#I take so many of them and then never post them

[particularj]

Filing taxes does not cost money. It never has.

Private software and their own e-file options have made it seem like it does, or that taxes are sooo hard.

Preparing your taxes - for most people - is not complicated. Is it fun? No, but it isn’t as bad as it is made out to be.

Many states offer free direct e-file for state taxes if you earn under a certain threshold (it is usually above the median income level). My state’s online portal even does the math for you — you just plug in the numbers in the right spaces.

States and the federal government cannot charge to file your taxes by paper. Yes, it is less convenient and takes longer but everybody did it until the computer age of the 90s. It’s only harder these days because finding free paper forms is difficult - local post offices and libraries used to carry them but I’ve seen fewer and fewer the last four years. Same with the instruction books.

The government already knows about what your tax amount is. You won’t go to jail if you mess up. Literally I’ve gotten a letter from my state when I made a rounding error that basically was like, ‘Your amount was wrong, this is what we have, so this is your refund. Write to appeal if you disagree.’ That’s it.

If you live in or near a city, there is often at least one non-profit that will do free tax preparation for most simple cases under a certain income threshold.

You do not need to pay an ‘expert’ at a private company that likely did just a few trainings for a seasonal job. You do not need to buy a software package that will continue to upsell you, paywall you from all features, or harass you with marketing emails all year round.

Don’t give the industry any more of your money.

[ofbatsandballads]

please take this. I made myself cry writing it and I have nothing to say except that putting ya’aburnee and darling by halsey on my jason playlist was a brutal choice. also look up flower language if you want additional feelings.

There’s so many things you want for Jason Todd.

You want him to get a good night’s sleep for once. You let him close his pretty seafoam eyes and lay his head in the crook of your neck as you scratch gently at his scalp. It always calms him down, grounds him in the here and now. Your arms around him, your fingers carding through his hair, the rise and fall of your chest that’s synced with his–it all reminds him that he’s safe, that he’s home. You want that feeling to follow him into his dreams, to let him find true rest. So when his body goes tense and his breathing gets labored, you hold him closer and hum gently into his ear until whatever haunts him in his sleep is chased away by the comfort you bring.

You want to make sure he’s protected. You wish you could deflect every hit, blade, and bullet away from his body. You wish he would see his body as something worth protecting. He would stop if you asked, would settle into a normal life as best as he could. You would never ask because to do so would be to deny the part of him you love most: his heart that beats to help others. So you protect him in the ways that you can. You stitch cuts and treat burns, you mend his jackets and help clean his guns. More than anything, you guard his peace of mind like it’s the most valuable thing in the world. You’re never cruel to him, never scream vicious words or toss him out into the cold night. You call Bruce and thank him for the first edition Jane Austen novels that arrived on your doorstep on August 16th when Jason just…can’t. You let him grip your hand brutally tight under the table when you go to the manor for Thanksgiving for the first time. And when it gets really bad? When he feels the burning of green waters that breathed life into him that he didn’t want, when hideous laughter echoes in a place it’s never been? You do something no one has ever done for him. You wait. You stay. You stay by his side until he can breathe again, until dawn breaks and he can see the light again. And always, always you, haloed in it like an angel he doesn’t think he deserves. He does.

You want him to have a good cup of hot chocolate. He told you about it once when he came home after a long winter patrol. Half delirious from exhaustion, he reminisced about how Bruce would make them both a cup of hot chocolate after particularly rough or successful patrols in December. How this specific hot chocolate had no equal—even Alfred couldn’t replicate the richness and warmth. You noticed the fondness in his voice, the longing so intense that it still makes your heart ache for him. So you do some light stalking and hunt down Tim Drake, demand that he give you the information you want or else you’ll disclose how he really lost his spleen to Bruce (why he was dense enough to tell Jason, you’ll never know). And that is how Bruce Wayne, billionaire philanthropist single father and the Batman, receives an email with the subject line “URGENT: Recipe Request” that reads as follows:

To whom it may concern,

I have been made aware that you have a remarkably compelling hot chocolate recipe that is hitherto unparalleled by cafes, franchises, and butlers alike. I am emailing you to inquire about my being sent this recipe post-haste. This is less a request than a demand. I will do my best to ensure that you, at some point in time not specified (it will take great effort on my part), are able to witness the consumption of the hot chocolate by the individual that will be receiving the product of the recipe.

Best regards,

Someone who loves your son.

Bruce sends the recipe the second he receives the email. He has to sneak his phone under the conference table at the Wayne Enterprises board meeting to do it, but he still manages to reply in two minutes and forty-seven seconds. And you make good on your promise. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Jason shine as brightly as he does that Christmas, lit up by the lights on the twelve foot tree as he sips his hot chocolate from the same red mug that’s been sitting in the kitchen cabinet since he last drank from it. The matching black mug is clasped in the hands of the hot chocolate connoisseur himself, who smiles softly like the magic of the season has returned to his life for the first time in ages.

You want him to heal. It’s a big ask; you know that. But you’ve never been one for giving up hope, and if anyone can manage to achieve the impossible, it’s Jason. So you tell him it’s a great idea when he jokes about getting a therapist. You wait for him in the car the first time he goes and you let him open up to you in his own time when he comes out of the appointment body tight as a bowstring and eyes bloodshot. You watch quietly and celebrate the little victories you see him win. He can call his father first now; he doesn’t do it often, but he can. He can talk to his younger brother without hating his hands and the blood that’s been spilled on them, without going out on patrol and intentionally letting all the worst hits make contact. He can go out to lunch with his older brother and his youngest, can laugh with them over that ridiculous thing Bruce did at a gala once to make them all laugh. He can bear his birthday a little bit better now, can accept the cake you bake and actually make a wish when he blows out the candles. But you’ll never know about the moment that you start to get what you want. Jason goes to visit his own grave on the anniversary of his death and finds a bouquet of red carnations, baby’s breath, and honeysuckle with a note in your handwriting that reads “Someone told me once that you were magic, that that was the best thing about you. I think it’s far more important that you were loved. I don’t know what you could’ve been. I don’t wonder about it like those that loved you did because all I know is who you became. He’s wonderful. He’s still magic. I think you’d be proud of him. I’ll do my best to take care of him for you.” He sits there for an hour in tears. Then he takes one bud of each flower and the note, goes home and presses them into the pages of his favorite book. He holds you in his arms in bed that night and feels, for the first time in a long time, a sense of peace down to his very bones.

You want—above all else—Jason Todd to feel loved. You want him to feel so cherished and wanted that he cannot possibly look at himself without realizing that he is something precious, something beloved. So you tell him that you love him and you accept his warm embrace as his way of saying it back. You make him chocolate chip cookies and sneak one into the pocket of his tactical pants when he goes on patrol (they’re soft, they don’t get crunched when he’s thrown from a roof). You read his favorite books to understand what he’s saying when he goes off on tangents about class and social hierarchy and how they governed life in the 19th century. You trace his scars and kiss away his tears when he can’t believe that he could be transformed from a being marred by brutality into a man revered with gentleness. You will love him until the day you both die. You will love him in death, until whatever atoms made up you and him come together again. You will love him until everything that ever is or ever was ceases to be in a supernova of light. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll love him in whatever is born after.

[genderqueerdykes]

is it bad that i hate when people take my posts about trans issues and make trans women the center of them. my posts always say “trans people” when i talk generally about the violence and transphobia because i mean that. all trans people, not only one kind. but every time the comments turn it into a discussion revolving around trans women.

i’m not against talking about specific demographics! but it’s very frustrating when people take trans men and non-binary people out of the picture when i intentionally included them by NOT specifying a specific gender of trans people.

it’s honestly very disappointing and disheartening that trans men aren’t included in any type of discussion when it comes to trans issues. at least not that i see, i don’t know.

additionally, when (mainly perisex cis)people claim their supposed allyship to trans people, they only talk about how they include trans women in their feminism and women’s spaces. no mention of trans men. and when we ARE talked about, it’s “i hate trans men because they’re just like cis men :)” or “no i don’t want trans men in WOMENS spaces because they’re men”.

i don’t know… maybe i’m too sensitive, but it’s something i don’t like. we should definitely bring awareness to trans women’s issues but not completely forget about the existence of trans men.

i think it's okay to feel that way. i don't care for when people do that to me, either. this discussion is long overdue and so few people want to have it, but this is an issue. yes, trans women are allowed to talk about our issues, we are. i'm not saying we should never speak. what i'm saying is we can't take posts that are made for everyone and make them about us and us alone.

we need to stop making conversations about transmasculine people about us. not all nonbinary people are transfeminine, other intersex, multigender, nonbinary, genderqueer, gendervast, gnc, etc people need a chance to speak. like i'm serious, it's okay to talk about one's own experience. but if it is explicitly to point out why people should not listen to other people when they are talking about their own issues, and that they should listen to you instead, you are controlling the narratives, and shifting the goalposts.

it's one thing to say "here's what i experience" but if someone takes your post and goes. hey actually. trans women have it the worst. they're the one leaving other people out of the picture in that situation. whenever you try to point this out on this website, people foam at the mouth to try to kill you and it's ridiculous. when, well, with so many people bringing it up:

it's an issue.

there's been a specific group of people who identify as transradfems and people who identify with their politics even if they don't know the name for it. they are pushing people to be quiet and not speak about their own experiences because somehow that silences trans women, as if we can only be about one type of queer person at once. it's gotten old. like can we seriously just have this conversation already and be done with?

i feel like i have to say the thing that most people are afraid of, because this conversation is way overdue.

can disenfranchised dysphoric trans women stop attacking men & mascs because you don't like being seen as one? can disenfranchised trans women who have been hurt by men stop attacking men who haven't hurt you?

enough. men & mascs are not your personal punching bag. manhood isn't what hurt you. being forced to be a man or masc is what hurt you. the general concept of manhood and men did not hurt you. let go. i understand it's painful to get misgendered and treated as a man for life. it sucks. you don't deserve that. no trans woman does. nobody deserves to be misgendered. you don't deserve to be dehumanized because people refuse to see you for who you are. it's okay to acknowledge that you're in pain. but you gotta let the fuck go of your irrational hatred, because it will never help you accept or love yourself

you will never experience true trans joy if you spend all of your time hating on other people. hate solves nothing. if that's the only thing you see, that's the only thing you feel. if hate has nowhere else to go, it rapidly turns inward. you will not be seen as a woman by more people if you attack men. you will not be accepted by cis radfems if you attack men and parrot their politics. this isn't helping you, or anyone else.

we need to break down these walls and talk to each other. trans women and trans men can have conversations about our experiences at the exact same time. conversations involve multiple points of input. if we're only allowing one type of person to speak and one type of person to speak only: that is a lecture. that is not a discussion. if you never listen or give other people a chance to speak, you are lecturing them.

[omilkandhoneyteao]

Okay I have to say it

Mel was literally never going to win when the animators, writers and even fans were against her since the very beginning.

Cause tell me why an old tweet of Amanda’s popped up on my feed that basically confirmed that Mel was gonna fall victim to the “disposable black girlfriend trope”

So not only was an animator saying that Jayce having sex with Mel and being with Mel wasn’t cause he liked her but because he liked Viktor

(Do y’all not see how nasty that is?)

To fans saying that Jayce and Mel never actually had Sex and it was LeBlanc the whole time

(THAT IS LITERALLY SA LIKE THAT IS ASSAULT)

But now even one of the writers is saying that they purposefully wrote her so lazily because of what? I don’t even fucking know.

I literally don’t care who y’all ship and who y’all don’t ship but to see so many people being abhorrent to Mel (I know Mel is a fictional character but the hate has literally spread to Toks who is a REAL PERSON as well) and hating on her is just so awful because she really was never going to win not when the whole team is against her.

I need y’all to take off your shipping goggles for a second and toss away the thought of JayMel,JayVik,Melvika or whatever ship of Mel’s and just focus on her for a moment because the way Mel is being treated is so bad.

As a POC I literally can’t understand why it is so hard for people to just treat Women of Color with care and not toss them to the wolves.

(Don’t take this as a post to hate on shippers cause I know that not all of them are like this and I hate causing unnecessary fights)

[signanothername]

I wanna say I'm really happy to see you explore non romantic relationships with the skeles.

As with most fandoms there is a strong focus on romantic relationships and sexual attraction (not a bad thing at all! I also enjoy that) and less on relationships that exist outside of that. I think it's hard for some people to grasp that you can have the same amount of love and devotion, if not more, for your best friend even if you two aren't ever going to be romantic or have sex.

But there is so many types of relationships out there that aren't expressly romantic or sexual in nature. So many ways people exist and care for each other that.

It's just a nice change of pace to see, so thank you!

Awww thank you!!

And yep, I completely agree!

