which is something that neither the autobots or decepticons. However... They do seem mentally stable and in control of their own powers, so with time his concerns diminish.

But when it comes to their "death"... Even knowing that they're gone—permanently gone—he still feels as if something's off. He knows they're powerful, so surely something like that "sacrifice" wouldn't be enough to kill them. So when he discovers that they're actually alive, a whole surge of emotions rush through him. Anger, relief, confusion, betrayal, and sadness (to which he feels even more upset after learning the reason why they did this.)

Ratchet wouldn't seek them out, he's got mixed feelings about it, and he thinks that leaving them alone would be for the best, given the current situation (ahem, the war).

Bumblebee

Although they're really dangerous, Bumblebee doesn't treat them like they're a ticking time bomb. But of course he does understand that they could potentially become a threat to the team, the kids, and everyone else, and he keeps that in mind, but that doesn't affect how he treats them. He treats them like a normal person, albeit someone who's strong and can take care of themselves just fine—but still a normal person. And he'll continue to do this so long as they're both friends.

When he witnesses them die, he feels worse than distraught. It's clear that their death really got to him with the way his doorwings droop. He genuinely believes they're permanently gone, but the instant he learns they're actually alive he's... Got mixed feelings. On one hand he's really happy and relieved they're alive, and he wants to hug them, but on the other... They faked their death and they never said anything about it. They continued living their life even though they left so many people hurt by their death! He has no idea what he feels specifically, but one thing's for sure, he doesn't think he can forgive them for this. They'll still be friends—that is, if they'd want to be—but he can't forgive them for faking their death.

Bee wouldn't be sure on whether or not he should reach out. On one hand, they faked their death for a reason, perhaps he should just leave them alone? On the other hand he wants to talk about what they did. So, if he can find them, and if he has the time, he'd come by. But if they don't want to talk, he'll leave.

#tfp imagines #tfp headcanons #tfp x reader #tfp optimus prime #optimus prime x reader #tfp ratchet #ratchet x reader #tfp bumblebee #bumblebee x reader #x reader #reader insert #self insert #weenwrites

[ysljoon]

Whumptober Day 4-John Price

✲Prompt: "You in there?"

✲Warnings: angst, little bit of military talk, feelings of self-doubt/incapability

✲a/n: yall get pretty much back to back whump drabbles since i posted day 3 super late so i hope you enjoy!

✲MINORS DNI (have your age in your bio or you're getting blocked)

You fled to your room with such urgency as soon as the heli touched down on the landing pad. You couldn’t stand the embarrassment anymore. You had just come back from an op with the rest of Task Force 141. You were a sniper that was most recently brought onto the team so you definitely felt like you needed to prove yourself. Needless to say, you got too gung-ho about your capabilities and missed a shot before the order was even given a direct order to let off the shot. You acted without thinking as soon as you saw the target in your sight, but you gasped as soon as you saw the target look directly into your scope and it made you miss your shot. 

All chaos had broken loose and the entire task force had gotten ambushed and had gotten more injured than what was expected for the mission. Worst of all it took months to even get a lead for the target and lord knows how long it's going to take for anyone to find a lead now especially since the target and his mob were now aware the task force knew about their operations. 

Ghost gave you a new asshole with how hard he tore into your mistake and immediately requested for Price to take you off the team. It was so hard to hold your tears back the entire helicopter ride back. You felt everyone's sorry stares on you and it made you want to just crawl into a hole and bury yourself away from this situation.

Now you’re hiding in your room and solemnly start to pack the very few belongings you do have into a duffel bag. The saddest part about this is it finally felt like you were part of a team that could become family. Soap, Gaz, and Price welcomed you warmly and made you feel like you belonged. Now you had thrown everything out the window due to a missed shot. Who knew everything could turn so fast due to a mistake? You know how much is put on the line due to this line of work, but you never knew it was going to be you that would compromise an operation. Especially to this extent.

As you zipped up the duffel bag you heard a knock on your door. Everything froze at once. You deliberated hiding under your sheets and pretending to not even hear it, but another knock came rattling against the door of your quarters. “Kid, you in there? It’s Price, open up!” You straightened yourself and quickly tried to fix your disheveled state.” Once opening the door you saw the soft smile on Price’s face but it looked somber. This felt like a goodbye before it even started so you felt the need to rip off the bandage from now to ease some of the pain.

“Sir I know what I did compromised the mission and the entire task force. What I have done cannot be taken back and I have packed all my bags and will leave the second you tell me my departure date and time.” You gazed down at your feet as you babbled to Price. He placed a hand on your shoulder and this stopped your spiel. You looked up into his eyes trying to figure out what he was thinking as his facial expression was hard to read. 

“Kid, listen I’m not kicking you off the team. Despite how Ghost acts, I’m the one who calls all the shots here. You will be put on probation for the next three months and will have your skills assessed at the end of each month. We all make mistakes, but I don’t want you to think that you aren’t good enough for this team. I hand-selected you and I only pick the best. Just get some rest and we will reconvene tomorrow.” You nodded dumbly and he wished you a final farewell with a hug. You slid down the door trying to sort out all the emotions you were feeling, but your heart rate had started to pick up and distract you. Why do I feel this way just from a hug from Price?

Oh. Oh!

#whumptober 2023 #john price x reader #john price x you #john price #captain john price x reader #captain john price x you #captain john price #john price cod #price mw2 #cod mw2

[hanasnx]

(if this makes u uncomfy in any way plz ignore)

idk if mj exists in SW ‘verse, but like—sex with ani while ur both high as kite?? BIG YES (from me at least).

esp cause!! it would probably heighten ani’s force sensitivity?? like he’s feeling high and tingling and extra touch sensitive and all of a sudden you’re touching him and he’s getting a rush of emotions, floating, hungry, hot, i love you i want you.

and you. you look like heaven, like every sin he’s ever indulged in, all flushed and glowy and smiley, touching him with a fluttery touch.

ani needs you when he’s high cause there’s something almost spiritual, almost heaven scent and hell touched, about the rush of you he gets in every way.

as a former pothead i think i've gotta set some records straight. long post about marijuana + fucking + anakin under the cut <3

warnings: marijuana, negative + positive for anakin experience with marjuana

when i was smoking enough for a circle and then playing whatever videogame was in my ps for 20 hours a day, i can say that it did nothing but make me hungry, my attention span elongated, and my anxiety non-existent. i wasn't interested in fucking, i was mostly into wasting away while naked. it didn't do much (that i can remember) for my sense of touch.

