#aside from that I like where it's going so far

[madamechrissy]

Worst Behavior

Art in the center by Houhai673 on lofter

pairings- stepbrother! Sukuna x f! Reader (lil bit of Toji/reader)

summary - Sukuna’s dad married your mom while you were in high school, and you hated each other on sight. He endlessly picked on and tortured you. So much so that he became a fucking YouTube sensation from prank videos starring you! You come back home for summer break after a bad breakup, and of course annoying ass Sukuna is there, with his stupid smirk, ready to pick on you again, only to be derailed when he sees you're going out with his old friend Toji for a date. Turns out, Sukuna has had it bad for you for a long time, and making you hate him was the only way to guarantee you stay far away, but can he keep up the act?

content/warnings - MDNI, tw- stepcest, lots of pining, kinda one-sided lol, Sukuna is an asshole to you, reader hates him. Enemies to ????- ton of sexual tension, jealous ass Sukuna. This chap - fingering, Toji saying what's up, Sukuna masturbating and being just depraved and pathetic tbh, panty stealing, taboo relationships

part two (coming soon)

part one

It was junior year of high school when your mom remarried, and you can't forget that day, the first time you met that pretentious little shit Sukuna. Who was now your 'family' you guess?

He was a couple of years older, already in freshman year of college, he'd come home on break and torment you endlessly, a whole fucking bulky. He'd hide shit high where you can never reach it, jumpscare you constantly, woke you up to fuck with you, and even filmed his pranks and put them on YouTube.

The jerk was actually YouTube famous from the amount of pranks he'd pull and your golden reactions. A mix of throwing shit at him, cursing him out or smacking him while he held his phone and recorded it. There was no doubt in your mind you just hated the giant asshole of an older 'stepbrother’ you had.

Now you're graduating this year, back home for summer break, and luckily Sukuna almost never visits anymore. He's running his stupid YouTube channel and banking on it, on being a dumb little prankster for his millions of subscribers, so now he lives pretty far thank God.

Let him prank everyone else.

You both don't talk whatsoever aside from holidays and family functions, and then it's just Sukuna picking on you. Not much has changed in five years, maybe his tactics are better. A little sneakier.

You smile and hug your mom, and your step-dad. He's actually pretty fucking cool, and your mom and him are cute together. "Hey hunny, I'm so glad you're here!" Your mom is going on and on about a party she's throwing, as you settle into your room, nothing's changed really. Your mom keeps it all the same.

"Mom, you don't have to keep all this out," you tease, looking at your old posters that adorn the walls, scattered Polaroids pinned to your corkboard. "You could make it a guest room?"

"We have a guest room, we love having your stuff here. And Sukuna's room is the same."

"Ugh don't say his name, you'll summon him!" Your mom laughs a bit as you shiver in feigned disgust.

"He's family honey."

"Not even. I get dad, I really do, but I think Sukuna and I will never get along."

"Ah shit that hurts sis." You hear his pretentious voice and panic as he leans in the doorway, stupid fucking smirk on his far too attractive face. You glare at him.

"Yuck don't call me that, weirdo." He flips you off behind your mom's back, putting his hands away as your mom comes up and hugs him tightly. He smirks over her shoulder as you flip him off back. 

"She's so mean to me, why can't she be nicer like you," he pouts, and your mom laughs a bit, leaning on her tip toes to ruffle his light pink locks. 

"You're both mean to each other. Maybe a couple weeks at home will help you two learn to get along."

"He's staying for a couple weeks!? Ugh." You sigh and he scoffs. Your mom shakes her head and looks at you both.

"Dinner in thirty. Get settled and don't kill each other."

Sukuna eyes you then, ever so slowly up and down, while you start setting things down. "Really filled out huh?"

"I'll punch you." He grins again, you wall up and shove at him, pausing when you feel just how hard his chest is. Blushing a bit, he notices apparently, raising a brow.

"Feeling me up?"

"Gross no. Gym rat." He glares now and you smile right back.

"Yeah how's that loser boyfriend of yours?" He asks so casually. Walking in your room and touching all your shit like he does. You follow him and put everything back in its place as he skews every position of any item.

"We broke up," he pauses at your tone, eyeing you then. You're so pretty you make his heart pound in his chest, not like he'd ever fucking tell you. He calls you a gremlin and worse, knowing you're a whole knockout. "Yeah, rub it in."

"Wasn't gonna," you pause then, as his ruby eyes glint and catch yours. For a moment you see a rare softness in them, making you falter. "He got tired of your bitchiness?"