Unfortunately romance/ sex is highly over glorified (something that I had witnessed with some comments on my own art in the far past)

So many people seem to just.. get stuck on very basic ideas about relationships

And it’s especially clear when it comes to physical affection, god forbid you have a character be openly affectionate with another character by holding hands or kissing each other’s foreheads/cheeks or cuddles, or nuzzling noses or foreheads and them actually be platonic with zero romance or sex involved

It’s like.. there’s this genuine problem with people being unable to fathom that you can be extremely affectionate with another person and it be strictly platonic

It’s actually such a big problem that I sometimes hesitate to post certain artworks/comics, cause I know people just can’t fathom that love can run so deep and it still be platonic

But this is exactly why I take it upon myself to show that sort of love and devotion and it strictly be platonic, I want to see siblings kissing each other’s cheeks and nuzzling noses, I want to see friends sleeping in the same bed, I want to see characters be extremely affectionate, and love each other so deeply without it having any romantic or sexual undertones

Just friends, family whether biological or found and their love and affection, their willingness to go far and beyond for who they love, and showing it in all the different ways they can

Anyway I’m extremely passionate about strictly platonic relationships, they make my heart warm inside and I’ll forever be the platonic enthusiast lil guy in the dark corner of this vast space we call the internet <333

Have some more artworks I never shared of my fave blorbos loving each other so much and being affectionate cause yes

[mondongooo]

Ok Salem,i'm going to say in a way You understand why people are still mad at You: responsibility: You are incapable to Say "damn i was stupid for saying this and a dumbass for making that and i need to rethink My decisions".when people tell You to stop drawing trans folks in fetishist positions,You ignore that and double down the treatment with "no,You are a transphobic and fasict person because You don't let me draw something that most trans people feel insecure". when people tell You to stop following weird people who make pedo and zoo art,You said "nooo,they are weird queers,the real queers.you just a hater and a fake queer if You cant accept them".when people tell You to talk about fung fu reevy and how is racist towards asían people,You said "don't sorry guys,it's just My headmate Andi so she has the fault".when people talks about You defending a groomer,you got silent and act like nothing happends.You never FELT some guilty and responsable of Your actions. cooldown: You talk too much about this or that,but never make the action to stop the things You think are bad.remember,actions talks more than words. if You actually are going to take break,then go do it.dont use it as a form of fear mongering Your own fans to follow You on bluesky.use the money from kofi to buy clothes and things that You need,instead of dildos and food. Use a app that regulate your internet use,Even new phone models has one .make yourself other hobbies than drawing.i know usa is a car only place but you can walk to the library alone or a bar and eat here,going to explore helps a lot to the mind than being in the house all the time.change yourself and Your mindset before waiting for people to change their opinion of you. Your girlfriend: please distance yourself from Your girlfriend,shes now a problem trying to DEFEND Your ass from "the evil kiwi farms anons"(Guess what,most of the people that try to tell You to stop are other queer,poc,kinkters and disabled people of tumblr that know You from Twitter),and by being associated with her,is going to ruin Your career again. And most important: STOP BRINGING PUPPYCHAN TO THE CONVERSATION!.i know it's difficult to rebrand when You got many drama behind,but if You are a new person then..... stop drawing Tammy and magma,stop drawing Andi and STOP.MAKING.A.CJ.CLONE, draw new characters atleast and stop talking of the past,but You cant.because You know You can't attract new people to Your Portfolio without bringing the puppychan era.you can't post something without screaming "i am puppychan".You can't be yourself without puppychan. The day that You let rest puppychan persona,it's going to be the day that callout blogs disappears and the day the kiwi farms thread of You became inactive.

good luck

uhhmm how do I word this lolol

I said this in the past but I'll repeat it but make it less weird soupy: I do relate to a lot of experiences transfem/transgender women face especially online when it comes to just, existing???

I do understand the uncomfortable feeling of being hypermasculinized, fetishized, tokenized, and spoke over against your will, coming from a black trans guy who is GNC point of view.

but at the same time I don't truly understand it in total depth because in afab but I do listen and learn from other transfems experiences, especially my girlfriend's. and it really fucking breaks my heart with how disgusting and ugly transmisogyny is, I'm not the primary target of it whatsoever but I have felt the fringes of it from what I described before and it's just so bad.

I do get worried I'm speaking over transfemme folks for this so I apologize but I'm just saying this in solidarity and that I will always be here for y'all (wife included)

[gloomysoup]

he's probably worried (not hiding anymore)

@steddiebingo christmas card prompt: secret relationship

rating: teen+ | word count: 717 | tags: post-s3, post- starcourt, coming out | ao3

The air is filled with red-orange flames and smoke as the mall burns to the ground in front of him. His head is still spinning, face throbbing, and he can barely breathe. The adrenaline is starting to fade, and Steve’s injuries are making themselves known. He stands side-by-side with Robin, neither of them saying a word. Everything has changed. Neither of them will ever be the same person they once were.

Steve has a fleeting thought that Eddie must be worried. It's gone just as soon as it was there when the paramedics are ushering them into the ambulance and taking them to the hospital.

Everything is a blur of sirens and lights, Robin’s hand in his, a shock blanket around his shoulders. Doctors and bright lights, wires and beeping machines. He gets set up in a room for monitoring. Robin is okay. The kids are okay. Everyone is okay.

Steve doesn't even register what's happening when the nurse says they're going to call his emergency contact. His brain still feels a little fuzzy, even if things are starting to become clearer.

Everyone is gathered in Steve’s room. Robin and Dustin are sitting at the end of the bed, on either side of his legs. Robin refuses to leave his side. Steve is thinking about Eddie again.

Steve is late for dinner. He's probably so worried.

There's heavy footsteps in the hallway, shoes squeaking on the linoleum. The door flies open, and a head of curls stumbles into the room. Eddie’s eyes find Steve’s quickly, wild and full of fear and concern. He quickly crosses the room, pulling Steve into a tight hug. The room falls silent around them.

“Christ, Steve, I was so worried about you,” Eddie whispers, his voice tight like he's trying not to cry. “Are you okay? What happened?”

“I'm okay, promise. Just a little banged up, that's all.”

Eddie sucks in a very shaky breath, not letting go of Steve. “You're not allowed to scare me like that anymore, asshole. I can't handle it.”

“I'll do my best. How'd you even know I was here?”

Eddie pulls back, his hands resting on the sides of Steve’s face. “The hospital called Wayne.”

The door opens again, and there's Wayne. Steve notes that he looks tired, but the older man smiles when his gaze lands on Steve.

“Glad to see you're still kickin’, kid,” he says, the worry washing away from his face.

“Sorry, Wayne, can't get rid of me that easy,” Steve says with a grin that pulls at his cuts and bruises. Wayne barks a laugh at that, shaking his head.

“What the hell is going on?” Dustin says, finally finding his voice.

Eddie's eyes go wide as he suddenly seems to realize they are not alone in the room. Steve grabs Eddie’s hand with a smile and gives it a squeeze. Then he clears his throat and looks at Dustin.

"Wayne is my emergency contact,” he explains. “Has been for a little while now. I've, uh… kinda been staying with them from time to time.”

Dustin frowns, his eyebrows knit together. “But… why?”

Steve glances at Eddie, squeezing his hand again. He takes a deep breath. It's now or never. “Eddie is… my boyfriend.”

It's the first time he's said the words out loud. It's the first time they put an actual label on what they are, what they truly mean to each other. They've been boyfriends for a little while now, but they never actually talked about it. There was always so much sneaking around and secrets and keeping it under wraps. They were both scared.

Not anymore.

Steve isn't scared to hide Eddie away from his friends, from his family. The people who truly matter. Not when Eddie has never been scared of hiding him from Wayne, his family. He's done being scared, because he knows there's so many scarier things out there. He knows that monsters are real, and he knows it'll take a lot more than a boyfriend to run off his monster hunting family.

So he smiles at Eddie, and he calls him boyfriend. Because that's what he is. He's Steve’s boyfriend, and he loves him.

He's done keeping that a secret from the people who have always had his back, despite what they've been through.

[natsmagi]

ok no i need to bitch because i have remained positive and hopeful throughout most of !!-era because i believed that happyele loved their characters and wouldnt deliberately go out of their way to butcher them but time and time again i have been proven wrong on this fact. and seeing the way theyre doubling down on having ibuki, a ryukyuan kid from okinawa, join a traditional "wa" japanese unit that embraces mainland japan traditions when the mainland has continuously tried to make okinawa theirs and disregard the ryukyuan identity WHILE ALSO LITERALLY HAVING EICHI COLONIZE OKINAWA IN ATLANTIS its all just becoming too much. I am no expert when it comes to these topics so do not take my word when it comes to jp culture, conflict and the likes, but knowing how poorly happyele has continuously time and time again treated their indigenous (or middle eastern in adonis's case) cast i cannot see this going well. Not to mention how having ibuki join akatsuki goes against everything the three of them have built up and the whole POINT of their unit and that for them to even fucking put this garbage in the story they had to make keito PAINFULLY ooc to pull it off because NO OTHER REALITY WOULD ALLOW IT!!!!! theyre taking akatsukis developments and throwing it out the window in an attempt to make them something "new" and more profitable while also using a beloved group that so many have spent so much of their time loving and supporting into nothing but a scapegoat for their imperialist propaganda im so unbelievably angry that theyre doubling down on this. im so angry that theyre stupid enough to let shit like this pass

and im sure youve probably read posts explaining the aktk thing better than i ever couldve, esp considering im not an aktkP, but im also writing this to tell the fans of big units to Stop Giving In. do not feel safe just because happyele is scared of losing you, because I used to be an undeadP before getting into switch and the reason i STOPPED producing them was because they viewed the unit as nothing but a money-maker machine and would completely disregard their developments for the sake of feeding into tropes that fans liked and they cared more about yaoibait than they did the characters themselves. They tossed out any growth rei and ritsu had in opperetta for the sake of bringing back sakuma brothers conflict in that painfully annoying la mort story and theyre gonna keep doing this shit until fans tire of it. valkyrie, eden and knights are three super popular units with upcoming events, and i seriously need you to not give happyele any of your time or money because they do not deserve it.

even with switch, a rather unpopular unit, theres been total garbage pulled. in switchs case i think its safe to say that akira does genuinely really care for natsume and tsumugis relationship considering thats basically all that man even includes in his switch stories, but he never really knows what to do with sora. And i feel like he doesnt really care. Like sure i can sit here and be like "well at least MY favs seem to be doing alright" but thats purely because they keep spoon-feeding us crumbs of the units popular ships so we wont complain. i still really like their dynamic and i strongly disagree with alot of fans saying natsume and tsumugi have been OOC lately, but like. Look at sora man. i dont mind him having a little gf in the virtual world, i dont mind him growing more independent, i dont mind him relying less on his synesthesia. but the executions are just. Theyre painful. with the synesthesia thing esp bc synesthesia doesnt just go away. You couldve easily made a simple point of "you cant always rely on your synesthesia to know how people feel" because that is TRUE! but that would de-fetishize this idea these people have of synesthesia being some Magical Ability and not just a neurological condition. And with the sora being more independent; this is also something thats been needed for his story! natsume and tsumugi would often coddle him way too much, and sora himself would complain about being treated as a kid. But like. sora has started to feel so disconnected from switch in a way.....? and this has even been a point of conflict in stories, sora not knowing how to partake in ntmgs conversations because theyre too difficult, or being sad that ntmg never have time to hang out with him. But instead of working on these things, they just. keep having sora hang out with people outside of natsume and tsumugi? who have practically become a package deal at this point?? literally having sora join a NEW UNIT without natsume or tsumugi????????? i dont know. im rambling but i just wanted to get this out there. Theyre my specialest guys in the whole entire world and i just want to make people more cautious of thinking "well the aktk thing wouldnt happen to MY fav unit! they wouldnt butcher MY favs!" because they very much can. even if theres an aspect youre still hooked on, other factors are visibly crumbling because management cares only about what will bring the most revenue, and not what is best for the character

i cant help but feel the reason theyre pulling this shit with akatsuki is because they felt as though they somewhat got away with it with Double Face and raked in some extra cash because kohaku ended up popular, so now theyre doing that again but taking it to the next extreme. its disheartening

anyway. i will continue to draw and enjoy ensemble stars. But i wont be supporting them financially anymore as they clearly do not care about fans at all. if i desperately want some merch ill just buy it second-hand. And while im at it, i need you people to stop telling enstarries to get into some other idol franchise instead as if the main problem here isnt how disgustingly predatory they are. Happy Elements were THE biggest joseimuke franchise, making the most money out of all their competitors, and it still wasnt enough. they still didnt respect their fans. when the fans would continuously respect their wishes. Enstars is like the only fandom ive seen that doesnt share leaks for example, yet this courtesy means nothing to them. Corporations arent your friends, never have been and never will be. those characters arent real, they do not have feelings of their own. They were all written by someone to serve a purpose, and this includes ibuki being an indigenous kid joining the wa japanese culture unit. To use this popularity to spread so much fucking bigotry and hatred is heartbreaking. And to blame the fans for being upset over it????????????? youre disgusting happyele.

[jinlin-at-the-moon]

gonna be a bit nitpicky about the last reblog above, but what is tumblr for if not discussions, so...! i feel like many forget to take into account that airplane didn't originally set up binghe as a stallion protagonist of any kind - in fact, in the original outline, luo binghe never had any romantic interests at all, which is a VERY interesting tidbit that i wish more people would remember, because what the hell was the original outline is something that keeps me up at night.

THAT BEING SAID: personally, i do like to go with the interpretation that airplane was fully aware of his own sexuality, because it kind of makes the whole pidw-as-a-stallion-novel thing more tragic given luo binghe is... well, kind of airplane's self insert in many ways. and, honestly, he probably created the commentary aspect of it that is so clear to us as the readers unintentionally - at least at first; honestly he might have leaned into the irony of it all later imo, given his own seeming awareness of how utterly sad everything he writes is (because let's all face it as a community - given what we know of the original draft, airplane shooting towards the sky was a pure whump writer before he got forced into writing bad het porn for money. this is fascinating to me for other reasons, but i've already gone way off topic for this post, so uhm. another time on that maybe).

also, on the original post- i personally see binghe in general as pansexual-but-severely-demiromantic adjacent, given that, like.... i really don't think one could have sex with That Many Women without feeling something, and i also feel like it would be kind of dishonest to completely disregard him being anything but gay-or-straight when he did, in fact, in the end sleep with all those women and marry them. i do still think airplane's gay though, actually, because binghe's eventual sexuality meta-reflecting airplane's need-money-to-survive based writing decisions is deeply interesting to me- but all this leads back to the demiromanticism that op has already mentioned, in that it's likely bingge never formed a deep enough connection with anyone to truly fall in love the same way binghe had a shot to in his own life. (i'm honestly also of the take that bingge doesn't actually fall in love with shen qingqiu in the bingge vs bingmei extra, but AGAIN that would be material for an orginal post and not a reblog that's already full of me yapping for far too long.) so. yeah, he's just really fucking sad in any universe huh

you know I am willing to give luo binghe massive amounts of shit for being totally deranged because he is such a dick but also like, his very favorite person in the world did open their relationship by abusing him for actual years and then just turn on a dime and start spoiling him

and since he never got an explanation for any of that, even before he got thrown off a cliff into hell he had to choose between rejecting one of three positive personal relationships he'd experienced in his entire life (and the only one where he was getting as much support as he needed) or structuring his understanding of personal interaction so that history was actually cool and okay somehow, and like

literally anyone in that situation would have come out with some fucked-up norms about relationships and boundaries. i can only blame him so much for not knowing where lines ought to happen! his dataset is fucked.