i do know that when i did fuck while high, it wasn't a remarkable experience because i don't remember any of it. nor did it make me horny or add to the sensation. those kinds of effects were from an entirely different drug that i did that i dont feel like putting the trigger warnings for so i wont talk about it

pot is definitely good for mellowing out, chilling, and fucking really casual. and i mean really casual. that's my experience with it anyway i have no idea if its diff for other ppl, im sure ppl who arent demisexual and have higher sex drives than me can say different who knows.

for anakin, i can see him smoking and fucking. definitely. in very specific circumstances. let me lay those out for you:

he smokes very occasionally for spirituality reasons. he does it respectfully, with great care. a big stickler about it. he wants to emphasize to himself it's not for recreational or social reasons. the jedi discourage drugs that cloud your judgment. marijuana is frowned upon to rely on for things like calming yourself or meditating because you should be able to do that alone. however, it's not frowned upon to partake in it every once in a while. it's all about new experiences and as long as you treat it with respect, it's alright. anakin treats it with the utmost respect.

he does not care to be under the influence of something. being high or drunk is a very rare form for him indeed. he gets very uncomfortable when on something, and especially uncomfortable being reliant on something, so when he is smoking he does it alone most of the time. he does not like being disillusioned, and he certainly does not like the idea of someone's no-nonsense idea of him being shattered.

he's led a ceremony with younger people of the order. taught them how to partake, how to roll, how to use it mindfully. and if someone is having a negative first experience, they had too much or it does not agree with them and it gets into their heads, he knows how to calm them.

when he smokes with you, it might be a rare moment of rebellion. a "i'm an adult, i can smoke a little weed." moment. and even with that notion, his darkness may catch up to him. the guilt of using it under different circumstances than usual may put him in a bad place, memories he pushes back into the reaches of his mind creep up. his past with tatooine, the tusken massacre, etc. he gets paranoid, those doubts you couldn't love a monster like him get the better of him. it gets in his way. and you're there to lead him back to the present. like op said, "you look like heaven" he'd hone in on you. tunnel vision.

anakin's way of calming himself is often self pleasure. and so since youre here, and willing and able, he might use you to guide him back to the present in a more physical way. he can't think if he's inside you, all he can do is chase his orgasm. he's tingly, he's got those nerves in the pit of his stomach, he's trying to ground himself using you and at the same time fuck you out of this world. however, with marijuana you're both slowed, and clumsy. the love-making wouldn't be coherent, or poised, but it'd be enjoyable. less concerned about what you must look like, and more cuddly. more shallow thrusts, and humping ruts, and sloppy kisses and no dialogue.

#indy lore #cw marijuana #indy shoots the shit #thanks for the msg!! #anakin #little-celestials #anakin skywalker smut #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker x gn!reader #x gn!reader #reader insert #anakin skywalker x reader smut #anakin skywalker x gn!reader smut #anakin x you #no y/n #anakin skywalker x you #anakin skywalker prompt #anakin skywalker imagine #anakin x reader #anakin smut #star wars smut #star wars headcanons #anakin skywalker headcanons

[warsofasoiaf]

I just came across this bit of reddit dribble and was curious what your opinions were:

“Tywin doesn't think he's smarter than he is. I'm not just saying this because he is actually pretty smart, but because he doesn't overestimate his intelligence or it's ability to get him and his family out of trouble. So much of what he does in the series is defensive actions based on the assumption that his enemies know what they are doing and are smart enough to be threats.

You have to remember, he doesn't actually start anything. He sent the Mountain to raid in the Riverlands because Cat kidnapped Tyrion unprovoked. That actually gave him Casus Belli against the the Tully's at minimum, and the Starks once Jamie confronted Ned about it and Ned backed up Cat, and the Arryns once Lysa imprisoned Tyrion. Tywin tried to avoid open war by raiding instead, as a means to pressure Hoster Tully to influence his girls to let Tyrion go. It was an action that could be easily walked back if Tyrion was released, allowing everyone to move on. Everyone involved should have recognized that Tywin was within his rights to outright invade the Riverlands in response to the kidnapping, and his merely raiding was restraint meant to leave room for de-escalation. The problem was that Lysa was insane, Cat and Ned were morons being manipulated by Little finger, and Hoster was incapable due to illness. Tywin overestimated the intelligence of his opponents in this instance, by a lot. He also never underestimates the Tyrells, unlike everyone else, because he understands how cunning Olena is and how she runs the House. While everyone else assumes the Tyrells are jokes, Tywin understands that he has to keep them happy. He likely figured out that Olena was the mastermind behind Joffrey's death and chooses to scapegoat Tyrion to maintain the alliance.”

Holy moly, this is a bad read. Alright, let's go start to finish.

Tywin specifically sent Gregor Clegane under unmarked banners to raid the Riverlands. This is not a means by which to pressure Hoster, because theoretically, Tywin isn't doing anything - these are supposed to be brigands, not Tywin's household guard attempting to influence Catelyn's behavior. Now, of course, everyone knows that this is bullshit, it's not like you can confuse the Mountain that Rides for anyone else. But if Tywin has the casus belli, as OP suggests, why does he command that they fly no banners? He knows that he can't do it, hence why he creates the fig leaf of deniability.

The idea that the raids were meant as restraint for de-escalation is positively laughable. Tywin is conducting a chevauchee, which is warfare in the medieval era. Even if we take Tywin at his word that he was wronged by having his flesh and blood kidnapped, he's not "de-escalating," he's going further up the escalation spiral: kidnapping to war.

Moreover, we actually see what de-escalation looks like, because Hoster Tully attempts to do so. That's right, "incapable due to his illness" Hoster Tully responds to Gregor Clegane's raids by attempting to de-escalate: by seeking the King's Justice. He sends a delegation to Robert's court (and he believes he'll be appealing to Robert, not Ned sitting while Robert is faffing about on a hunting trip) to beseech the King's Justice. This is specifically what you do to de-escalate, you appeal to the next rung up the feudal ladder first. However, to Tywin, beseeching royal justice makes him look weak and reminds him uncomfortably of his father Tytos, who was so weak that Aegon V needed to intervene in the Westerlands. As many meta writers, including myself, have written, Tywin has a strong emotional fixation on the projection of strength, responding to any hint of weakness with maximum brutality to ensure that he is feared and no one doubts the capability or might of House Lannister.