"Oh fuck off." You roll your eyes, sinking on the white day bed, hands brushing the soft sheets that smell like your mom's favorite fabric softener. But you also smell him, Sukuna, so manly and taking over your space, he leans on your dresser, eyeing a picture of you.

"What happened?"

"Like you care," you lay back, shorts sliding up your thighs. Revealing far, far too much skin, he barely tears his eyes away. "He left me for my best friend."

"Oh shit..." he doesn't know what to say, all he's ever done is pick on you, prank you. Be a whole ass. How does he... comfort you? Without getting too close, feeling shit he can't?

What you didn't realize, is Sukuna has had it bad for you for years now. He knows he can never act on it, so the next best thing was to make your life a living hell. To make you hate him and stay far, far away.

It worked, you hate him.

But it's still not enough to stop the raging thoughts always inside him, of the filthy things he thinks of when he's alone. Stroking his cock to memories of you rather than porn, finding himself comparing others to the traits he loves about you. Traits you'll never know.

He can never ever tell you.

"I've got a date this week though. Old friend of ours." You lean up on your elbows, eyeing him then. He feels that familiar pang of fucking jealousy he also can't feel, remembering the ridiculous amount of men he's chased off over the years.

"What old friend?" He asks curiously, you smile a little then.

"Toji. Weren't you two super close?"

"Toji!? You are not going out with Toji." You sit up and glare, Sukuna crosses his thick arms. "Absolutely not."

"I'm twenty one. I'll do what I want, but don't you like him?"

"Tch, you're such an annoying fucking brat," his words make you stand up, as he sets down your polaroid, it's a pretty picture that's always burned in his brain. You at the beach all happy and pretty, he'd been so hard that day he'd had to jerk it in the fucking bathroom stall.

Why do you have to be so pretty? It's so annoying, and your shit attitude. Toji would be all over you, he always found you hot, but he never dared make a move once Sukuna let him know you were off limits. Was Sukuna not as imposing now that he's a YouTube star? Toji acted as if he couldn't still beat his ass down.

“Put the picture back, you’re so weird.” He holds it up high, smirking down at you, while you jump up and try to grab it, his big grin growing on his face, while he runs around your room with it.

“Too short, aww.”

“Anyone is short you giant, lord of the rings ent.”

“Nerd!”

“Give it!” You’re bouncing again, and he’s far too enamored by your pretty tits jiggling for a moment, his hand falls as his eyes catch them, you snatch your picture up then. “Hah! Now go.”

“Like I wanna be in here.” He’s scowling as he walks out, you lock your door with a little click when Sukuna stands in front of it, sighing and resting his back on it.

Why is it worse than usual seeing you? Typically he could hold his composure somewhat, why do you have to smell so good and - 

Shit he needs to stop.

*****

Dinner with Sukuna is the worst. He's devouring everything on his plate before leaning over, starting to slam down your food too. You scoff and shove the whole plate at him. "Yuck, just have it, now it's covered in Sukuna germs."

"You should count yourself lucky to have any of them from me, brat."

"Will you two stop," your mom and Sukuna's dad say it simultaneously with a big sigh, it's an automatic response when you both have to be in each other's vicinity.

"Why don't you just stay somewhere fancy, rich boy?"

"Tch, you really would miss me if I didn't come over, can't have you all upset." You roll your eyes as your mom gives you an entire other plate of food. Sukuna's already downed your plate and eyeing the new one.

"Let me eat holy shit," you turn away from him, about to stab him with the fork when he goes for a piece of chicken. "Sukuna!"

"Stop it, go get another plate." Sukuna's dad instantly has Sukuna resigned just a bit, he rolls his eyes and leaves your plate alone. The two of them look more like brothers than father and son really, he's a spitting image of him.

Sukuna is handsome, you suppose, though he knows it and is so pretentious about it, that it's just annoying. You'd never tell him he was, either, not when he calls you a little gremlin. That started the first year you lived here, along with dweeb, shrimp and brat, he was a classic bully.

You nibble a bit as you stare at your phone, swiping away the annoying notification that he posted, only for him to eye it, smirking. "Aw you do love me, following me and everything!"

"You wish, I keep ignoring it and it won't stop. Conspiracy or some shit."

"Honey, no cussing at the table."

"Sorry mom," she laughs at you two, shaking her head, while Sukuna leans over, peeking at the phone you're now bringing to your chest. "Will you fuck off."

"Language honey. Ow!" You stomp right on his foot, earning a scowl landed at you. "Brat!"