[namism]

Oooo maybe a fluff/unspoken feelings piece w Kid??

i love | eustass kid

➳ categories: modern au, female reader whose stepbrother is killer

➳ warnings: lots of swearing

➳ word count: 1.5k

➳ summary: Something about your relationship with Eustass Kid is unexplainable, but it's the type of unexplainable that you're comfortable with, no matter how odd it may seem.

➳ notes: i'm sorry if this is too niche, i had a vision tho 😭 most of his personality is based on these headcanons. thanks for the request! ❤️

➳ cross-posted on ao3

"Shit. Bad date again?"

You can't see his face, but Kid has a shit-eating grin spread across his lips as he emerges from the driver's seat of his run-down pickup truck, a hand-me-down from your and Killer's uncle that Kid and his crew of metalheads use to drive to showcases in the city. He bangs the door closed, pockets his keys, then walks over to your seated ass on the curb.

"Shut up," you mutter. Kid sits beside you, and that's when you notice that he's holding a bottle of beer. He pops the cap open with his teeth, but you snatch it from his hands before he could take a sip. "You can't drink. It's late, and you're driving me home."

"It's just beer," he deadpans. Even then, he doesn't try to wrest the bottle from your hands, instead choosing to watch you take a depressive swig. He chuckles. "How was your shitty date?"

You glare.

"You asshole— how many times do I have to tell you that it wasn't a date? The beer tastes awful, by the way."

Kid is taken aback by your statement more than your aggressive manner of shoving the bottle toward his chest. The liquid sloshes around the bottle upon impact, and at that moment, the smell of bitter hops reaches his nose. He places it down on the asphalt and clasps his hands together.

"I got it from your brother. Blame him," he says. Your expression turns sour at the mention of Killer. "I would never risk a DUI while driving you home."

"Prince Charming," you tease. Kid is your stepbrother Killer's best friend, who you happen to be close with after many tag-alongs to gigs and shows in your city. Killer is convinced that you're closer to Kid than him with the frequency of your meet-ups and last-minute pick-up requests, and at the rate you're going, he's kind of right.

Kid sneers.

"Let's talk about your shitty date."

You roll your eyes.

"It wasn't a date."

"It looked like it to me. You don't wanna give the dude a chance? He sounded like a nice guy."

"Never in a million years. Anyone within a ten-mile radius from him would know that you're lying through your teeth right now." Pulling your knees to your chest, you gently lay your head on top of them. "I rejected him. He ran out of the diner as fast as he could. Thought everybody was pitying him because his ego couldn't take a rejection."

Kid smiles again, but this time wider. You went out with a guy tonight because you were too kind to reject his past advances, which more often than not attracted public attention when you didn't want them to. You tried to turn him down a couple of times before, but he couldn't get the hint. When he asked you out yesterday to dinner, you decided to reject him once and for all, with Kid and Killer's support.

Now that you've rejected the guy, Kid feels fucking fantastic. He hated him with his guts because he wouldn't leave you alone. Still, he loves to tease the fuck out of you, loves to play dumb and provoke you further, just to spark your enraged reactions because you look like a cute barking puppy.

Swirling his tongue in thought, Kid decides to pat your head with his big rough hand, ruffling your hair just a bit as he praises you.

"That's my girl. The next time he approaches you, try kicking his balls."

"Wouldn't that count as assault?"

"He harasses you, so what's the deal? Tomato, tomato; potato, potato. Defend yourself, please."

You laugh. "What the fuck?"

Grabbing the beer bottle, Kid rises from his seated position and offers you his hand. You stare at it, blankly.

"Come on, I'll take you somewhere you'll like."

You narrow your eyes at him.

"And where is that?"

"Answering would ruin the surprise. Just come with me, will ya?"

In the blink of an eye, you're Kid's passenger princess as he drives you to who-knows-where, an occurrence in your strange friendship that happens every so often when the both of you are left alone with a car full of gas. You roll down the window and make sure that no vehicle is passing by before sticking your hand out, feeling the wisps of cool air nip at your skin. When you move your head past the window, Kid hooks his fingers on your belt loops and pulls you back down.

"Fuck no, sit back down. No head-sticking, only your hands."

"But—"

"Your brother is gonna kill me if I bring you home headless. Hands. Only."

You stick your tongue out at him, but Kid only rolls his eyes. He lets you do whatever you want as long as you're not a second close to dying, often looking at you go wild in the passenger seat as he drives.

Minutes later, the truck slows down to a parking lot, a small rink built right in front of it.

You're the first to hop off, approaching the rink with blown irises as string lights scatter about to set a mood of warmth. It's not any other rink; it's a roller rink, perfect for rollerskating, perfect for two people to share a moment of intimacy.

"I'd much prefer iceskating, but this will do."

Kid holds up two skates in his hands, one of which seems to fit you nicely in a color you love.

You get on the rink as soon as you can, planting your feet on the ground as he hooks his fingers yet again on the loops of your belt. You sneer at him as he adds to your weight.

"Well, aren't you a big baby? Always leeching off me, never letting go," you say.

"Blah, blah, blah, it's a precautionary measure."

"You and precautionary measures don't go together."

Kid grabs you by the waist and turns you around, pushing you up against him. Your feet give up, but his hold on you is firm.

"Just like oil and water?"

You hit his chest.

"I hate you! Don't scare me like that!"

"That's what you get, brat." His lips morph into a grin while you hit him with weak punches. He laughs at your helplessness. "You get surprised by the simplest things. What I did right there was romantic for anyone but you."

"That was not romantic."

"What did I just say?"

"I hate you," you mutter. He laughs softly.

"Do me a favor and get yourself a guy who can treat you like that," he says. Your stomach turns, and your eyes fall to the ground. "You got a problem?"

"No, I don't."

You abruptly bump into him in an attempt to knock him over his feet, but he remains standing. At that moment, he traps you within his arms through a big embrace.

"So what's the hold up? Still stubborn?"

You punch his bicep as you squirm in the hug.

"You know why," you tell him.

"I do?"

"Ugh..."

You stop wriggling around. Kid feels something coming up.

You place your hands on his chest.

"You know why I don't want to date anyone else. You know."

"I know," he whispers. "So why can't you just say it out loud?"

"It's not that I can't say it— it's just..." You suck in a deep breath. "Is now the perfect time for it?"

"I don't know."

He guides your hands from his chest to his face, allowing you to cup his cheeks and touch them gently.

"But if you don't say it now, then when will you?"

A breathy laugh escapes your lips as you look at him. This isn't how you expected your day to turn out, but you aren't mad about it.

You like Kid.

You always have, and you know he likes you, too.

"I'll just show it to you."

You pull his face closer to yours and meet his lips. Kid leans further down to deepen your kiss, but he stays sweet and gentle, a complete 180 degrees from what people usually expect from him. The kiss is slow, like you've been meaning to do it for a long time and you don't want to rush the movement. Kid matches your pace perfectly, and he lasts longer than expected as he doesn't seem breathless when you pull away.

"Was that demonstration good enough?" you ask.

"No." He shakes his head. "I think I need another."

You hit his chest another time.

"Ouch, baby. You hurt my feelings."

As Kid feigns discomfort, you pull him close to your face again and peck his cheek.

"Do I have to say it?" you ask. "I love..."

He smiles.

"Nah, fuck that. Just show it to me. Took us long enough, honestly." He pinches your cheek. "I finally got you."

When he lets go of your waist, you race around the rink while he tries to catch you.

Something about your relationship with Eustass Kid is unexplainable, but it's the type of unexplainable that you're comfortable with, no matter how odd it may seem.

[mysoftboybensolo]

Things I Don't Understand of Audiences Reaction of Nosferatu 2024

Complaints of how this is a ripoff of Dracula, and I am like, of course it is! The original 1922 film is the most famous ripoff in the history of cinema, but it is also one of the best ripoffs ever. Maybe know your history just a bit.

Why are people saying that Ellen dying was stupid or unnecessary? Firstly, that has been the ending in the 1922 and the 1979 film, this wasn't just anything Eggers pulled from nowhere. Secondly, people don't seem to understand that the Gothic genre never not one that allows it's characters to walk away unscathed, whether it is physical damage or mental damage. Blood is demanded, and hardly a truly happy ending is found, at best a bittersweet ending or at worst an ending where everyone is unhappy. I think not only is it true to the films this one is based on, but also the only satisfying ending. Ellen wouldn't have been truly happy if she had survived, because she still will be a seer, she will still have darkness looming inside, and Thomas is either incapable or unwilling to accept it. He's belief that killing Orlok will bring a reset to everything, even bringing Ellen back to how she was before, but the Ellen she was before was still suffered. He brushes aside her nightmares without comfort, he doesn't take into account how she views their marriage (when she insists that she doesn't need material things but he acts as if he knows better), and when she tries to express her suffering, he would prefer her to suppress it. She would never be truly free, but to die doing a good thing, to have control over her death the way she didn't in life, it's an empowering end, if bittersweet.

People complaining about the pace of the film, saying it starts off fine but then drags in the middle? I think the film flowed wonderfully, there was never a moment when I was thinking how much longer to the end or felt it rushed in the story. I personally cannot wait until we get the extended version, but I am happy with how it came out.

Where are people getting "Orlok groomed Ellen" from? Grooming is when someone goes after a minor and gets them to be emotionally attached to them for a long period of time in order to achieve some sort of goal (often times sex). People have been saying Ellen was a "literal child", but we don't know that for certain. Yes, Ellen described herself as a child, but it seems that the term child is used more as a synonym of "inexperienced" or "young". Also, we are not sure how old any of these characters are. If we were to go by actors ages as guidelines, Lily-Rose Depp was 24 when filming this, and all we get in between the first scene to the present day is merely "years later". That can mean two years or ten, we cannot be sure. And while Lil-Rose Depp can look younger than her age, no one better try and say she was playing a 12 year old or whatever in that first scene, because there is no way you can convince me she is as young as that. Also, Ellen hadn't been emotionally attached to Orlok between the years to make it grooming. I can make a better argument of grooming in another famous Gothic movie the 2004 "Phantom of the Opera" then I could with "Nosferatu".

Listen, this movie won't be for everyone, that is fine, but what I have an issue with is saying people are dumb or evil for thinking Ellen x Orlok is interesting/has romantic elements to it. One person commented on another's post about saying that the cast are dumb for seeing this as a love triangle, especially Lily-Rose Depp for not seeing Ellen as a victim. The director, who also wrote it, wanted this version to play up the Death and the Maiden themes, that was their vision, and I don't think it's right or fair to say they are dumb because the original movie wasn't a love triangle. If we were to be really anal about it, so many pieces of media we have we wouldn't be able to enjoy because it's origins are not the same. Sorry Disney's Hunchback fans, you can't enjoy the happy ending because the original was a downer. Sorry Wicked fans, it's nothing like "The Wonderful Wizard of Oz", so it shouldn't be enjoyed. See how ridiculous it sounds? You can debate if whether or not they managed to achieve their goal, but you can't deny that was the intention and say people are dumb for picking up what they had intended.

I also feel that it's quite hypocritical of people to say that the relationship between Orlok and Ellen is evil and creepy, but then go off and say that the scenes where Friedrich has sex with Anna's corpse as "romantic" and Thomas' couch scene as "hot", when both deal with dubious/no consent at all. Just admit it, you are fine with dubious stuff so long as it's a hot guy doing it. The couch scene was quite uncomfortable for me, Ellen is clearly not in her right mind, even if not by some kind of possession, but emotionally, and it didn't sit right what Thomas did. I am not saying he raped her, but she wasn't in the right mind space to have this be a passionate moment. And he wasn't doing because of love or passion, he was doing it because he didn't like hearing Ellen say how he couldn't please her like the Count could. We had seen what they are like when they are in a good head space and the feeling mutual, as we saw in the den of the Harding's home. I feel like this scene wasn't meant to be a hot and sexy moment, but a incredibly distressing moment when two individuals are acting at their worst.

I don't understand how people feel that this film isn't a feminist film. I've seen people claim that the movie shames Ellen and that her not finding out how to stop Orlok is robbing her of her agency. Here's the thing, yes, many characters shame her for what she feels, but the narrative doesn't. As the audience, we feel sorry for her, feel bad for everything she is going through, and given the time period, of course there would be many people (mainly men) who will shame her passions or deny her darkness in favor for a more "womanly behavior". We are meant to see how the human world would never understand Ellen the way Orlok would understand her, why she would have called out a force that is inhuman, because humanity has turned her away. What's fascinating is that Ellen has control of Orlok, being able to call him, speak to him as an equal, and get him, a powerful centuries old being, to admit that she is his affliction, his weakness, and in the end, it's proven right. This mortal woman is able to defeat a supernatural being, all the while him loving her, how is that not awesome and feminist?

In regards to her finding the cure; true, in both the '22 and '79 film, Ellen figure out on her own what needs to be done to stop Orlok, but that doesn't mean '24 Ellen isn't smart or in charge of her own actions. We've seen Ellen say what the future holds multiple times, so it isn't crazy to believe that she would have seen what her fate would have been as it drew closer, and her need to talk to Von Franz read to me as her knowing the cure. When Ellen walks Von Franz to his home, she says that she knows what must be done, and they work together to make this happen, with him promising to keep Thomas away. Out of all the men, Von Franz had been the only one to take her feelings and thoughts seriously, and he does so here, including her in the plan (where Thomas had refused her to help), even giving her the chance to be stop Orlok without interruption. He isn't denying her agency, he's keeping others at bay so she can be the hero.