Regarding Olenna Tyrell, that's an invention of the show. In the books, Tywin and Olenna don't interact, rather they foil each other's plans. As to believing that Olenna was actually guilty, Tywin's characterization actually goes against that. If Tywin believed the Tyrells would kill Joffrey, he'd destroy them, because you don't raise your hands against the Lannisters and live.

Thanks for the question, Anon. Go dunk on them.

SomethingLikeALawyer, Hand of the King

#tywin lannister

[natasha-in-space]

Yk one time i came across this reddit post (which i had eventually came across multiple times) and there the op talks about her now husband whom she has always known to be very logical cold stoic and unemotional.

But on the day of their marriage he was the most soppiest person she had ever seen, he cried alot (happy tears ofc) and his gestures were very heart melting.

Whenever i remember that post i think of jumin. I cant help but think it is so jumin like oh god.

Hmm, I see your point, but Jumin is very far from stoic and unemotional when it comes to his MC, actually! :D He's honestly almost on par with GE Saeran with just how openly doting and affectionate he really is with you. I mean, here's a lovely compilation of him being all lovey-dovey with you. Openly and proudly. Keep in mind, this is in chats, and this is in his route. This is not from calls where you can be more romantic with every member, nor is this from his after ending or Valentines dlc where they are all lovey-dovey in some capacity, since you are already in an established relationship. No, this is Jumin in the chatrooms:

Jumin is stupidly adoring with his MC. He doesn't hide his affections, almost to a fault. I mean, he kisses you right in front of Sarah! Sure, a part of him did it to prove a point, but he openly expresses that he wanted to do it. He just goes for it.

Jumin has a lot of love and affection to give once he finds someone who he feels safe to give it to. It's honestly not surprising, and it's the same situation as is with Saeran. When you grow up without much love given, once you get an opportunity to share it with someone who you feel safe and happy with... you will do so tenfold. Off topic, but that's why I adore his friendship with Saeran so much! They have quite a lot in common.

Jumin will get emotional on your wedding day, there is no doubt about it. But he makes sure that you feel loved by him on every other day of your shared lives as well. Remember, Jumin believes in expressing his feelings to his loved ones daily, not just on special events.

In other words: Jumin is an affectionate sweetheart, and he's not ashamed to show it!

#mystic messenger #mysmes #mysme #mm #jumin han #han jumin #i actually forgot just how lovey dovey he really is - i just remembered that he WAS doting #went back to take these screenshots and oh my god yeah #he's a sweetheart #also i had to include that zen comeback because it's so damn funny to me #sorry buddy you're gonna have to get used to this 😔

[lmskitty]

What do you think about the answer to this https://www.tumblr.com/gojuo/742796780522061824/is-satosugu-a-queerbaiting-ship?source=share ?

Look politely to that person they are able to read narrative and view it however they wish. No hate to them, they are absolutely right in that certain things are canon and certain things arent.

Here is a list of canonical things that Gojo has done regarding Geto/Gege has put in canon

-calling them his one and only

-saying his heart and soul knew otherwise

-an entire plan working on the basis that seeing them back from the dead would be enough to stall him

-having their deaths happen on December 24th which is a day considered super romantic in Japan.

-having Kenjaku state that to be creepy and refer to it as a date despite having used that emotional connection to manipulate them

-the urge to protect Gojo being so strong Geto briefly took control of his own body FROM THE AFTERLIFE to try and stop Kenjaku

- Gojo recognised Geto by scent after TEN YEARS (?!?!?!?)

- Geto specifically wore a Gojo- kesa because of the name

-Geto told a girl he would refer to her as Sato because he liked the name more

https://shipping.fandom.com/wiki/SatoSugu (for even more!!!)

I get not reading it that way, you wanna read them as friends that's fine but you cannot argue they can't be read as displaying romantic affection and that people reading that are seeing something that isn't there. It doesn't need to be stated as romantic but there is 100% love there and the entirety of the plot is driven from that and the break down of their relationship and the paths that leads them on.

Also (and I'm getting real tired of pointing this out) no one would say shit if either of them were female. If they were heterosexual people would be writing articles about this being the most romantic narrative in a manga regardless of if the canon remained the same and we never saw either of them act on their feelings.

I mean come on Gojo didn't give us love is the most twisted curse of all with no romantic basis.

But. The most important factor here is this.

It doesn't fucking matter. Everyone can read a text and get a different perspective from it. We don't all have to agree on the reading, there are headcanons people have that I don't agree with but think are neat , I have headcanons that are 100% fanon that most people would disagree with. OP is right in that everything else is fandom but it doesn't matter dude. You wanna ship them you ship away, I will state I've not interacted with anyone gaslighting or throwing it in people's faces, maybe I'm just in a good part of the fandom? If people are doing that which tbh I don't doubt, fandoms are insane and I've been in them since I was 11 and I'm 31 now, then that's shitty behaviour and ridiculous. People can ship how they want, just keep your fandom friends circle small you know? Fandoms should be for enjoyment so if it's getting toxic then cut your losses and start blocking I guess.

In summation:

Life is short, don't be a dick, you don't really need canon confirmation to enjoy a ship but don't chuck it in other people's faces or call people gaslighting for reading deeper into canon.

#satosugu #stsg #goge #anon ask

[dariaslookalike]

Building Houses and Burning Bridges Pt 2: The Proof is in the Pudding. Or the Banana Bread

Summary:

It seems, oddly enough, that Gregory House lives to annoy you. He takes 'arseholish boss' to the next level. Wake up in the morning, ready to have breakfast, and drive to the hospital where you both work? Nope, you're getting a text that says you're late to his impromptu 4:30 AM meeting where he's had the 'breakthrough of the century' on the team's latest case. Get your hair cut and walk into work, for once feeling confident? Nope, he's saying that he would have done a better job blinded, hands tied and going through Vicodin withdrawals. Finally, 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺, prove him wrong and attempt to wipe the cockiness off his face? Nope, you're simply slow because you didn't get to your diagnosis quicker and weak-willed because you didn't fight him for it in the beginning. Everything House does infuriates you, and it seems everything you do infuriates him. No wonder you end up pinned to the wall of your apartment and groping him like your life depends on. And knowing House, it very may well.