"Jerk! I don't want to eat, I lost my appetite." You stand up then, plate almost entirely untouched, walking up the stairs as your mom asks you to come back down.

God you can't stand him.

You get a knock later, and he's holding a plate in his big ass hands, frowning a bit. "What, dad yell at you?"

"Just eat," he shoves the plate at you, you notice it's been warmed up when the glass touches your skin. You blink a bit in surprise. "You didn't eat anything."

"You ate all my food like an ass, and I'm not hungry." You shove the plate back at him and his eyes narrow, your fingers touching as you try to put it back in his hands.

"Will you just eat? Now."

"You don't tell me what to do.

"You're such a-

"Brat, I know." You tug the plate back, rolling your eyes now. "I'll eat if you leave me alone."

"I don't want to hang out with you anyway," he says, lying his fucking ass off - god he wants to just spend time with you, not that he ever would say it or do it for that matter. “You better eat it all.”

“Oh Jesus.” You shake your head at him, sighing and nibbling some of it when he walks away, you hate how good his ass looks in those stupid gym shorts. He catches you staring damn near, looking back at you with a raised brow, you quickly scowl and shut the door.

Why does Sukuna look so good? You can’t think the shit.

After eating you’re washing up, bumping into Sukuna as he heads to the bathroom, shirtless just to distract you, surely. You’re breathless when you see his bare chest - has he gotten more chiseled? More tattoos? There are many sliding across his chest, his flat brown nipples, dipping down his rib cage and tracing his obliques. For a moment you can’t even say anything, just standing there.

“Did you eat?” You blink a bit, looking up and nodding a bit. “Nothing smart to say?”

“I’m just tired.”

You’re far, far too close to him then, just standing there, cheeks heating up at the proximity. He’s always been gorgeous, he’s always been buff, it shouldn’t bother you now so much. Without another word, Sukuna walks into the bathroom and you head out of it, shoulder brushing one of his biceps, the contact alone making your tummy tense.

The fuck was going on with you lately?

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t originally have a crush on Sukuna when you met him, how couldn’t you? He was so hot, especially to a younger you, before you realized what an ass he was as soon as he opened his mouth. After that first prank you knew he was just your enemy, not that you could have ever acted on your stupid crush anyway.

He’s family now, honey.

You cover your face with the blankets, avoiding any thoughts of that tattooed body on top of you. Maybe it’s your break up, maybe it’s the date coming up, maybe you’re ovulating, fuck… Whatever it is, you’re undeniably clenching around nothing from being too close to that asshole.

*****

Your date with Toji is tonight, you had a little crush on him when he’d come visit with Sukuna over the summers, but of course he never left you alone with Toji. He was annoying as can be when it came to making sure no one talked to you, because no one wanted to fuck with Sukuna, it’s just now gotten easier, since he’s out of college and some of them have gotten a little braver.

He hated your last boyfriend when you brought him over, on sight, though you have to admit he may have been onto something with that one, he really was a complete dick now that you look back on it. But he hated everyone you dated, making sure if he ran into them on campus to threaten them for no good reason, most of them just gave up.

You ran into Toji the other day randomly, and he was looking really good. He's that dangerous bad boy that your mom tells you to stay away from, but you never listen. Good guy you were just with fucked your former friend however, so you’re truly not so sure what everything means right now. Giving him a chance for a date seems like the perfect way to forget two things.

One, your shitty ex.

Two, your annoying step brother.

You’re eyeing your outfit in the mirror, turning this way and that, before brushing your hair out, you’re dressed in a lacy little black bustier and a pretty pleated skirt, you two are going to a concert so you figure you’ll look cute for it. You’re popping on a little gloss, slathering it over your lips until they’re glistening, doing a little spin and then checking Toji’s text.

You’re running down the stairs, hand on the rail, cool under your touch, when you pause, almost running into Sukuna and nearly tumbling off that last step. Sukuna  curses, catching you quickly, until you’re pressed against him. He is steadying you with his hands, huge fucking hands that feel way too good on your skin, when you’re eye to eye with his chest, looking up at him slowly.

“Clumsy brat…” He grumbles, pushing you back then, but his touch lingers for a little too long. When he looks at your outfit slowly, you feel those ruby eyes like a physical touch, slipping down your body and making you tremble just a bit.

Sukuna never looks at you like that.

It’s quiet for a moment, it goes on way too long, his gaze trailing down your breasts in that top, seeing the way your nipples press up like they’re dying for him. You look too good, too pretty, too much of that body revealed, and for another dude to look and touch? His old friend at that- it fucking infuriates him, his fists clenched on either side.