I like the moustache, just like a Romanian nobleman would have had, exactly what the director wanted. After leaving the theatre, my friend and I were discussing the film, and of course the design of Orlok was brought up, and she said "I liked it, especially the moustache, very Vlad the Impaler". She isn't a massive Dracula fan but she understood what was the inspiration behind it. Y'all are just uncultured swine.

In the end, I love this film, and wanted to just share my two cents.

[inchidentally]

this is such a sweet quote and Lando's said exactly the same as well <3<3

but askfgsalfg why is this proving what I've kinda been suspecting and Zak doesn't rly fit in with landoscar and has largely not had as much to do w the driver partnership as he used to

we already knew from Andrea that Lando and Oscar do their own little separate debriefs and they were so excited about getting their own door separating them from everyone where it used to be in a shared hallway (including Zak)

but the golf, the dinners and the marketing stuff is all referring to Carlos' and Daniel's eras. Oscar couldn't even be bribed to play golf, is literally famous for not wanting to do marketing/contrived PR content and not being good at it, and the only "dinner" situation after Hungary was Lando and Oscar eating fast food with other drivers and then playing board games with Alex on the flight home ?? we also know that these debrief dinners don't happen otherwise bc Oscar usually goes home to sleep or out with Lily and Lando goes out being a very single guy or gaming w Max and BanKai etc. that post race debrief finishes and those two peace OUT. and tbh the amount that they've chosen to fly together to and from things now Oscar lives in Monaco, they've taken even more of that debriefing into their own hands!

like I just get the vibe that Zak doesn't rly have the boys club anymore and Andrea being Dad to his two kids is how things are rly being managed. even down to him sometimes wanting to be the bad guy that the two kids bond over hating sometimes even tho they love Dad really. that's just not a dynamic I see Zak fitting into. (and ngl probably some of the Daniel era in particular those tensions needed to be managed between him and Zak but aaaaaanyway)

I say this as someone who fully expects Lando and Oscar to have normal teammate fights at some point where there's the strong words to the media and angry radios etc etc - the fact that they decided so early on in their relationship to do a teammate version of 'private but not secret' couple thing of keeping fans and media out of their business, both good and bad, means they're absolutely discussing and strategizing about this (bc especially after alpinegate and taking Daniel's seat, it would've been very handy and easy for them to go a bromance angle!). which as a charlos veteran and also someone who knew the Max and Lando fight would blow over faster than anyone thought it would, I'm never going to be fazed by a fight between Lando and Oscar - but I'm also just not sold on it ever getting as out of control as so many people want/expect it to. and I feel that way partly at least bc I think there's been sort of a gen z gender neutralling happened to McLaren bc of this partnership (not as much of the usual of masculine/boys being boys energy*)

but also bc there's only one big personality/celebrity instead of two. off the track, Lando and Oscar perfectly compliment each other's personalities including how their friendship is a quiet thing rather than a big media-beloved bromance so they don't have the burden of managing fan expectations and reactions about it. you can kind of parallel it with the Lando and Max fight last season bc those two are genuinely involved in each other's lives as friends and spend the most time with each other than any other driver, including Lando being a regular fixture in Max's little family - but Max doesn't do PR at all so a lot of people still don't know how close they are. so the assumption was that their fight was this massive thing and the end of their relationship but a lot of us were like pfffff this'll blow over and Penelope's uncle will be back before she could even notice.

in the same way, Lando and Oscar doing all their bonding time out of the public eye and being the only two people who truly know how they feel about each other at any time means they are the only authority anyone should listen to! when they say 'fight over' they mean fight over! when they giggle and laugh waiting for a plane together after Monza or smile in relief at each other immediately after getting out of the cars in Hungary, then that's the truth! they're choosing not to let fans and the media in on this so that fans or the media can't feel they know better and contradict them!

and that's where I think Zak is more on the outside of things too. when even Andrea is like yea these boys are talking about things before speaking to their own teams then it feels like that's a real shift away from the explosive teammate dynamics everyone keeps referring to.

*which I'm not saying is inherently bad or toxic! esp since the dynamic of it with Lando and Carlos and Daniel was of scrungly little brother and adoring loud big brother <3

[d-oie]

well since she blocked me after begging me for a reply i'll write my reply here, im sure her defenders will send her a ss of what i said. first the comment :3

no one is hating on you nor is anyone saying youre not creative, ive said multiple times that i use to defend you myself and that i love your moodboards.. the original ones that is. i think you're a very talented person liia, but that doesn't take away from the fact you stole/copied/were heavily inspired. this whole thing was blown way out of proportion, you pretend you did these things like finding the images online and somehow it looks the same as someone elses saying that its just inspo but that is NOT what inspo is, ive seen you tag creators like n-americano when you're inspired by them, but what about these? and what about the images you take from others moodboards and have "images edited by me" in your moodboards knowing some arent, if you can credit yourself you can credit others. my post wasn't to turn the whole world against you nor was it to make you seem like a bad person, if thats how people interpreted it then so be it, i have an actual life and don't care if a bunch of people attack me online when i can just power off my device. my main objective was to wake you up. to make YOU realize you're in the wrong, sure it was also to bring light to the situation and let the creators you copied see what you were doing which I dont think is wrong. this whole thing couldve been avoided if you were apologetic, if you just said "hey, i see how these moodboards look very similar along with some of my others, i apologize and this will never happen again." instead you and many others dragged it. i was genuinely willing to hear you out and talk to you in dms but since you blocked me i can't.

my response to your dm

you never clarified you didn't steal from others, those past accusations never came with evidence so you could have easily brushed it off, you saying that you were just inspired and that these images don't belong to anyone isn't what your situation is, inspiration doesn't compare to what you're doing, what youre doing is plain plagiarism. you want to sit here and tell me "i didnt mean to copy" when i can clearly see y-unjins moodboard in yours. i tried to give you my respect since i'm also a "content creator" but you keep giving the same excuse when you know youre in the wrong, then you assume i want to start drama like i live on it, sweetie no, not everything is to attack you, if someone believes you've done wrong and you're not taking accountability for your actions you will be called out. why should i turn a blind eye when i know the hard work someone went through in order to make their moodboard just for you to take the images? im not saying its illegal for people to use one or two of the same images from another moodboard but youre on a whole new level, you're mad i'm posting about this but imagine the creator's you've stolen from. the thing im mostly confused about is why, why would u steal from others creators when one, youve been called out for this before, and two, you're moodboards and dividers are beautiful, so you have no reason to steal from others when YOU yourself dont want people to steal from you and you have your own form of creativity. and again its you talking about how "if taking inspo is copying then everyone would be copying" ... like do you not understand the situation youre in? you know youre in the wrong and this trash ass excuse aint getting you nowhere.

im not even gonna go in on this, if you cant reply to your ask truthfully why would you reply to my dm truthfully? if you were mature enough to admit your wrongs instead of going on a whole rant about why your friends hate you then this post would have never existed. how hard is it to admit your wrongs and start anew? i get it, everyone makes mistakes, but everyone can always own up to and fix their own mistakes.

i guess im evil for bringing the truth to light, if this were to happen to me ID OWN UP TO MY MISTAKES. yes taking inspo isnt bad but if it gets to the point i get called out for copying when i personally believe i was just being inspired by others id apologize and see what i can do differently, since ya know, im at that point in life where i can admit my wrongs, you on the other hand did not do so and tried to pretend it wasnt an exact replica. my post wasnt to bring hate or spit on your name, if anyone sent you aggressive comments then you have the action to report or block them, i cant control what people say, damn i can rarely control what i say, and i dont know where youre getting the idea that i hate you when i never once said that and i actually said this not only once, not twice, not thrice, but multiple times that i use to respect you, you were one of many creators that i would defend with my life, you use to inspire me, now i feel nothing, just disappointment which is what a lot of people feel, that doesn't give you the right to guilt-trip your mutuals, like what your "defender" said, moots are like real friends, once you lose their trust its hard to gain it back, if you really cared you wouldn't have allowed this to get blow way out of proportion and would have just admitted your wrongs, hell when you dmed your entire following list you should have explained the situation to them rather than trying to make them feel bad for how THEY feel about the situation. then you have the audacity to say "dare to tell me to my face rather than being a coward" as if youre not one? you escalated the situation, youre the one who's been sitting on your ass feining for my reply, crying to your moots how they're bad friends for believing this even though theres full blown evidence. im not a coward, i had the balls to post this knowing you'd see it, you're acting as if i was leaving you in the dark, like i didnt think you would ever see this post, like i was plotting on your downfall behind a secret account. "think before acting" how about you follow your own advice before trying to give advice to others. thanks.

i didnt want this to go this far, i believed that once i posted this you would admit your mistakes and change for the better, i didnt unfollow you because i wanted to see you continue to grow and continue to be the amazing creator you are without the copying, but i guess that was just a fairytale and i have to face the reality of randos on the internet not being able to take accountability.

Hi guys, it's come to my attention that someone in the moodboard community known as lil-liaa has been copying / taking heavy "inspo" from other creators like @y-unjins and @iluvrei view more for more info + evidence + my opinions on the whole situation

before i start, i'm not trying to run lil-liaa off the platform nor am i trying to stur up drama, this is just to bring light to the situation as not many people know and many people (including myself) defended her when this first happened, i also want liia to realize that what she's doing isn't right and that she shouldn't just brush off "accusations" like these when there is evidence.

proofs

you can see the similarities as lil-liaa used 3 of the exact same pics as iluvrei's including one edited by the original creator without adding credits to the post.

2nd

here you can instantly tell that the moodboard was copied (lil-liaas on the right being an exact replica of y-unjins), only changing 2 pics excluding the idol change and

3rd / last

lastly, you can see how one lia used the exact same divider (+ didnt give creds), two she uses the same images not only in the moodboard but also in her gif (same pics from y-unjins moodboard including the png)

now, lil-liaa was sent multiple anonymous ask from last year and one recently accusing her of stealing moodboards, although a lot of people defended her last year including me due to the ask having no sorts of proof of moodboards being stolen and no one else speaking on it but now the recent ask she has received included proof and her response to it was very (in my opinion) rude and just sounded like she didn't care.

in my opinion, i don't believe this was just a draft she had premade and i don't believe she somehow got the same exact photos from y-unjins moodboard recommended, i believe since this isnt the first accusation and now there's proof of this i believe she has been copying moodboards since last year when she was accused. i don't believe lil-liaa cares about this, the fact she's stealing from other creators and when she gets called out for it she pushes it off with the same excuses

tags

@miujo @rkkuri @lvioung @ciestial @aeraras @sugarish @gyareii @i-kyujin @daddldee @i-mmaculatus @haerinism @chaeryeos @bloomqi @h-yeoni @p-oisn @bitchey @yeritos @yonkiibums @y-vna @y-urios @fairytopea @shuaver @yeoniis

[456x001]

okay huge essay incoming:

and this is based off a post i saw earlier by my awesome mutual @midnight--sadness (her blog is awesome btw) where she talked about gi hun’s ability to forgive in ho. so i’ll start off by prefacing some of the great points she made about gi hun’s trusting nature and his selfless ability to forgive others:

we’ve seen time and time again how trusting gi hun is even if it’s to a fault. it’s simply in his nature to trust and love and to care about other people in the selfless way he does. given that, i think he could forgive in ho. if he sees in ho actually working to make a change and make things right for the betterment of others that have been wronged by the games (and whether or not in ho will or actually even wants to is what we’ll be getting into later), i believe he can forgive him. despite all the horrible things he’s done, despite the unforgivable, irredeemable mistakes he’s made. he’s more than justified in not forgiving him but i’m just saying he might because if anyone could it’s gi hun. he’s made the point time and time again that he isn’t like the masked men and would never become hateful in the ways they are.

now let’s talk a bit about gi hun’s relationship with young-il. gi hun's worry for young-il during the games is so raw and heartfelt. he’s not just strategizing or playing to survive-he genuinely cares about young-il's well-being, even in a scenario where survival often demands selfishness. his willingness to risk everything to make sure young-il was okay shows how deeply gi hun values connection and loyalty. in ho, as the frontman, watches all of this unfold. seeing how much gi-hun cared for his alter ego “young-il" must have left a mark, even if in ho wouldn't openly admit it.

when the truth comes out that young-il and the frontman are the same person it's going to hit gi hun like a ton of bricks. gi hun will have to reconcile the caring, vulnerable young-il with the cold, calculating frontman. it will once again challenge everything he believes about people and their capacity for change. in ho, for all his control and detachment, won't be immune to this confrontation either. gi hun's unwavering belief in him as young-il could be the thing that cracks his carefully built armor.

this dynamic is so layered with unspoken emotions, unacknowledged bonds, and so much potential for heartbreak and redemption. it’s no wonder they gave us at the edge of our seats. now here’s the crux of the discussion. do we think gi hun’s belief in young-il's goodness, his inherent belief in the goodness of people could be enough to pull in ho back toward redemption?

we don’t know the answer to that yet, but i will say this. we’ve seen the final defying act of the villain sacrificing his life at the end for the greater good many times before. however, redemption doesn't always have to end in self-sacrifice. it could mean in ho finding a way to dismantle the system from the inside or choosing to protect gi hun and others while carving out a new path for himself. gi hun's belief in young-il could serve as a bridge for in ho to reconnect with the part of himself that still values humanity, without needing to face total destruction.

in a show like squid game tragedy feels inevitable but in ho's complexity gives him the potential to break free from that cycle of the self-sacrificial villain. if the writers explore his humanity further, there's room for a story where redemption and survival coexist— where he doesn't have to lose his life to find the good within himself.

it’s okay to hope. even in a world as bleak as squid game. personally, to me that feels a lot more compelling than the trope of self sacrifice that we’ve seen in the past. it gives in ho a chance to truly live with his choices, grow from them, and navigate the complexities of redemption, rather than taking the "easy" way out of a grand gesture. it’s a more challenging story to tell for sure but it would also feel satisfying.

i know it may seem like i’m trying to paint a fairy tale but here’s why i think it could work.

squid game thrives on subverting expectations. taking in ho down a path where he survives, changes, and potentially becomes an ally or disruptor within the system could be far more groundbreaking than another shock-value death. it could challenge the audience to grapple with forgiveness and morality in ways that are more impactful than a tragic ending. gi hun's unwavering hope in humanity could become the key to helping in ho see his own worth and capacity for change. in ho is such a layered character, and his survival would be more shocking in a show as grim as squid game. it would challenge the bleakness and give the story a deep emotional payoff. the shock value of how he survives and redeems himself could carry as much weight as a tragic death.

i really value the complexity and emotional depth in this show gives us in within the narrative and i can’t wait to see how hwang dong-hyuk continues to challenge the bounds of storytelling and reach beyond the obvious in season 3 as he’s done with these past two seasons.