Warnings: Adult language, mature themes, eventual smut, female protagonist, no reference of y/n

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Current Status: Ongoing

Masterlist: Building Houses and Burning Bridges

Next Chapter: Pt 3

-----------------------

There's an odd numbness that you feel on the bus ride home from your interview(s). Almost like shell shocked. When you step onto the bus, the driver smiles at you, and your brain fights to conform your lips into one. But, when you sink onto the fabric chairs, you let your eyes go out of focus and tune out the murmurings of other passengers. It's expected of course, from the day you've had. You have been picked apart and put back together again, over and over, and experienced a dizzying amount of emotions.

There was anxiety, of course; but also an odd sense of pride and happiness from your interview with Cuddy. You spoke confidently. You had the credentials, the experience, and the eagerness to learn that allowed you to win over the Dean of Medicine herself. She had praised you on all of the above.

But there was also anger. Annoyance. And an overflow of self-doubt from your interview with House. Honestly, you thought Cuddy's warning of the Diagnostic doctor was exaggerated, simply to keep you on edge for the remainder of your evening. But after meeting him yourself, the sincerity of her warning became apparent.

He was rude; egotistical; and most definitely infuriating. Your first interaction with him was not during the interview, but rather under the guise of making awkward small talk with a patient waiting for House. He had then proceeded to degrade you; and later, belittle and mock you. All within less than half an hour.

And then he did something incredibly surprising. He hired you. It was awkward, sitting back down to his desk and collecting manilla folder after manilla folder of official guidelines, resources, and random paperwork. You had half a mind to slam it on his desk and tell him where he could shove his paperwork. But, like you said: You were willing to put up with rudeness, as floor mat-y as that sounds.You needed this job.

Moving across the country, leaving behind (admittedly, a small amount of) friends, and paying off a collective ten years of medical training and education had left you broker, than you were willing to admit. Two-minute noodles had become your new five-star meals. The heels you were wearing were gorgeous. You haggled for $12 for them from an op shop; you had reattached the heel itself through superglue and determination alone.

Hence, the rackety bus you were now on. It was near comical. The broken air conditioning, which was heaving out pathetic warm puffs, dripped steadily onto the back of a man's jacket. When the driver took a corner too quickly, one of the doors swung open an inch only to slam close again when the bus straightened out. There were four speakers in the bus and there was only one that worked; it had been scratching out 'Careless Whisper' on a loop for thirty-seven minutes.

How many times would Geroge Michael never dance again? More importantly, how many times could you hear him sing about it before you banged your head against the glass and tried to give yourself an aneurysm through blunt force trauma?

You were lucky in some aspects; being a 'gifted child' had you speeding through courses in high school and graduating from tertiary education extremely early. Most specialists were in their early-mid thirties. You were still in your late twenties.

The demands of school, your previous residency, and various jobs meant that you didn’t leave many people behind. There was Bailey, who you would occasionally have coffee with; when you worked together and were desperate to waste hours at a stifling desk job, he would make riddles that you could never solve. And Ms Delon, your greying and wrinkled neighbour, who, every fortnight, would bring out her yellowed recipe book and teach you something new and pour you cup after cup of English tea. If it was relevant, you would have put your ability to make four different kinds of pie, seven cakes, nine pasta dishes, and one hell of a banana bread from scratch on your resume. The mailman that would slip you a postage stamp every time he stopped outside of your building (this one was odder than anything; you had never asked him to do, but smiling at him and receiving a 10-cent stamp with a photo of a furry kitten was nice, nonetheless).

You’re stumped for a moment, and wonder if you missed anyone; but no. Pathetically, the only friends you had left were an old coworker, a widower, and your mailman. God, you needed to get out more. Maybe the crazy alcoholic extroverts in high school were onto something. Or at least, on something.

Clubbing could wait until you had settled into your new job, however. You had been scrambling for a stable job and to pay off your debts. When the diagnostic position at Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital was advertised, you crossed your fingers and prayed to gods you didn't believe in, and applied.

You couldn't tell yet if it was a malevolent force that had twisted fate around. You were stuck working side by side with House for the foreseeable future. You grumble to yourself as you step off the bus and the cold night surrounds you. Of course, when House gets mentioned, even within the mental confines of your psyche, it begins to rain. Malevolent force indeed. It's not long before the droplets become torrential, and you make the decision to cover your 'oh-so-important' paperwork with your coat and sprint down the streets as fast as your heels will allow you.

By the time you reach your fading, cracking, and slightly mildew-smelling apartment, you look like a drowned rat. Hissing as you turn on the bright overhead lights, you sound like one too. The paperwork, clutched in your numb hands is pristine, save for a few crinkled edges and crumpled folders. You set it down, and lock the heavy deadbolt across your door.

Sighing, you kick off your heels and detangle yourself from your suffocating clothes. You grimace as you pad across your apartment, leaving a wet trail of footprints in your wake. Your apartment is still in the very early stages of moving in, but it’s become a ritual of sorts to turn on your kettle, reuse the one bowl you dug out from somewhere, and make chicken noodles.

You breathe the salty, artificial flavouring in, but, when you feel goosebumps across your chest and arms, you decide the noodles can cook for a while longer.

Connected to your bedroom, the bathroom door needs to be shouldered to open, and you almost want to yell out an apology to your neighbours when it screeches against the tiles. You don’t however. You’ve been sleeping here for a week now, and every night, without fail, there would be banging, crashing, and lots of moaning from the apartment next to you. The ritualistic orgies they must have been having meant that they could deal with your squeaky doors.

Your eyes skim across the bathroom. Your brain isn’t familiar with your housing yet. It’s like you except for the same tiles, the same paned windows and shining taps of where you left. Instead, there’s a spattering of dark flecks against the roof. You stubbornly advert your eyes from the mould. You’ll clean it tomorrow. Or the next day. Fine- whatever day you were able to fish a stepladder and bleach out of your arse.

The hot water burns away the evidence of the day. Your cheap makeup, vanilla perfume, sweat; everything is down the drain. You drag your hands down your face and hold your breath until your lungs begin to burn. Maybe you should have been more assertive in your interviews. Maybe if you had been funnier, nicer, prettier, smarter, perkier, ruder, or one of the million things you weren’t, House would have taken a liking to you. Maybe you should have been less willing to blatantly cop his abuse, now and every future Monday-Friday. Maybe, maybe, maybe. It fills your head, and you practice breathing in deeply. And breathing out. Repeat. Breathe in deeply. And out. Repeat.