He barely composes himself, while you’re just looking at him under your lashes, doing too much to his brain, his heart pounding in his chest as desire hits him right in the stomach. He’s seen you in all sorts of shorts, bikinis, you name it, but he’s never really seen you dressed like this, and it’s fucking his entire mind up, short circuiting momentarily.

He finally composes himself, crossing his arms and scowling as you smile at him, arms behind your back. “Like the outfit, Sukuna?”

“Like it, fuck no. What’re you trying to dress like that for?”

“Because we’re going to a concert!”

“Tch,” he goes to the coat stand then, yanking his down from it and scowling right down at you. “Put on the jacket, now.”

Sukuna’s throwing his jean jacket over your shoulders again, you yank it off and shove it at him, pretty breasts just heaving in that slutty little fucking top again, he’s torn between being furious anyone sees you like this, and irritated it affects him this bad. What he thought was shoved far down is prominent as ever, fuck it was even worse than before.

“No! Don’t want your stinky jacket.” He is stepping even closer, when you inhale him - and you hate to admit the fucker smells good.

“This cologne is a hundred bucks a spray, you know it smells good.”

“I don’t give a fuck, it’s nasty. As is your giant jacket, it’ll swallow me, he won’t see my outfit at all!”

“Good, no one should.” You scoff at that and shake your head at him.

“You’re fucking ridiculous.”

“Am I?”

“Yes! You’re not some big brother, and I’m grown. I’ll wear whatever I want- I look hot actually.”

“You look slutty.” His whisper is too close, you haul back and smack him then, hurting your hand and gasping, shaking it out as the tingles shoot through it, while the asshole smirks. “Hit like a little girl.”

“Oh fuck you, with your big ass head.”

“Honey! Ready for your date? He’s um…” your mom looks outside as she walks up to you two in the entry way,, where Toji is revving up his mustang. “He’s here… I guess.”

“Can’t come to the fucking door?” Sukuna says, you scowl at him.

“Like you do that for girls.”

Sukuna raises a brow. “Like you know what I do for girls.”

“I’ve heard plenty,” he smirks then, shaking his head. “Oh you’re notorious, how many girls have you dated? Manwhore.”

“Me, a manwhore?”

“Mom,” you turn to her now, as she still eyes Toji standing outside of his mustang, you can tell all her motherly instincts are telling her to intervene, but she has always let you make your own decisions.

“Yes sweetie?”

“Tell him I’m fine in this,” your mom pauses, lips parting as Sukuna’s dad comes out, and looks at you briefly before he takes off his jacket from the rack, earning Sukuna’s chuckle. “Really now!?”

“It’ll be cold,” he tries to play it off, clearing his throat as he covers you up with his jean jacket instead. “You’ll catch a chill. And why isn’t he at the door?”

“Exactly-”

“Shush.” You put your finger to your lips as Sukuna is about to gloat at the fact that your parents are in agreement. “Suck up.”

“Me? You!”

“Okay,” your mom takes off the jacket, earning the two men’s scowls. “She’s an adult, she chooses what she wears. Even if… she should wear a jacket.”

“I love you.” You kiss her cheek, grabbing your purse and phone then, walking outside. Sukuna walks to the porch with you, much to your irritation, glaring over at Toji who’s whistling across the yard.

“What’s up, Sukuna?” Toji’s voice makes Sukuna want to take him down, he’s grinning as he looks at you in ways he shouldn’t. “Long time no see. Oooh, don’t you look hot, doll.”

You’re giggling, giggling!? Sukuna is about to lose his mind.

He grabs your wrist, long thick fingers with black painted nails taking it over, you pause at the warmth, at the rough palms, looking up then. The night is humid but there’s a breeze tossing around his light pink locks, as he grips just a little tighter, making you turn to him.

“What is it?” You ask then, your voice for a moment is soft, Sukuna looks at you, then at Toji, sighing. “I’ll be fine.”

“Right.” He lets you go then, you’re bouncing down the stairs practically, Toji’s hand is at the small of your back, his fingers itching to break them, while you hug Toji and he wraps you in his big ass arms.

You’re opening your door, it’s not like Toji would do that, shit Sukuna’s not one to do it half the time, but the fact that it’s you makes him unreasonably angry. You look at him across the driveway, expression unreadable before you slip in the car next to him. Toji zips off so quickly Sukuna’s also worried about you driving with him.

He’s been jealous before, many, many times, but today is just too much, seeing you again, and knowing you’ll never be his, hits harder than it should. He stomps back in the house, your mom thanks him for being so caring - hah - if only she knew what he really thought about you.