[megwritesriddles]

Sweetest Nectar ༊*·˚

18+ MDNI !!!

Pairing: Neville Longbottom x Fem! Reader / You

Summary: Being at Hogwarts at university-level had it's perks, such as unsupervised days in the greenhouse with Neville. Reader finds herself in an unfortunate position thanks to a flower in the greenhouse and Neville has to figure out how to help while being a gentleman and preserving their friendship.

Tags: Sex pollen, Mildly dubious consent, Fingering, P in V, Unprotected sex, Begging, Friends to lovers, Minor yearning, HogwartsUniversity!AU, Post-war/Eighth year, Virgin!Neville (he just is, I don't make the rules), Too much backstory, Sentient Hogwarts, Silly fluffy ending.

Word count: 11.1k

Read it on ao3! | Masterlist

Authors note: Can you see why I've been gone so long??? This had zero business being 11k words but I'm a chronic overexplainer so here we are!! Skip the first 9 paragraphs if you don't care about any worldbuilding. Continuing my 'Neville gets muscular as he gets older' agenda as per. The last line is so dumb... Hope you like it anyway mwah ( ◕◡◕)っ ♡

P.S. this is technically day 23 of my kinktober but it's january so lets not talk about that

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Hogwarts worked in mysterious ways, with its own indecipherable motives. This much had always been true but was especially recognised lately. Once rebuild efforts had concluded after the war, Professor McGonagall, like every headmaster before her, bar Severus Snape, had sent out invitations to recent graduates to join the Higher Education program, a two-year program that would prepare its students to become a professor in any chosen field, subject to meeting entry requirements of the course. Demand for this program was higher than it ever had been, so many recent Hogwarts graduates felt like they had missed so much time at Hogwarts, that they were willing to come back on the program just to make up for lost time. At first, McGonnagal thought of shutting the whole thing down or at least raising entry requirements for joiners; there wasn’t exactly enough room in the designated Higher Education quarters for all the applicants. And though the regular student population had dwindled significantly over the course of the war (best not thought about too hard), it seemed wrong to try and room adults with 15-year-olds just to fit everyone in. The night before she intended to send out the letters of amendment to the required marks, McGonagall felt bizarrely compelled to go on a stroll around the castle, feeling drawn down a route she didn't often find herself going. There, she found a brand new door, behind which were brand new living quarters, just big enough for all the applicants. Although she should have been relieved, McGonagall was initially rather frustrated by this. Why now did the blasted old castle decide it could build, when nearly all summer long volunteers had been slaving away to restore the castle? The windows glittered as if to wink at her, she decided that the daft old thing must have liked the attention. McGonagall found herself relieved, she too felt that the recent graduates were not ready for the career world quite yet, having had not only their final year of study lost to the war, but the years before that tarnished by looming threats and incompetent bumblers. Also, there was an urgent need for qualified teachers of magic, so the more the merrier, even if most of them would only use it as a springboard into something else. 

You had always been a shoo-in either way, although you never got to sit your NEWTs, the honourary grades you were given were stellar, supported by fantastic results in your OWLs and overall fantastic conduct in class. The blemishes on your record from the Carrow's note-taking were wiped, leaving your record squeaky clean. You received your acceptance letter and list of supplies and felt like you were eleven again. Everyone was required to specialise in a subject, and while you'd had a couple in which you had adequate grades which you might have chosen, you went for Herbology in the end, as it was something you loved.  In all honesty, you liked Professor Sprout the best and were eager to train under her. 

As soon as you received your letter, you wrote to Neville. There was no doubt in your mind that he would be studying under Professor Sprout alongside you, despite not even knowing if he had applied to the program initially. He quickly confirmed this suspicion when he wrote back to you, saying he had a sneaky feeling about you as well. The two of you had become fast friends in the sixth year, both being in Advanced Herbology. You'd known each other a little here and there before that, but in this class, your friendship truly formed. The class was very small, as the interest in Advanced Herbology was low, most careers only required a decent grade in standard Herbology, so even those with interest had to prioritise other things for the sake of their future, such as Potions or Charms. There were only the two of you and a pair of Slytherin girls who, despite seeming genuinely very passionate about the subject, refused to converse with the two of you and whispered amongst themselves all the time. This was fine with both of you, as you had each other, taking time to study together, walking to and from class, and working efficiently during any pair work. The two of you had been ripped apart during the war, you had to steer clear of Hogwarts for your safety, and Neville, being intensely monitored by the Carrows at the time, refused to write to you and risk revealing your location to them, so you had been out of contact for quite a while. You wrote to him again on his birthday and had been corresponding a little since, but things felt slightly stunted. You hadn't seen each other in so long and Neville was never the best when it came to socialising. 

Arriving at Hogwarts once again had been intensely bittersweet. So many good and bad memories to try and process all at once, it felt overwhelming. You'd had to step outside during the sorting but found yourself far from alone out there. So many people were broken. You apprehensively made your way over to Hermione and said hello. She pulled you into a tight hug, as you hadn't seen her for a long time either. You listened as she explained about Harry and Ron, that they didn't want to go into teaching, and though she'd explained over and over that most people that do the program don't end up teaching, they'd still refused to come. Trying to make the most of it, she tells you it'll be nice to spend time with other friends for once and you nod along. She is somehow specialising in three subjects, she'd wanted to do more of course, but it hadn't been allowed. Trust Hermione to work herself to the bone happily. You'd made it to your room later that night, a private room with an en-suite, which felt awfully fancy for Hogwarts, and settled in. Being back was an odd feeling, you could see the cracks in the stone everywhere you looked, there was pain everywhere, yet so much good to try and find.

To your complete relief, when you started your first day in the Greenhouses, things fell back into place with Neville instantly. At first, you'd greeted him with a hug, which had been awkward as he hadn't been expecting it, but very pleasant once he figured out what was going on. Soon after this though, as Professor Sprout set you her first task (to prepare some plants for her third years), things were back to as they were, perfect. You worked together well, talking and laughing easily, and though occasionally the chat went sour and the mood fell, this was happening with everyone lately, a byproduct of the war, there was so little to talk about that wasn't tarnished that it was a wonder the two of you were able to laugh as much as you were. Neither of the two girls from advanced Herbology were there, and although this initially saddened you both, you conceded that there could be many reasons for it. There weren’t many Slytherin returners, there never had been, but after the war especially, the turnout was pathetic. Most Slytherins avoided their peers after the war for fear of ostracism, which was fair as people had some pretty bad opinions on them but sad because there were several Slytherins who hadn’t been on the wrong side of history who were still facing hostility. 

The course was a lot of independent study of assigned texts and essay-writing, but all day on a Tuesday and half a day on a Thursday, the two of you were in the smaller greenhouse behind the ones for teaching, working on various projects, which also sometimes required your attention out of teaching hours. This greenhouse was set aside initially for research purposes at Sprout’s predecessor's request, but now was being used to train those in the higher education program. Despite this greenhouse being smaller than the two nearer the grounds, it was still fairly large and complex. Upon entering, you came into a little cloakroom, where you would have to don your aprons and gloves before entering, with a sink in the corner for washing up when leaving and entering. The next room was the main growing area, growing various plants that weren’t dangerous but were still perhaps best kept out of the reach of the younger students. There was a long wooden workbench in the middle of the room for potting and taking notes and whatever else you might need to do. Off of the opposite end of this room, there were three doors, one that led to a small room which was always kept humid and at tropical temperatures, one which was always kept cool and dry and one lockable room in which more dangerous plants were kept, such as venomous tentacula or fanged geraniums, only to be accessed with Professor Sprout supervising. 

Professor Sprout would only tutor the two of you on Thursday, so with the exception of the first few weeks, the two of you were entirely alone from 9 am to 4 pm on a Tuesday. Although it sounded a little salacious when you told friends, the truth was that most Tuesdays you were both too busy for anything to happen. Not that anything would of course, but certain assumptions were made when people heard you were alone together for hours with what they assumed was an easy subject. Mostly your days were full of tending to the plants, having to frequently refer to your notes for how each should be cared for (how much water? what temperature should the water be? do they require singing to?), observing any plants that were the subjects of your essays and preparing plants so they would be safe for lessons with younger year groups. 

It’s a Tuesday like any other. Neville is carefully planting some seeds across the workbench from where you’re delicately pruning a particularly active flitterbloom bush, setting the clippings aside to send to the potions department later. One of Neville’s research subjects is observing what methods of growth acceleration work the best and cause the least damage to the plants they’re applied to. He has been planting, growing and replanting dittany over and over for weeks now, but was still gathering more data as he came across more and more methods to test, and each had to be tested several times over to rule out external factors. 

Your research was on the merits and drawbacks of pruning, and which plants took best and worst to the practice. Pruning was useful as it allowed more ingredients to be obtained from individual plants for potioneering purposes, but generally was thought to be harmful to the overall health of the plant. You were attempting to write a definitive list of which of the 25 most common plants used in potions could be pruned and which couldn’t, which to your surprise had hardly been researched before as the belief of its harmfulness had permeated the field since 1870 and most Herbologists had steered clear of it since. Your research seemed to be proving it wasn’t nearly as harmful as thought.

The two of you chat idly as Neville uses a pipette to apply various growth potions to the soil of his newly planted seeds and you carefully measure the regrowth of a stem of the flitterbloom bush that you pruned a few weeks ago, struggling as the stem swayed about. 

“I can’t believe Hermione talked Ron and Harry into actually joining the course next term,” Neville hums, extracting exactly 5 millilitres of potion from a bottle with his pipette. You scoff. 

“For real this time? They keep saying that yet nothing ever comes of it,” you shake your head, scribbling down your measurement on the parchment beside you.

“Yes, really, two new rooms have appeared in the boys' dorms with their names on them, if Hogwarts knows, it must really be happening,” his tongue sticks out slightly between his teeth as he concentrates on dropping the liquid right in the middle of the little pot. Not wanting to throw his research, you wait until he’s done to reply.

“Perhaps Harry and Ron don’t even know it themselves,” you joke, making Neville chuckle. 

“I wouldn’t be surprised if the castle decided it for them,” he carefully pushes the cork back into the top of the potion bottle. “The castle is quite odd lately, perhaps it has whatever its equivalent of brain damage is from the war, it’s acting much more blatantly,”

“How so?” you tilt your head in his direction, soothing your finger over the agitated stem that you just had to hold taut for measuring. 

“I’m sure you’ve heard all the stories of people getting stuck in rooms with the people they like, doors literally disappearing until they confess or otherwise!”  Neville laughs, carefully moving his pots back to their designated spot on the windowsill. With his back turned, you can’t help but glance at the door despite yourself, wondering if it’s still there. It is. You quickly avert your eyes from the door as he turns back toward you. “It’s why there’s suddenly all these couples popping up, sure the castle has always been a little cheeky, but never so obvious before, it all started with the higher education wing appearing overnight and it’s seemingly been madness since,” he shakes his head, picking up another batch of pots containing little sprouts at various heights that he has to measure. 

“It’s sweet how many people have liked each other and not even known… has it always been people who like each other stuck together?” you ask, stroking your quill, feeling the soft tufts beneath your fingers. 

“As far as I’ve heard, each time it’s happened it’s ended well,” Neville shrugs, rifling through his bag for his measuring tape. You glance at the door again, seeing it still there. Unrequited, you figure, that door will stay right where it is. 

“I wonder where the brain of the castle is if it even has such a thing… it is sentient in some ways, so there must be an equivalent right?” you ponder as he loudly removes his books from his bag and thuds them onto the workbench. 

“The room of requirement? For some reason that comes to mind… a fire in your brain can’t be good,” he chuckles, his voice slightly strained as he peers under the table for the offending measuring tape.

“You can borrow mine,” you suggest softly as he comes up with nothing. 

“No it’s fine, you need it,” he waves his hand dismissively, standing up from his stool. “I’ll fetch mine from my room, I’m fairly certain I know exactly where it is on my desk, can’t believe I forgot it again,” he grumbles the last part to himself. “Be back in 15, watch my plants,” he smiles, although you can tell from his sheepish look that he’s embarrassed to have forgotten something yet again. Luckily, you could head back to fetch things at any time at your level, no longer having to ask to go to the toilet or anything like that. There was no one here to ask. You smile back, watching as he enters the cloakroom. A few moments later, you see his heavily blurred figure heading up the hill through the heavily rippled glass of the greenhouse windows. In the newfound quiet, you return to your work, hearing only the spray of simulated rain in the tropical growing room. 