The maybes don't disappear but they become quieter in your head. By the time you’re in the middle of an epic concert finale, near screaming “Guilty feet have gaaat no rhythm!”, the maybes are just static, background noise.

Stepping out of the shower, you wrap yourself in the lone, fluffy towel hung in your bathroom. The shower head drips behind you, matching your heartbeat steadily. You brush your teeth, and gag when you scrub your tongue. The warm water has left you tired. Sore. The paperwork can wait until tomorrow.

For now, you collapse onto your uncovered mattress, naked and still wet from your shower. Mountains of boxes surround you; the tape containing them hasn’t even been cut open yet. You tell yourself that unpacking can wait until tomorrow too, and you drift off into a restless sleep.

It’s filled with images of House in a wheelchair, wearing very provocative clothing. “Premium Cripple Hooker rates apply,” he whispers seductively to you. —--------- The next morning you curse yourself, and begin to pick up the heavy, wet pile of clothing by your front door, and eat a pathetic, slimy breakfast of your forgotten noodles. You’re determined that this weekend your apartment will look like the cover of some overpriced magazine or at the very least, be unpacked. But come Sunday night, you’ve only assembled one ikea coffee table and still have a third of your boxes remaining.

To be fair, the ikea table took the longest of those two chores; you had a packet of nails when you needed screws, dowels that splintered into pieces when you jammed them into the wood, and a hammer when you needed a screwdriver. An abrupt walk around your busy, dingy neighbour led you to a corner ‘mum and pops’ hardware store. By the fourth trip, when you needed a box of lightbulbs (because, in your excitement to have finally finished the table, you swung your hands up and your brand new screwdriver performed an acrobatics routine, perfectly sticking the landing in your overhead light), the Pop of the ‘mum and pops’ shop greeted you by name.

After the scarring ikea incident, your stomach was growling. Noodles couldn’t cut this kind of hunger any more; maybe your body was building a resistance to the starchy goodness. So, sliding on your shoes one more time and slipping your keys and wallet into your coat, you walked along the icy pathway. You stopped at the one place you knew so far, and raised your hands in defence when the bell chimed, announcing your arrival.

“I am NOT here to buy anything again. Well. At least for today.”

‘Pop’ let out a hearty laugh, clutching at his gut. He was a heavy, older man, and a smoker from the smell of it. You hoped you didn’t see him at work anytime soon. He sure saw you enough at his.

“Honey,” His Slavic accent was thick. The nickname wasn’t the same sneering word that some men yelled at you, but rather kind and endearing, as if he was chortling at his young grandaughter. “If you keep coming back, I’ll be able to retire soon. But,” He gestures at you, in big sweeping movements, ”You didn’t break another bulb? Or build another desk?”

“Thankfully, no. I need groceries, and I was hoping you’d know if there was store around here? I still haven’t learnt my way around yet.”

Pop looks around the store, empty aside from you. You supposed not many people ventured outside in these frigid weathers. He smiles, and you watch in amusement as his moustache tickles his cheeks. “I’ll show you. I have to have break now anyway. Otherwise,” His voice drops low, “The wife will murder me. Says I need to ‘take it easy’. Psh.”

He hangs his apron up, and places a sign on the locked door, saying he will be back within the hour. Together you walk down the winding and cracked pathways. He reveals his name isn’t Pop, but rather Josef. You laugh and tell him you might just keep calling him Pop. He laughs, and says “Why not? I already have four grandchildren who do.”

It’s easy to talk with him. Both of your breaths fan out in front of you, in plumes of warm air. You tell him about your new job and deep lines appear in his forehead. “So far away. Hard work too.” he says and you can’t help but nod. You can’t imagine Pop as a young man, or in his youth; he seems like the man designed to be a grandfather. Regardless, he tells you lots of things. His migration here, when he was younger than you. The years of taxi driving and late nights he did to buy his store and settle down with his bookkeeping wife. His beautiful, but busy children. You smile and nod along, and you quickly arrive to the small grocery store.

There’s not much to choose from but you get the essentials: milk, flour, bread, sugar, cereal, pasta, sauces, and spices. As a last-ditch attempt to appear as if you care about your nutrition, you grab some fruits and vegetables. The woman ringing you up, at the store's lone register, wishes you a good, warm day, and you thank her.

Pop waits for you outside, smoking a cigarette. When he sees you return, he quickly blows away the smoke and stamps the butt out on the ground. Sheepishly he says, “My wife wants me to quit.” He leaves it at that, and you don’t bother telling him the risks and the benefits of quitting. His wife sounds smart enough.

You’re sceptical when he offers to carry some of your groceries, but relent when he insists. Just like that, you walk back to his store and continue trading stories. When you tell him that yes, you will be fine and that yes, you’re strong enough, he hands you your remaining bags of groceries.

“Come by, anytime you need something, kid. The store’s quieter in winter, and I’m always there if you need a hand.”

You smile and try to ignore the tears that spring to your eyes. “Thanks, Pop. I appreciate it.”

He claps you on the shoulder, unlocks the door and shuffles back towards his counter as if he had never left.

You pack your groceries away in the quiet of your apartment. Thinly dicing some onions, garlic and carrots, the methodological chopping of your knife is all that is heard. When you’re finished cooking, and feasting on what tastes like heaven after weeks of two-minute noodles, you shuffle to your bed. It now has a sheet on it and a blanket, and you supposed that was an upgrade from the previous night.

You stared up at your ceiling for half an hour.

One hour.

Two.

By the third, you whip your blanket and send it flying into your wall, where it crumples to the floor.

No rest for the wicked. Or the anxious.

It’s not like you could prepare for your first day of work any more. You had your clothes hanging up. Your lunch was packed. But, your feet lead you back to the kitchen. You pop your tongue from the roof of your mouth and heave. Stress baking was the best alternative to laying in bed awake. At least it was somewhat productive. Okay, that may have been a lie. At least the sugar would make you feel better.

By the end of your so-called ‘productivity’, your kitchen looked like a bomb site. But you were satisfied with your creations. You begin to walk back to your room, but high pitched and near frantic moaning echoed through your walls. Jesus. Did they have to get it on right next your pillows?