Finally finished with the flitterbloom, you stand to retrieve your next plant, a valerian bush, for pruning. As you move to stand and step forward, you feel an odd pressure at your ankle. Stepping forward anyway, you realise too late that your foot is hooked on a support between the legs of your stool, sending both you and the stool off balance and toppling over toward the room-length counter that holds all the various plants. Reflexively, your body twists and your arms come up to shield your head as you thud loudly into the solid wood surface, causing a choir of wobbling pots, luckily with no ensuing crash of broken terracotta, you had to count your blessings somewhere. A dull pain throbs through your body, starting from the side that crashed against the counter. Thud! A yelp rips from you as the stool, still twined with your leg, falls onto your thigh. Luckily, it is only light and will leave a small bruise at most, your side colliding with the counter on the other hand…. You shut your eyes tight, feeling utterly embarrassed about what just happened despite being alone. You weren’t normally this clumsy and you were sure you looked a mess, an undignified heap on the floor, too shocked to stand up or even open your eyes yet. In the permeating silence, you sit on the cold stone floor and try not to cry, from the shock more than the pain. 

A violent sneeze overtakes your body, the action of it hurting your side. You sniff and cough, dust seemingly surrounding you. You must have jostled some old dusty plants that hadn’t been touched in a while when you collided with the surface. Surrendering to the coughs and sniffs that wracked through your pained body, you wait it out until the dust subsides, grabbing your bruised side as you double over with violent sneezes and sputters. Finally, a deep breath of clean air, you sag against the counter and try to gather yourself now you can breathe properly once more.

“It was exactly where I thought it was…” The door from the cloakroom creaks open in the silence as Neville enters, clutching his measuring tape. “I can be so scatterbrained,” he huffs, his eyes sweeping the room at the height he expects you to be. In embarrassment your eyes squeeze tighter, not wanting him to see the mess you’d gotten yourself into. Upon not seeing you, he glances around for any evidence you might be in one of the back rooms, though not thinking of a reason you would be. 

“Down here,” you squeak, your voice hoarse from coughing. The words itch your throat and you splutter slightly once more as he rounds the workbench and spots you on the ground. You give a sheepish smile, finally having opened your eyes. It’s painfully obvious from your stool-adorned leg what happened, you just hope he doesn’t think any less of you. He shouldn’t, he has a reputation for being clumsy himself, but you can’t help but worry. “I fell,” you rasp pathetically. 

“Are you alright?” he surges toward you and kneels, immediately examining your head for any bumps, rubbing over your scalp gently. The action makes your cheeks heat up, but you try to ignore it. 

“I’m okay, I landed on my side,” you reply as he carefully removes the stool from around your leg and stands it back up beside the workbench. His arms wrap around you and he carefully lifts you to stand, you yelp as the movement stretches your side and he shushes you gently. 

“It’s alright, there we go… just—,” he holds you steady until you’re stable on your feet. When he lets go of you, it feels oddly painful deep in your stomach, but you brush that off. 

“Thank you,” you whisper shyly. 

“Do you need to see Madam Pomfrey?” he asks, bringing his hand up to feel your skull once more, worrying over whether you might have been badly injured. You lean slightly into his hand without meaning to.

“No I promise, it was just my side and my thigh,” you insist, inwardly wishing he’d brush his hand against those spots to check them. For a moment his hand moves like he might, but he stops himself. 

“If you’re sure,” he inspects you once more, hovering behind you as you sit back down on the stool, trying to brush past this whole incident. “Can I grab your plant for you?” he offers. “Which were you going for?” you want to complain, but his eyes are wide and earnest and you know he wants to help.

“The valerian… and could you pop the flitterbloom back for me?” you request, hesitantly testing the tender skin where the stool collided with your thigh, wincing at the throb of pain that followed your touch. Neville dutifully returns the flitterbloom to the counter, then places the valerian bush before you. Behind you, you hear him gently pushing some of the pots that had moved when you smashed into the counter back into place. You flush and keep your head down, pretending to inspect the valerian bush but not being able to focus. Your brain feels a little fogged up, you assume from the shock of the fall. Not wanting to alarm Neville in any way, you grab your tape measure and pretend to measure the leaf regrowth. He quietly moves around the workbench, bringing his pots over to your side of the bench and sitting down beside you to resume his work, his brows furrowed in concern for you. “Really, I’m okay,” you chuckle, but the weakness of your voice does little to reassure him.

“It’s better if I sit here, just in case something happens,” he says, more firmly than he usually says anything. That side of him was new since the war, this ability to stick up for himself in smaller situations. He’d always known how to stick up for the greater good, but little things like this, he would allow himself to be walked all over, too scared of losing a friend. Now that he has more confidence, he’s not so afraid to dispute his nearest and dearest, knowing you’re unlikely to end your friendship with him over this. And if you did, it would be weird and not his fault anyway. The tone of voice is also on the newer side and it stirs something in your belly.

You sit side by side working on your respective projects. Well, Neville is working, you’re more just going through the motions while your mind hovers elsewhere, not allowing you to focus on what you’re meant to be doing. Maybe you were concussed… but you hadn’t hit your head during the fall, so what was wrong? You take a few deep breaths, trying to slow your heart which still seems to be beating slightly fast. Slowly but surely, your body starts to feel a little warm. You glance to make sure the door to the tropical room hasn't opened as your cardigan starts to feel a little stuffy. No matter where you look in the room, you can’t find any source of excess heat. A puff of breath breaches your lips, you’re growing uncomfortable now, the heat only seems to rise and rise. With great unnecessary difficulty, you wrestle yourself free of your cardigan, throwing the wretched thing on the ground beside you with a grunt. Neville gives you a confused look, but not yet seeing anything obviously wrong with you, returns to his measurements. There is relief from the warmth that was engulfing you, but only for ten minutes at most, as soon you are sweltering once more. An awful voice at the back of your head tries to convince you to throw off all of your clothes, but you keep it together, merely squirming in your seat, rubbing your thighs together to try and quell the growing ache in your belly that your mind isn’t quite registering yet. In a last-ditch effort, you sip some water from your lukewarm water bottle, the relief it provides is even shorter than before. Your head whips around now, searching fruitlessly once more for the source of this despicable heat, but finds nothing. Neville is unfazed beside you, still wearing his sweater and looking perfectly comfortable. The only thing you can think of is that Neville must be radiating the heat, as nothing else could explain your sudden discomfort. You reach your hand out toward him, trying to gauge if it gets warmer the closer it gets to his side. This finally catches his attention and when he looks up, he’s met with your flushed clammy face and dilated pupils.

“Whoa! Is everything alright?” he sputtered, leaning back slightly as if worried you’re contagious. This upsets you and you let out an unseemly whine.

“I’m hot,” you huff, pushing your hair back from your face to get more cool air on your skin. “Really hot,” Neville’s eyes brush over you for a moment as he considers just how hot you are, before promptly snapping himself out of it.

“You do look a little… feverish,” he agrees, reaching out and touching the back of his hand to your forehead. You lean forward into the touch, moaning softly. Your skin is burning and slightly tacky with sweat, which makes Neville frown deeply. How could you have suddenly developed such a terrible fever? He pulls his hand back, but you immediately whine and claw at his arm to pull his hand back. Too baffled to protest, he lets you pull his hand to your cheek and watches you lean against it happily. He gently runs his thumb over your cheekbone before catching himself. “Are you alright?” he enquires once more, keeping his voice soothing.

“Don’t stop touching me,” you pout, looking up at him through your lashes with a look that is wholly inappropriate for an academic premises. He swallows.

“Wha-what?” he stammers, watching as you nuzzle against his hand.

“It helps the heat… don’t stop,” you whimper, reaching out to try and pull him closer by his sweater, but not being strong or focused enough to do it. This failure pulls another whine from you. Neville’s mind reels completely and he has to look away from you to compose himself, though he keeps your cheek cradled in his palm. What was going on with you? Were you ill? His eyes find the spot where he’d found you on the floor just earlier in his attempts to avoid the sultry unexplainable look you were giving him. “I need you to touch me,” you mewl, making him shiver.

“I’m not sure that’s–” he cuts himself off when his eyes land on the plant on the counter above where you fell. Lamprocapnos libidinosus, also known as the dripping heart, a magical relative of the bleeding heart flower in the muggle world. A common ingredient in lust potions and aphrodisiacs, highly dangerous in the wrong hands due to the potent amorous effects of its spores. Neville vaguely remembers Professor Sprout's warnings that one of the PhD students was being allowed to grow it for research and to steer completely clear of it. A warning he’s sure you would have headed if you hadn’t been tumbling toward it. Even from afar, he notices a couple of burst spore pods. “Oh no…” he mumbles to himself, dropping his hand from your cheek. You immediately protest but he stops you short. “When you fell… you didn’t happen to breathe in any dust, did you?” his voice shakes slightly, this cannot be happening to you. He always thought they shouldn’t have the plant growing in this greenhouse, even if only experienced herbologists were allowed in. Accidents happened as he knew all too well, and now his vague fears had become a biting reality.

“Yeah, why?” your voice is soft and sweet as you paw at him, trying to get him to hug you, or presumably something more. Neville flushes brightly and shoots upright, making a mad dash for his textbooks, still on the workbench from when he’d been searching through his bag. You wail at his absence, feeling the heat that had reduced to a low simmer return to a full boil. “Please…” you sob at him, not even knowing why you want what you want. “Just hold me, comfort me,” The look in your eye has him breaking, and if he remembers what little he’s read about the plant, you must be rather uncomfortable right now. He returns to your side and allows you to cling to his arm, bumping your head into his shoulder like a loving cat, while he frantically searches for the information he needs to help you. After several panicked flick-throughs, he locates the page.

Lamprocapnos libidinosus; also known as the Dripping Heart or the Flower of Lust.

At the top of the page is information entirely useless to this cause, the best season to plant, how much light is needed, etcetera, but finally Neville finds what he’s looking for under the ‘uses’ section. It’s tough to focus on reading when you’re practically trying to get under his sweater with him, pushing the knit material slightly up his side, your fingertips brushing his abdomen and making him jolt. He pushes your hand away but pulls you into a hug to silence your outcries, which you’re more than happy to sink into. He’s hugged you plenty of times so he pretends this is perfectly normal as he wills his brain to digest what's in front of him on the page. It’s hard to keep this pretending up as he can hear you sniffing him and moaning deeply at the smell of his shower gel, mixed with just a hint of sweat, which in this state only fuels your arousal, acting as a pheromone, worsening your need.

He skims the section frantically. Inhalation of the spores will lead to overwhelming feelings of lust even in small doses, however, the dose may affect who this lust is directed toward. Smaller doses will only worsen lust toward people already lusted after by the infected person, while larger doses will cause these feelings of lust to latch onto whoever is around, no matter prior relationships. The infected person will pursue their object of affection at any cost, they will be unable to focus on anything but the lust that has overtaken them. These feelings of lust, if left untreated, can cause extreme discomfort in the infected person, high fevers, intense symptoms of arousal (such as fluid secretions), shivers, brain fog and other symptoms varying by person and dose. The only way to cure the infected person of these symptoms and return them to full faculties is to have them reach climax.

It seems that you have chosen him as the object of your affections. Neville looks down at you as you hug him tight, continuously trying to slip your hand beneath his jumper. Out of selfish curiosity, he heads for the plant to try and determine how large of a dose you got and whether you may have already experienced feelings of lust toward him before the effects of the plant. When he moves away, you practically sob.

“Please don’t!” you wail, diving for him and into his arms once more. For now, you seemed to be mostly content just being held in his arms, and it’s clear you find it painful when separated from him for even a moment, so Neville has to relent. He delicately lifts you, and although having you wrap your legs around his hips hadn’t been a part of his plan, he supposes it does help keep you steady. He blushes brightly as he walks over to inspect the flower. He’s never held anyone like this, so intimately. Your skirt rides up where your legs wrap around him and he has to tear his eyes away before his thoughts become too inappropriate. You like the sight as much as he does. “You’re so strong,” you purr in his ear, your voice much lower than normal. He shivers and you feel it, the knowledge you’re having some effect on him overtakes your lust-addled brain. 

“Th-thank you, I’ve been exercising a lot since the war,” he mumbles, counting all the burst pods on the plant. He counts five, but he’s not sure if that’s considered a large dose or not. Probably, but the pods do look rather small.

“Mmm, it’s so hot…” you purr, trying to wriggle against him. Neville’s face turns red and he practically drops you, but holds you steady so you don’t fall once more once your feet touch the ground.

“Don’t say stuff like that!” he yelps.

“It’s true,” you pout. “I need you,” you try to hop up into his arms again but he holds you firmly on the ground, practically shaking. Really, this should’ve been a dream come true for him, he’d had feelings for you practically since the day the two of you met, but he felt disgusted with himself for every wave of excitement that passed over him. You were burning up, your cheeks brightly flushed, a deep ache at the pit of your belly and an ever-growing wetness in your underwear. All you could think about was how it might feel to have Neville soothing the fire inside you with deep strong thrusts, you moan aloud, if you focus enough you can almost feel it. “I bet you’re big, I bet you’d fill me up so well,” you murmur, looking up at him seductively.

“I- Merlin…” Now Neville feels overheated, he tries to push you away a little but you aren’t letting him. The image of filling you up won’t leave his head no matter how much he commands it to. It doesn’t help that you’re now trying your best to reach his jaw to kiss it. 

“Please…” you beg once more. “I need it so badly…” his resistance crumbles for a moment and his hands drop from your sides, allowing you to rush forward and attach your lips to his jaw. His eyes slip shut and he whimpers as you hold him close and lavish his neck and jaw with attention. His arms wrap around you, hands gently skimming your back as you continue to pepper him with kisses. “Please,” you whisper against his skin, your hand dropping to the buckle of his belt. The feeling of you tugging at his belt makes his eyes shoot open. He realises in a sudden flood of shame what he’s allowed you to do. You’ll hate him for this once you’re back to normal. He grabs your shoulders harshly and pushes you away. You squeak as he sits you on one of the stools, your eyes filling with tears at the rejection. You’d been so close to what you needed, and now with this newfound distance from him, you were in pain once more, a horrible throb in your stomach. 