You grab at your blanket and pillows where they sprawl across the floor, and huff, returning to lay on the rug in the lounge room. No couch yet. You had traded $35 dollars for your table, and your bank account was screaming gainst that, let alone a new, or even old, couch. You wriggle like a drowning worm and scooch until your head is under the table examining your handwork. There’s no jutting screws or splintering cracks. You're content with your examination and intend to crawl back out. But your blanket is too cozy and the pillow you clutch at, too soft. Against your will, you drift off to the warm smell of cinnamon and timber. —----- You bolt awake and slam your head against the table.

“Fuck!” You yell out, and clutch at the piercing pain in your forehead. For It’s more humiliating this time when you worm-wriggle out from the table. You turn back to the table, sitting up and massaging at your temple. “I should bring some termites home now. Just for you.”

You know you must not have slept long if you’re insulting your table, but you gingerly raise yourself anyway and peer at the clock hung high on the wall. Not even dawn yet. You were so nervous that your brain forced you awake, with ample time. You take a shower, letting cool water run across your face. Your hand wipes at the foggy mirror, and you decide that yes, you will wear more cheap makeup today. At least to cover the angry red line crossing over your forehead.

You lock the door on your way out and walk gently down your stairs, trying not to slip and eat ass on the sidewalk. You place a container outside of ‘Mom and Pop’s’, and scrawl out a message onto a note. ‘Thank you for all the help! Hope you like banana bread’. You sign your name next to a small smiley face.

The ride was uneventful and quiet. The driver did give you an odd look, but you thought it was fairly justified. You were bundled in your thick coat, and desperately balancing a plastic container, your binder of paperwork, and your bag across your arms. You let it all sprawl across the seat next to you when you sat down. There weren’t many commuters this early in the morning; the windows were fogged, and the streets still dark.

Your shift started at 7, but the commute was long. The sun is just rising when the drops your at the hospital’s stop, and you hop off, thanking the driver. Despite the empty streets you were cruising through a minute ago, the hospital is bustling. It never sleeps, it seems. You smile at the nurses you pass and beeline for the elevators. Your stomach twists in on itself, and you sigh, starting to walk towards the conference room. You reach it, but peer into House’s office. The light’s are off and it’s devoid of the snarky man.

You breathe a sigh of relief, and slip into the conference room. You tuck your bag under the sink and out of sight. It doesn’t have anything valuable, but you have a mean coffee mug in there that you would hate to get stolen. By 'mean' you meant it had a sticker on it and had survived more potential spills than you could count. Next, your container is set next to the small kitchenette and you debate if you should put a note on it, like you did Pop’s. But you decide against it. You’ll be able to tell the team in person and hopefully, the banana bread acts like an ice breaker of sort. No more awkward questions of your hobbies or your family, but simply sweet, bready goodness.

You scan the small kitchenette area but quickly come to the conclusion that you have nothing left to procrastinate with. To Cuddy it is.

You spin, and instantly scream, raising your binder over your head and ready to swing it down. House blinks at you, like you’re a startling bug crawling across his cane.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, lowering your binder and clutching at your chest. “Do you sneak up on all your new workers? Jesus.”

He shakes his head like a bird dusting off its feathers. “Oh, my apologies, I didn’t realise I had to walk into my meeting room with a belly dancing skirt on. Maybe I should. Help people hear me more.”

"I'm sure it would bring out your eyes."

Your eyes flick up to his. God they're blue. They're the paradoxal chilly sky on a sunny winter day. Maybe you were right about the skirt.

“Door?”, he says as he cranes his neck forward and peers at you.

“Huh?”

"God, are you actually deaf?" He snaps his figures in front of your face, and you startle, ripping your eyes away from his as he speaks slowly. “Did.You. Hit. Your. Head. With. A. Door?”

Your eyes widen and you scoff. “I'm not deaf. And how did you-”

Impatiently, he cuts across you. “Slight swelling. Redness, which your concealer doesn’t hide as well as you think it does. So was it a door you ran into or what? A pole?”

You chew your cheek. “...A table.”

“Ah,” he spins, and begins to limp away from you.

You stare at his back, puzzled. You decide you don't want to delve further in your embarrassing morning, or ponder his oddness; rather, you race after him. He doesn’t slow down, even when your shoes slap across the vinyl floor. Curse him and his height. Even with his cane, you jog slightly and reach him when he’s turning a corner.

“Um, look can I give you something?”

He doesn’t stop, but turns his head to you as he strides past the conference room. “Don’t say um. It makes me want to say no.”

“Oh, well, can I-”

“Don’t say oh either. Or well. Or- actually. It’s not the words making me want to say no. So no.”

You grit your teeth but try to cover it with a nod of your head. “Fine. I won’t ask then. I have paperwork to give you. From our interview.”

At that, he pauses and turns to face you. “And you think I would want that because..? Give it to Cuddy. Or don’t. Either way I won’t look at it.”

You blink. He just strides away from you and you huff at his retreating form. “Thanks, Doc.”

Cuddy is much more pleasant to visit. She doesn’t mention your forehead, even though you catch her eyes flicking up to it. She simply smiles at you and welcomes you into her office. You give her your paperwork and she thanks you. You think she is like a regal queen; kind but a ruler that demands respect. That is until you hand her House’s paperwork and she rolls her eyes and says “Arsehole. Did he give you a hard time about it?”

You just laugh. “No, he’s fine. Woke up on the wrong side of the bed, but it wasn’t too bad.”

She scoffs. “There isn’t a right side of the bed when it comes to House.”

When you leave Cuddy and return to the conference room, you find there are three people in there. They seem to be bickering about something, and you catch the words "No way in hell!" and "-can't cook for his life!". When you step into the room though, they fall silent and turn to you with quizzical eyes. You introduce yourself quickly. “Hi. This is my first day, I’ll be working with you all on diagnostics as a cardiologist.”

The team amazingly welcomes you with open arms. Quite literally. The beautiful, smiling woman sitting at the desk practically leaps from her chair and hugs you. Allison Cameron is the first to introduce herself to you and she pulls back from the hug slightly, to whisper conspiratorially to you. "Finally. I have been stuck with these boys for far too long."

You laugh, and find yourself doing so genuinely. Robert Chase is next and he walks over to shake your hand briefly. He too leans in to whisper, “I hope she’s not turning you against us already.”

Foreman introduces himself and has a firm grip as he shakes your hand. “It’s nice to meet you and get some fresh blood on the team. Have you met House yet?”

“Yep,” You pop the P, and slide into of the chairs across from Cameron and beside Chase.

Foreman sighs. “I hope he hasn’t scared you off. He can be…”

“An arsehole?” chimes Chase.