“Listen to me,” he breathes shakily. “We can’t do this, you’ll regret it as soon as it’s over,”

“No, I–”

“You’re not in your right mind, you don’t know what you actually want,” he asserts again, reminding himself more than anything. He takes a deep breath and thinks. The only way to cure you according to the textbook was for you to reach climax. In colloquial stories about the plant, he’d always heard that orgasm would have to be reached with the help of another person, but the book didn’t stipulate this, maybe this was the answer. You could do it alone. His cheeks were flushed bright red as he opened his mouth once more. “What you need to do is… er… I’m going to take you into the cloakroom, alright?” he swallows, cautiously pulling you up from the stool onto your feet. You would need to sit somewhere to do this presumably and sitting on the stool or the workbench in here could lead to falling and disaster all over again. The best place he could think of was the bench in the cloakroom where people could sit to remove their shoes. You would have the wall to lean against and wouldn’t be sitting on the cold stone floor. Beneath you, he lays out a towel and then helps you to sit down on top of it. The towel was intended to make you more comfortable, but he considers with a blush that it might be necessary for other reasons also. He clears his throat. “Now, you have to… er… get yourself… uhm…” he can’t seem to make himself say the words. With a soft tug at his sleeve, you pull him to kneel between your legs, your faces nearly level given how much height he has on you. 

Before he can stop you, you kiss him. His brain stops functioning for a moment, all he can do is wrap his arms around you and kiss back, so intoxicated by the way your lips move against his. He didn’t have much experience with kissing, but there was no doubt this was the best kiss of his life. You moan against his mouth and it sets all his nerve-endings alight, making him push even closer to you in desperation. For you, the kiss is a sweet relief, cool water washing over your overheated body, but even so, you need more. There’s an incessant throbbing between your legs, a horrible feeling of emptiness that you know only Neville could fill. Trying to urge him on, you brush your tongue against his lips, hoping for entry. You’re allowed in for one tantalising moment before he pulls away with a start when your tongues graze against each other. The whine that rips from your throat is downright pathetic, but you don’t have the faculties to care at that moment. You look at him through your lashes, watching as he fights to regain his composure, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Never in his life has he felt as weak as in this moment, rendered so malleable by his desire for you. The two of you are friends. How will you react when you come back to normal and discover he let you kiss him in this state? That he’s allowed his selfishness to get in the way of what’s right? He jumps to his feet, ignoring your cries and protests as much as it pains him to do so.

“Look, the textbook says that the only way to cure you of this is… a uh… a climax,” he blushes and chokes on the words slightly. “I’m going to keep watch outside that nobody comes in, all you have to do is… you know…”

“Get myself off?” you supply in a sultry voice. 

“Yes, exactly,” he clears his throat, turning to leave you alone.

“Nev, please… I need your help… I don’t want to do it alone,” you plead, your voice soft and needy.  

“No, you can do it alo– oh… wow,” he exhales heavily as his eyes reach you once more. In an effort to persuade him, you’d pulled up the hem of your skirt and spread your legs, revealing your thighs and your soaked panties to him. The cold air makes you shiver but doesn’t actually cool you down in the slightest. It takes a great deal of strength to keep Neville from lunging himself at you. You look positively delicious, the wetness of your panties allowing him an outline of your most intimate areas, the skin of your thighs soft and plump and enticing. If he was even a slightly feebler man, he’d already be on his knees, devouring you through the thin, damp fabric. Just imagining how you might taste has him weak in the knees. “Oh Merlin…” he breathes, feeling his erection, which has been slightly present for the last half-hour or so, straining painfully against the zip of his jeans. The needy seductive look on your face almost breaks him, he takes a step toward you, causing you to light up, before he stops himself and just stares. “You’re beautiful,” he whispers, unable to help himself. He watches you squirm in response. 

“Please, I need you,” you beg, unbuttoning your shirt as he observes. The garment falls to the ground, leaving you in your plain bra. Neville doesn’t seem to mind how simple the garment is in the slightest, his breath hitching as you reveal yourself.

“I really shouldn’t” he tries again, but he cannot rip his eyes from your body.

“I can’t do it alone, I feel so empty,” you whimper, spreading your legs further. “Please, fill me, I need your cock,” Neville nearly faints at those words, at the pleading way you say them, at how desired you’re making him feel. His legs carry him forward before his brain can catch up and he sits beside you on the bench. His brain finally does catch up just in time to stop you from sitting in his lap.

“Maybe I can help a little, but we can’t… I can’t uh… I can’t ‘fill’ you,” he gives in, despite knowing he probably shouldn’t. He had heard many times that another person was needed to reverse the effects of the Dripping Heart, so it was likely he did have to help, given the fact you hardly seemed satisfied with the idea of getting off alone. He could still be as much of a gentleman about it as possible. He knew the both of you had limited sexual experience, he himself was a virgin and though he wasn’t sure about you, he would guess you were in the same boat or had only had one partner before. With both of you having so little experience, he didn’t want to go all the way, as for you it would likely be regrettable. You plead with him softly, trying to climb into his lap still, despite his strong arms holding you at bay. Each plea weakens his resolve and he knows you know it because you’re babbling now.

“Please, please Nev, I need you inside me, to fuck me, I’ve never needed anything so badly, please, I know you want me too,” he deserved a medal for being able to resist you for this long, most other boys would have given in the second the girl of their dreams said something even remotely flirty, but he was somehow just barely resisting your pleas to have sex with him.

“Sit down,” he implores you, and you quickly obey, batting your lashes at him. “I’m going to help you, okay? But you need to stay still and just… take what I give you, don’t ask for more, okay?” These words seem to excite you, you squirm and nod, eagerly allowing him to spread your legs. His shaking hand rests on your bare thigh for a moment as he takes a few composing breaths. He couldn’t believe what he was about to do, it was something he had dreamed of incessantly, but now it felt like it could ruin his life if he wasn’t careful. You tug softly at his arm, trying to get his hand where you want it, bucking against the air.

“Please…” you sob, clenching around nothing as you look at his large hand against your thigh. He shushes you gently.

“I’m about to, just give me a second,” he stammers, trying to sort through his brain for any information he has on how to do this. He averts his eyes, figuring you wouldn’t have wanted him to see you so intimately, even if the damp fabric of your panties had already given him a pretty good look. Slowly, he places his hand on the apex of your thigh, shivering at the damp warmth he can feel radiating from your core. You mewl. Despite the pain in his neck from the position, he keeps his eyes locked on the wall behind you, pointedly ignoring how arousing the sounds you made were. Gathering his courage, he carefully slips the tips of his fingers past the fabric of your underwear and groans aloud at how wet you are. Your nectar gathers on his fingers and for a moment he just gently swipes them up and down to gather as much as possible, hearing your desperate moans as you lean your head on his shoulder. He never knew a woman could be this wet, and sure perhaps the flower was exacerbating it, but the thought still had him unendingly aroused. The angle wasn’t quite right, so he removed his hand, whining in unison with you at the separation. Your essence dripping down his fingers was like a siren song, trying to lure him to lick his fingers clean and finally get a taste of you. How could he ever explain that to you later? To his infinite regret, he doesn’t bring them to his mouth, sliding his hand into your panties once more, now from the top. This angle works a lot better, your hips immediately buck as his fingers slide over your clit.

“There, please, right there,” you beg, and he’s glad for the advice. A little unsure but determined (no point backing out now, at least he might be able to cure you), he relocates the spot that makes you shiver and whine. Your reaction tells you exactly when he’s found the little bundle of nerves once more and he takes a deep breath, before gently beginning to circle his fingers around it. It’s something he remembers hearing in the common room, and it seems it was good advice as soon you’re panting in his ear like a dog in heat, mewling his name softly. He can’t believe the noises you’re making, the sinful way you’re saying his name, it’s like perfect torture, it takes a lot out of him not to look. “Yes, fuck… Nev…” you whine, feeling the syrupy pleasure coursing through your body. “Yes, yes! More!” 

“More?” he croaks, unsure what you mean by that. As a guess, he tries circling faster, and though you definitely seem to like it, your hips canting up into his touch, he can feel you shaking your head against his shoulder.

“Need you inside,” you cry, making his cock twitch in his jeans.

“We- we can’t do- that,” he stutters, although he’s never wanted to more in his life. He wholeheartedly agrees with your pained sob in response, but he knows it’s for the best. “How about… er… my fingers? Inside?” he gulps, flustered that he’s even in a situation where he can ask such a thing. 

“O-okay,” you whimper. Neville fumbles around for a moment, trying to figure out where to put his fingers. It would be much easier if he could see what he was doing, but he’s already decided he shouldn’t. The fact that he touched you will no doubt be mortifying enough once you’re back to normal. With a little guidance from you, he very slowly and cautiously presses two fingers into you, making you gasp in pleasure. You’re wet and warm and tight around his fingers and he practically drools imagining how you might feel around his cock, almost cumming on the spot just thinking about it. Merlin, he was such a pathetic virgin, maybe he should be taking the chance and losing his virginity now, but it just doesn’t feel right when he doesn’t know how you’ll feel about it afterwards. He presses his forehead to the cool wall to calm himself down and prevent him from looking at how you took his fingers in, withdrawing them just slightly and then pressing them back in. The sound that comes from you makes Neville’s heart skip, so lewd and sinful and full of ecstasy. He wants desperately to kiss you, but he knows he shouldn’t. 

At your renewed pleading, he starts up a steady pace, thrusting his fingers in and out the way he wished he could with his cock, feeling filthy for even thinking it. The wet sound that each thrust made, accompanied by your wanton moans makes him feel like he’s the one who has been infected by the flower, so crazed with desire. Could there have been some pollen on you that he inhaled when he helped you up? It didn’t seem impossible, but he was also a young man, they weren’t exactly notorious for being level-headed when it came to sex. You lean heavily against him, gasping against his shoulder at each press of his fingers, the coil in your belly twisting tighter than it ever had before. You mumble incoherent pleas and he simply shushes you, not trusting himself not to give in to you if you keep talking. 

“Thumb,” you breathe between vulgar moans and though it takes his sluggish brain a moment, he realises what you want. He presses his fingers deeper, fumbling a moment before his thumb grazes your sensitive bud, making you sob in pleasure. His large deft hand pleasures you like it was made for it, all you can think of is the bliss he’s giving you as he hits all the right spots over and over. Your hand flies up, nails digging into his arm as you realise you’re dangerously close to exploding, despite the bite of your nails, he doesn’t let up his pace, too addicted to the sound of your moans to slow down now. “Nev… I’m–” you cut yourself off with a shout, pleasure shooting through your body like you were struck by lighting. Your muscles tense and tremble, your eyes rolling back in your skull, walls contracting around his fingers hard. The pleasure goes through you in strong waves, drowning you in it, not allowing you respite from shivers and moans for even a second as it wracks through you. You’d never felt anything so intense and all-consuming before. Neville feels your essence gush onto his fingers and though he should be relieved it’s over, he finds himself disappointed that he has to stop doing this, hearing those bewitching sounds. Gently, he removes his hand from you and guides your skirt back down your thighs so he can finally look toward you again. His fingers are covered in your essence, creamy and mouth-watering, the only thing that’s able to stop him from having a taste is your hand still clinging to his arm. He waits for you to gather your breath, silently smug he was able to help, but also petrified of what happens next. 

“Are you alright?” he asks delicately, shifting his erection away from your back now that you might actually register it. You open your eyes and look up at him, which immediately makes him frown. Your pupils are still almost comically dilated, your cheeks still pink and clammy, and though it could just be from the aftermath of your orgasm, he immediately knows something is still wrong.

“I feel better… but not entirely,” you whisper and Neville bites his lip. Great. He stands to wash his hands in the sink, and during that brief period of absence, he watches you become consumed by the effects of the flower again, pleading for him to come back. He splashes water on his face and takes a deep breath. You had reached climax, he may not be an expert in female orgasms but he knew what he just saw and felt, so what was wrong? Was the plant in the greenhouse genetically modified in some way? Would he have to call Professor Sprout to ask for help? How exactly could he explain that he’d already given you an orgasm and it hadn’t worked? Looking back, he should have taken you to Madam Pomfrey the second he’d realised what had happened to you, but he thought you would have found it too embarrassing. Now things would be infinitely more embarrassing for the both of you if you sought out help. Lesson learned, just because he’d survived a war it didn’t mean he could deal with anything life threw at him alone. He feels you approaching from behind and turns around, allowing you to sink into his arms. “Stay with me,” you plead, holding him close.

“Okay,” he sighs, because what else can he do now? “I’m here,” He caresses your bare back and tries to forget what he just did to you, but he can’t. “I’m sorry,” he huffs, kissing your forehead without thinking. “I’ve made a mess of things, we did all that and you’re not even cured,”

“Why won’t you fuck me?” you whimper. Your boldness doesn’t even surprise him anymore.

“Because it’s not what you really want, you’d never forgive me once things got back to normal, I was just the only person around for the pollen to latch onto,”

“But that’s what the pollen wants, maybe that’s the only way to cure it, I don’t just want an orgasm, I want you inside me,” you suggest. He’s glad you’re slightly more lucid from the relief of your climax, but you’re still not entirely yourself, your voice slow and sluggish like wading through water when trying to formulate logical thoughts. He can’t deny the way his cock, which had softened slightly, was coming back to life at your words. “Please…” you nuzzle against his chest. “I promise you, I want this even when I’m not… whatever I am right now,” you chuckle. He sighs. He doesn’t quite believe you but he’s running out of ideas of what to do, and your friendship is presumably ruined anyway. Maybe he’s making excuses for himself, but it feels more and more like there’s only one thing for it. He prays you’ll remember how much you begged and how hard he tried to be a gentleman and not hate him, even if you avoid him for the rest of your life after this. “I need you,” you whisper and he gives in.

“Forgive me for this,” he pleads, before lifting you into his arms and moving back over to the bench, sitting down and letting you straddle his lap. You smile at him softly, fluttering your lashes. At least the orgasm before made you a little calmer and more agreeable. If nothing else, if he gets you to orgasm again, you might be even closer to normal. He pulls you to his chest taking a moment to embrace you for what he worries may be the last time. You nuzzle into him eagerly. “I’m a virgin, you know?” he mumbles into your shoulder, not knowing why he feels the need to say it. Those words seem to embolden you, you paw at his chest.