“Hey.” Cameron pins Chase with a stare. “He baked us banana bread today. Isn’t that showing us that he’s putting in an effort? Even if it’s just because we have a new hire.” She turns to you and her lips dip down slightly. “Sorry.”

“Yeah, or he’s trying to poison us.” Laughs Chase.

You blink, and are about to interject when Foreman speaks up. “C’mon Chase. Cameron’s right, it might be a good thing. Maybe if he’s able to bake banana bread, he’ll be able to take out all his anger in the kitchen rather than on us.”

Chase chuckles, and shakes his head half-heartedly. “At that rate, we’ll be getting tira misu and trifle every Wednesday.”

Foreman lets out a sigh and turns to you, moving the conversation along before you can correct them. "We have drinks and dinner tonight and most Mondays. It's easier to deal with the week- scratch that, it's easier to deal with House if you're nursing a hang over. It's like two negatives, they cancel out. Do you wanna join?"

You smile. "I'd love to. I'm not a big drinker, but I'd like to check out the food that's here. I'm still acclimating, I suppose."

Chase drags his eyes up and down you, settling on your face when he speaks. "Don't worry. We won't throw you in the deep end like House will."

You nod at him, and wonder if he's always so blatant in staring at people's tits, when the man of the hour walks in.

“Good morning,” says Cameron. You see Chase roll his eyes slightly, and Forman and him make fish-like kissy faces at each other. House’s eyes flick towards them and they stop in an instant like schoolboys caught throwing paper at each other.

“Morning.” He busies making himself a coffee and doesn’t offer anyone any. “I’m not going to bother with introductions. I think newbie has that covered. I will however, tell you all to put on your big-boy pants and start thinking. 24-year-old female. Drowsiness. Erratic behaviour when she is awake. No schizophrenia, depression or anything of the sorts.”

He sips from his fresh mug and replaces it with a whiteboard marker, which he uses to write the remainder of her symptoms up. Foreman offers up one explanation, but Cameron is quick to say it doesn’t fit all the symptoms. Chase offers another, but at that, House scoffs. “No. God no. What 24-year-old woman have you met with that?”

Chase shrugs. “She’d be the first. But it’s possible.”

House tuts. “Possible is not what I’m looking for. I want probable. Newbie,” He pins you with a stare. “Any ideas? Or did you hit your head too hard? Again?”

You flush and try to steady your breathing when all their eyes become trained on you. “Uh, it could-”

“What did I say about ‘uh’?”

The flush deepens and you feel embarrassment creep over your shoulders, even moreso when Cameron winces in sympathy. “It’s probable that it’s multiple conditions affecting her at once.” You spout off Foreman's idea, and another infection, and House keeps staring at you, as if he’s waiting for you to wither away under his gaze.

But Cameron nods before you crumble. “I mean, it’s more likely than everything else. And it would make sense for her sudden personality shifts and drowsiness.”

House finally looks away from you and sighs. “Fine. Fine. Foreman and Chase, get a MRI. Newbie, you can get a lumbar puncture, if you can manage that. Cameron, get every known substance that could cause that reaction in her, and test for it. Not just newbie’s idea.” When no one moves, he makes a chopping motion with his hand. “Go on then. I’ve got a soap to catch.”

Everyone’s quick to gather their things. Chase and Foreman practically dash out of the room, as if House’s presence burned them. As Cameron stands up she calls out. “And House?”

He’s half-scowling and turns back to face her from the conjoining office door. “What?”

She smiles, and you swear you can see a light dusting of pink on her cheeks. “Thank you for the banana bread. It’s good to know you are capable of caring, to some extent.”

Ohhhh. She’s got it bad. So bad. And for House, out of everyone? The thought makes you almost sick. Not because he was an unattractive. Hell, you'd go to bat that he handsome. But there was nothing romantic or even kind about his words. Now you know why Chase and Foreman had their mocking kiss contest.

House squints at her as she strides out the door and down the corridor, and you take that as your sign to beeline for the door. You practically scramble up and your foot is half way out the door when he says your last name. “Here. Now.”

You sigh, steeling yourself, and spin back around. “Yes, House?”

He looks perplexed. “Why do the ducklings think I made banana bread?”

You chuckle. “Why should I know? I’ve been with Cuddy all morning. Y’know, giving her your paperwork.”

He rolls his blue eyes and they return to stare at you. “I’m not sure if you understand the whole thing of ‘genius doctor’ or not, but I pick up on things others don’t. You smell like cinnamon. Your folder of paperwork had crumbs on it. You have flour on the side of your neck. You’ve been baking, and” He strides over, opening your tupperware container on the kitchenette’s counter. “From my team’s fantastic deduction skills, it’s banana bread.”

Your eyebrows draw closer in an instant. “You smelt me?!”

House scoffs. “That doesn’t matter. Why didn’t you tell them it was your banana bread? I’m assuming you wanted to make a good first impression, but that all goes to waste if they think I baked it. It makes me look bad, too. Sappy. Caring." He shivers. “I think I might gag.”

“I didn’t tell them,” You huff, “Because they thought that you making something for them meant you were finally being nice to them.”

His lips flatten and he shakes his head at the floor. “God, they really should have known it wasn’t me then.” He raises his head and peers at you. “So when are you going to break the news?”

“I’m not going to.”

He sarcastically nods along. “Ah yes. The best start to workplace friendships is with a lie.”

You cross your arms over your chest. “It’s banana bread. Not perjury.”

His eyebrows shoot up and he dips a hand into your container, breaking off a corner. He pops it in his mouth. “Well, it sure tastes like perju- oh my god.” His hand whips to his mouth and he slowly chews, and then groans.

Your breath catches in your throat. Broken tooth? Abscess in his gum? Severe allergy to bananas? “Are you okay? House?”

“What, in the name of Cuddy, did you put in this?” His tone makes it clear he’s not in pain and the tips of your ears go red.

“Look, if it’s that bad you don’t have to be rude abou-”

He shakes his head and spits out, “No, it’s good. The best banana bread I’ve had. And that’s saying a lot, seeing how it’s the Tuesday special in the cafeteria.”

There’s a beat of silence. You blink at each other from aross the room, as if you’re both processing his words. Your eyes betray you, because for a moment, it looks like he's blushing. But then he clears his throat, covering the container and stepping away from it. You track his movements, studying him. Was he lying to you, and trying to hide his repulsion of your baking skills? Was it all mockery?

House just raises an eyebrow. “Well? Get to it newbie.”

You breathe in and nod, turning around. Strange and awkward encounters with House would become your normal.

Again, when you’re halfway through the door he calls out your last name. “Get a copy of the results to me by the hour. And that recipe…Please.”

The flame spreads from your ears down to your cheeks and you nod as if it’s the only thing you know how to do.

Who knew that House’s weak spot was banana bread?

#greg house x f!reader #gregory house fic #gregory house #gregory house x reader #greg house #house md fanfiction #house md x reader #house md

[my-naughty-writings-and-musings]

I had read, somewhere, that because of the matrix, Primes tend to have a breeding kink and just love anything baby related. Could you do something with Op (either Bayverse, IDW or Prime) with his female human s/o, obviously mass displaced? The vision of his beloved s/o, soft and delicate, heavy with his children just fills him with joy. He would adore his tiny bitties, the problem? He hesitates because he thinks his s/o may not want it (she is very willing and waiting for him to simply ask)

Anon you do not want to get me STARTED on the matrix and Primes and breeding we will be here all day.

That being said... ; )

He wanted it more than he had ever wanted anything, and he'd led a species wide campaign for equality, so... that was saying something.

Yet he didn't dare say a word, how could he? There was no reason for him to think you'd be game, and plenty of reasons not to burden you with his desires. The Matrix was his burden, after all, in every way. From the weight of its title to the impact it had on his frame, it was his to endure.

But... Primus, if it wasn't hard.

It was always there, that compulsion to create, to add more life to the universe, especially with so much of it gone after the war. Every time he saw you it clawed at him, pushing him to break the silence and at least try to see if you'd be interested, but he was able to keep it down. Fantasies would always follow, and they helped satisfy just enough of the urge for him to keep going. All those thoughts of you accepting him, bringing your body to his (with adjustments for your safety), then putting a new life in you for the two of them to share...

It wasn't enough just to imagine it, but he forced himself to be okay with that for so long...

Then he broke.

It was a tangle of memories and emotions he doubted he would ever decipher; the words poured out of him, along with infinite apologies, and assurances it would never be brought up again. If he recalled, he might have also said a few things about the options for reproduction between bots and organics, and how the Matrix was always eager to help. Any child borne to the two of you could be whatever you chose; completely organic, completely Cybertronian, a mix of the two... Nature was no obstacle, even if his pride absolutely was.

Imagine his surprise when you'd said yes, and his awe at how quickly the two of you had gotten a mass shifter and bolted for his quarters...

All he has the conscious thought to know now, as he holds your body close and thrusts his way to your mutual completion, is that he loves you. He's going to love your babies too. He's also going to love doing this as many times as you want.

#valveplug #transformers #lemon #mtmte #more than meets the eye #lostlight #lost light #idw #tf #ll #tfp #transformers prime #optimus prime x reader #optimus prime #robot x human relations #human reader #self insert #size shifting

[mytemporarycomfort]

Champions partaking in some special herbs (Champions x Reader)

A/N: I really hope this cheers someone up.

Champions x reader

Summary: Imagine getting high off your butt with the champions.

Link

Feral goblin energy or slow sweet cuddling night. No in between.

Imagine, the usual goblin energy, but amp it up by 10. Pranks everyone. Be afraid. Be very afraid.

He wont drag you into it since he can't really focus as usual, but you're not to far back laughing with him and helping him out.

There is no stealth aspect to this pranking time of yours. You guys do what you want and people hope they're not on the list.

When he's all soft, he clings on to you like a koala.

you're the softest things he has his hands on so you're not going anywhere, and you don't mind.

when you run your hands through his hair in this state, he melts like ice cream.

Tickle him. I dare you. (He head butts you in retaliation. BY ACCIDENT!)

neck kisses are his favorite when he's like this

Holds you so close and taps your palm three times, a secret little signal for "I love you"

Urbosa

Bath? Bath but make is sensual.

Are you two gonna start making out? In the bath? Maybe. Who knows.

She will absolutely dance with you. She just holds you close and spin with you.

You have never heard her giggle so much, it was so different. It was refreshing. It was something you will never ever forget, or that's what you tell yourself now.

She smells so good. Has she always smelled like flowers?

Becomes more wild in the best way possible.

Gets both of you up to Naboris somehow to go star gazing. Tis lady can be so extra for you if you'll allow it.

"My most beautiful treasure"

Mipha

She lets herself sink in the water and just vibe.

She becomes like such a blush-y school girl around you.

Wants to make out with you constantly. ope

Please stay in your rooms when you're both high, that's what you learnt.

Cuddles you so much.

nearly cries because she didn't believe you two were a thing at first.

You might accidentally lose her at some point. You wonder around and found her in some shallow water, just vibing.

Stares dreamily up at you.

"Youre the best thing that has happened to me"

Revali

You know that picture of a bird laying on their back, legs up? That.

The smile on his face is of pure giddy-ness. Child-like.

He will snuggle you. No doubt. Can't change my mind. He just sits in his hammock with you and rubs his stupid little face on yours.

He chirps!

He will start taking some of the loose feather off of himself and start braiding it into your hair if you have long enough hair.

If you don't, he'll just start putting it on your clothes.

He looks at you like you're made out of starlight.

He lets a lot of his emotions out with you when you two are like this.

He says the "L" word right in front of you without checking if anyone else is around.

Super sassy bird boyfriend and cute giggly partner.

"Please don't ever leave me"

Daruk

Please be careful!

How did you manage to get him high?

He's not the safest to be around when he's like this, not gonna lie. He's not only strong, but so clumsy now!

He's a hoot to be around now, so much more than before.

He....um... accidentally threw you off a cliff one time. Luckily you were caught. You were also really high so you just laughed it off.

There was a long discussion afterwards when you two came out of it.

He just wants to hold you when he's high as balls.

when he starts to settle down, he just lays on his back staring up as you're cuddled on his chest.

"I'm gonna keep you safe no matter what."

#loz fanfic #botw #loz #loz botw #botw headcanons #botw imagine #loz imagine #botw champions #revali x reader #urbosa x reader #mipha x reader #daruk x reader #link x reader #botw revali #loz headcanons #botw link #botw x reader #botw daruk #botw urbosa #botw mipha #botw urbosa x reader #botw link x reader #botw daruk x reader #botw mipha x reader