“I promise it’ll be good, please…” you purr. He wonders how you might have reacted if you were your regular self. Would you have found it sweet? Would you have pitied him? You probably knew, everyone knew, but you never mentioned it to him. He allows you to pull off his sweater, lifting his arms and watching you discard it across the room. When you lean in to kiss him, he doesn’t even pretend to put up a fight, holding the back of your neck and kissing you back, pouring all his unspoken feelings into it. He tries to keep it slow and gentle, but you’re far too eager, and the heat starts mounting fast. He pushes away all his doubts, telling himself he can enjoy this, or else it would be even more of a waste. The t-shirt that was under his sweater is next to go, as he pulls away to allow you to rid him of it, he studies your face, still flushed and feverish, but so beautiful, full of lust. His hands fall, one to your waist and the other to your cheek, pulling you back in, pressing his lips to yours and sliding his tongue between them. You moan against his mouth, whimpering a soft sound, a thank you or a plea for more, it’s unclear. He groans back in agreement with whatever it was you intended to say. Your tongues languidly swirl together, caressing one another affectionately. Feeling your warm hands on his bare chest makes him shiver, feeling as you explore the newfound definition of his abdomen, only light, but still a change. In turn, he presses a few kisses to your chest, shakily reaching up to rid you of your bra. It falls away and his cock twitches at the sight of your bare breasts, his breath hitching. He could have never hoped he could see you like this, could have never hoped for any of this, and yet here you were, whining and guiding his hands under your skirt. He runs his hands up and down your thighs as he kisses and sucks at the supple skin of your breasts, giving himself some time to enjoy this despite your hurry. Under different circumstances, he would have liked to have left a mark and asked you to give him one in return, but he knew this was crossing a line as if a million lines hadn’t already been crossed today. At this thought he changes his mind and sucks a tiny mark into the centre of your chest that he’s sure will fade in a few hours, staring at the light pink mark a little wistfully. “Need you inside…” you whine, despite enjoying his affection. There’d be time for that later, but right now it felt completely imperative for him to be inside of you, fearing you might explode if he didn’t give you what you wanted.

“Alright, I get it,” he sighs, placing a few more lingering kisses on the swell of your breasts. Your hands find his belt buckle and without him stopping you this time, they make quick work of it. There’s an awkward shuffle as he helps you lower his jeans around his ankles, but once you’ve settled back in his lap, you take in the sight before you. He looks big even through his boxers, just like you predicted, thick and slightly longer than average. Just the thought of him inside you makes you moan and claw off your skirt with no regard for whether it survives the encounter. Neville’s overheated back presses against the cool wall as he leans back to watch you. He doesn’t bother feeling insecure, as you look like you’ve struck gold as you drool over his length, he supposes in this state you would have been happy with anything. His hands slide up and down your sides, being gentle, taking in the sight of your body, so perfect. He wishes in the back of his mind that this won’t be the last time he sees it, but hope feels too dangerous given the circumstances. He helps you slide your panties down, groaning softly as he spots a string of arousal fluid connecting you and the fabric for a while. You want him so badly. His boxers soon follow and he hisses loudly as your hand wraps around his length. “Oh Merlin…” he whimpers, bucking his hips into your hand. “Fuck, I need you,” he parrots. The ghost of a smile crosses your face as you recognise the words as your own.

“You have me,” you whisper, shifting your hips so you’re above his cock, holding him steady as he twitches. Deep brown hooded eyes stare into yours, he can’t believe his luck. Unable to wait any longer, you sink down onto him. Neville’s eyes squeeze shut in pleasure and he grabs your hips to slow you. You feel perfect around him, warm and silky and inviting, engulfing his whole being in sickly-sweet pleasure. He pulls you close, embracing you as you moan in his ear. Slowly, he lowers you down the rest of the way until your hips are flush with his. For a moment, he simply hugs you and kisses your neck. 

“Feels so good,” he pants in your ear. “So good,”

“You fill me perfectly,” you whine, squirming in his lap for friction. “So big…”

“Yeah?” he coughs, trying to sound smooth but failing, causing him to chuckle nervously. “I won’t last, I’m sorry,” he rubs his hands up and down your spine. “I wish this could last forever,” He lets go of you and leans back against the wall, his hands settling on your hips, taking a moment to admire the sight of you on top of him, him inside you. You feel him twitch within you. “Take what you want, love,” he encourages you to move. There’s no point in him trying to remain in control, all he cares about is that you reach climax, he’s bound to anyway. The nickname makes you even needier somehow, the way his voice is deep with desire. Your hands find his shoulders for purchase, eyes meeting for a moment. You’re both flushed and blissful and the look in his dark eyes shoots a jolt through you. He’s always been attractive, but to see him like this, vulnerable, needy, chest-heaving, it was something else. On his advice, you begin lifting yourself up and lowering yourself down onto his cock, moaning unabashedly with each motion. He stretches you open in the most delicious way, exactly how you’d been picturing all day, or for several years really, perfectly endowed. He relaxes and closes his eyes, groaning and whimpering as you move. Every rock of your hips stokes the flames in the both of you, sending you both toward a common end faster than you regularly might. 

“Thank you,” you purr between moans. “I’ve needed this so bad,” 

“I know,” he chokes out with a tired smile. “I’ve needed it too,” he gently massages the fat of your rear as you ride him, watching in bliss as he disappears inside of you over and over. Your moans rise to a fever pitch, your pace faltering slightly as your climax approaches.

“Yes! Yes!” you practically scream, all your senses heightened as you slam your hips down against him. His face scrunches up in pleasure.

“I’m going to– Ahh!” he grunts, body trembling as he releases thick ropes inside of you, whining with the aftershocks as you continue using him to chase your high. It’s so close, you can’t give up now. Neville’s hands weave into your hair, pulling your face down to his to kiss you. Your tongues meet messily as you struggle to focus on the kiss, preoccupied with your orgasm that is on the tip of your tongue. Heat pools strongly in your abdomen, and you feel the familiar ecstasy of the coil snapping in your belly. Your movement immediately ceases, walls spasming around his length as you moan loudly into his mouth, grabbing him and holding him as close as possible. Your vision whites and your brain goes blank, your whole body twitching violently. He tries his best to soothe you through it, but the pleasure isn’t allowing a single thought to form in your mind for several moments. Finally, your muscles relax and you collapse against him heavily, chest heaving with effort, skin slick with sweat. You vaguely register him removing himself from you and wiping you with a towel, but the corners of your mind are fuzzy and you just cuddle closer to him. You sit in silence for a long while and you nearly fall asleep against his shoulder when he speaks up. “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” you hum. He tilts your chin up towards him.

“Open your eyes, love,” he implores softly, to which you flutter them open. He sighs a great sigh of relief, seeing your pupils shrink as they react to the light, dilated now a regular amount, and the flush on your cheeks is much less than before. “Do you still need me?” he asks.

“Don’t go,” you panic, holding him closer, but then you realise what he means. “Oh… no, all I want is to maybe have a nap,”

“Thank Merlin, I couldn’t have gone for another round,” he jokes stiltedly. You giggle, cuddling closer once more. “You don’t hate me then?” he mumbles, as if worried he will have reminded you to hate him, gently pushing some hair from your face. 

“No, you… saved me,” you shrug.

“Saved seems dramatic,”

“Well, who knows what would have happened to me if you’d just run away and left me alone? You didn’t have to do what you did, but you did it for me,” you lean up to kiss his cheek. “You gave yourself to me completely, just to save me from discomfort,”

“Trust me, it was my pleasure,” he laughs nervously and you gently swat his chest. “I’d do anything for you,” he whispers, kissing your forehead with a barely contained tenderness.

“Yeah, you’ve proved that,” you grin, kissing his cheek again. “And I for you,”

“You’d have had sex with me if I’d been the one to bump into the plant?” he prompts, sliding his hand up your bare side affectionately. 

“Of course, I’d have done it way sooner too, not wasted time being a ‘gentleman’,” you tease. “Thank you for that though, it was sweet of you, even if it was unnecessary because I don’t regret it one bit,” you promise him, kissing his lips tenderly. He embraces you tighter for a moment and then loosens his grip. 

“We should probably leave, I bet it's past teaching hours now,” he sighs before helping you up and to dress. Your panties are well and truly ruined, so you’re forced to go commando under your skirt. Neville wraps his sweater around your hips to help prevent it from flipping up as you walk through the grounds back to the dorms. He finds it difficult to dress himself as you keep eagerly kissing him, but finally get himself presentable, only to be pulled into another kiss. It’s not desperate or lustful like before, more playful and excited, and he’s happy to accept them. “I take it you like me,” he chuckles as you hug him tight, his arms around you in return.

“Loads,” you sigh into his t-shirt.

“I do too,”

“My room? I promise we can just cuddle and sleep,” you suggest, smiling up at him.

“Hey, give me a few hours, I might be raring to go again,” he jokes.

“Well then definitely my room so I can help you out, I owe you one, don’t I?” you giggle and wink. He blushes slightly and shakes his head. 

“That plant has made a monster, come on,” he takes your hand in his. “Let’s go before someone notices and starts asking questions,” he opens the door into the greenhouse, accio-ing both of your bags over, as well as the open textbook from the workbench. “Stupid inaccurate thing,” he grumbles, stuffing it in his bag. You merely giggle at his frustration. As you turn to leave, you’re met with a gleam of magic, the door to the outside of the greenhouse rematerialising. The two of you exchange a look, neither of you had realised the door was even missing amidst the whole debacle, but it must have been, or else it couldn’t have reappeared. Hogwarts had forced the two of you together, it was likely your fall hadn’t even been organic in the first place. You knew you weren’t usually so uncoordinated.

“Huh,” Neville blinks, checking that the door now works, wondering when exactly it disappeared and how he had missed it. You scoff and shake your head in disbelief before the both of you laugh earnestly.

“Hogwarts is a total perv,”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

xoxoxo

[butchreg]

cg ! ambessa medarda with an infant regressor headcanons !!

requested by anon ! i don't tend to have cg ambessa thoughts like i said in my last ambessa post but i've gotten a bunch of requests for her so i will be giving the people what they want ! (*-`ω´- )人 again i did my best to write her in character but apologies if she strays ooc. anon brought up an infant regressor as a chance for her to heal and redo motherhood and i found that a touching thought. thanks for the idea nonnie , i hope these are satisfactory ! (♡ˊ͈ ꒳ ˋ͈) ack i got a bit carried away , once i got going the thoughts overflowed. arcane masterlist here , upcoming masterlist here

mentioned it in my last ambessa post but ambessa calls you "my kit" or "my cub" to your face and refers to you simply as "the kit / cub" to her servants. "be a dear and get the kit a bottle" versus , "ah ah , drink slowly , my cub."

ambessa who holds you very gently in her lap while you drink your bottles , patting your tummy when you get full. one large hand guides the bottle while the other arm keeps your head upright what with you being so tiny.

she often tickles your tummy , kissing it and blowing raspberries. she chuckles , a deep rich chortle of delight as you blush and giggle , kicking your feet happily.

she always dresses you up nicely in the colors of the medarda crest so everybody will know you're her baby. she'll coo at you in your little outfits , quite satisfied with herself for dressing you up so well. she'll carry you over to a mirror , pointing at your reflection. "that's you , my kit. don't you look dashing , i've done quite the job , don't you think ?" she'll chuck your chin as you giggle and clap enthusiastically.

your regression is healing not only for you but also for ambessa. she freezes the first time you call her "mama" or something in that vein , thoroughly shocked and not quite sure how to feel at first. the ever stoic ambessa finds herself tearing up for the first time in God knows how long , a smile pulling at her full lips as tears of joy and of pride threaten to fall.

ambessa finds herself comforted by how clingy you are , how much you need her. it's a big job to take care of an infant yet she welcomes your regression , scooping you into her big strong arms and cradling you ever so gently , hugging you tightly as if to reassure herself that you're really there.

ambessa takes no nonsense , holding you to her high standards. of course with your being so tiny she doesn't have too many rules in place but she does not take kindly to tantrums or needless fussing.

ambessa practices her tone when she's alone , careful to be sure never to snap or speak too sharply to you. it takes work and rehearsal ; admittedly she's a bit rough around the edges in the early stages of your regression.

ambessa loves to hold you whenever possible. she's strong enough to pick you up with little effort , keeping you on her hip as she tends to her smaller duties , bouncing you when you start to fuss. "oh hush now pet ," she'll soothe , reaching into a pocket before coming up with a red and black teether.

ambessa spoils her baby rotten , often pretending to be shocked when more parcels with your name on them arrive. she has them addressed to "the kit" as mentioned in the last post , picking up the tag on an item and tutting approvingly. she has to help you open the items with your being just so itty bitty. she'll brandish that plushie you were eyeing , a wide smile spreading across her face as your eyes widen and you babble excitedly , squirming on her hip as you reach for it.

ambessa who is initially a bit squeamish at the thought of changing diapers , something she often left for the servants when her biological children were small. although she's anxious in the beginning she is so very gentle with you , using just enough powder and kissing your tummy when you wriggle or squirm. "ah ," she'll sigh with satisfaction when you're all finished. "there we go , nice and clean." she'll nod approvingly. "you did well , my darling ," she'll add , kissing you softly on the head.

ambessa who will sing to you to get you to sleep , holding you in her arms , rocking you gently. her singing voice is a bit rusty , hasn't had much use since mel was small , but she sings you soft lullabies , spinning the mobile above your crib for you to watch.

ambessa who can be a bit of a snob , only buying the best for her baby. she will only buy items of the utmost quality , saying no if she feels something you want is cheaply or shoddily made. she often has toys or other items commissioned to be specially made so that they will be just perfect.