Sukuna really isn’t proud of any of the next thoughts or actions that night, no he really isn’t. When he heads up to his room but lingers by yours instead, staring into it and seeing black lace on the ground. He knows he’s just horrible when he walks in and shuts that door quietly, eyeing everything in there, the sweet lingering scent of your perfume hitting his senses.

Sukuna is also not proud when he’s in your room, when he takes those panties you slipped off before you left, just sitting on the carpet by your dresser. He’s not very proud when he picks them up to his face, inhaling your scent - fuck, his ‘stepsister’ has the sweetest pussy. He has done this before, and you just get sweeter tasting, as he desperately laps your slick off them.

He’s so not proud when he’s right in your bed, putting them to his face and releasing his thick cock then, red tip leaking precum and smacking his stomach as it’s released. He knows this isn’t a good thing to do, he’s Sukuna, he could have any woman he wants, they’re all after him, and he’s stealing panties and jerking it on a friday night.

He’s furious that Toji gets to touch you.

If Sukuna touched you, he’d grip your breasts, squish them in his hands, have you littered with his hand prints, show you what it is to really get fucked, and fucked so good you’re delirous from it. Bend you over, grip your wrists with one of his hands, stretch your cunt the fuck out. God he bets it’s so pretty, too, his mind vividly pictures it as he touches his tip, exhaling.

What is he reduced to from you!? In your bed, so big he hardly fits on the fucking thing, sprawled out with his long limbs as he strokes his thick, veiny cock slowly. Your panties are right against his face, he’s perverted and depraved for doing it, especially in your bed, but he can’t stop himself. He’s moaning softly into them, as your scent fills his mind, while his hand jerks it faster and faster.

He’s whispering your name, sweat slicking his muscled body, a thin sheen glimmering under your pretty fairy lights while he’s being fucking filthy on your bed. Picturing your tummy bulging with him, stroking slowly in and out, making you squirt cum all over him till your sheets were soaked. He’s jerking faster and faster, wishing it were you, so desperate and pathetic you make him.

He hates you more for making him this way, him, fucking Sukuna, pathetically cumming in his ‘step - sister’s’ bed, as if he could call you it. He barely knows you, aside from being a dick every break, pranking you to watch your pretty face so angry, getting off on it in far, far too many ways.

He didn’t have to be home for the summer, he actually put himself out doing it, just to see you, to fucking torment you, but it’s you who torment him, when he imagines tasting your pussy from the source. He’d lap his cum out of your cunt, then fill you up again, over and over, until there was no room for anymore, just messy and dripping all down your pretty thighs.

“Fuck,” he whispers it, muffling his moan with that fabric, as his cum pumps from his huge length, dripping in white ropes down his hand, pulsing in his hold. He’s gasping at the release, picturing putting it inside your bratty little fucking mouth.

He’s cleaned up then, right with your panties, whimpering the tiniest bit as they hit his sensitive tip, jerking as he lays there now, sooty pink lashes fluttering, furious as he thinks of you on your stupid date. You’ll never know what he really thinks, it has to be that way, but it doesn’t make it easier, not when he’s cuddling with a pillow that smells like your shampoo.

*****

“I had fun!” Toji smiles, that scar curving up just a bit, his big hand on your thigh as his engine hums.

“You did, huh?”

“I did, I needed that.” He chuckles and leans close, tilting your chin up now, inky locks falling over his brow. “Thank you for tonight.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” he practically purrs the words, you gather their meaning quickly, heart racing just a bit as his lips descend. “Been thinking of this all night.”

Toji’s kiss is nothing like your ex, it’s a rough kiss, his tongue tracing your lips and slipping in your mouth when you gasp a bit. You hear his moan when he drags one of your thighs closer, spreading you, you feel your body reacting quickly, a mix of nerves, thoughts, and clearing your pussy is reacting too. She’s already been soaked for two days, and now she’s way too excited.

“God, doll,” Toji hums as he kisses you deeper, you’re trembling when his fingers slip up your thigh carefully, teasing and leaving goosebumps everywhere. His dark green eyes lock with yours as he pulls back. “You feel s’good, ya know that?”

“Do I?” You tease, he moans and kisses you again, while in front of your childhood home, it feels so… thrilling but terrifying.

Was Sukuna watching?

No way…

And if so, what would that make you feel?

You’re contemplating that as Toji finds you over your panties, you moan softly when rough fingers slip up and down them. “So hot, fuck…”

“Mnh!” You’re spreading your thighs for more, he feels so good, kisses taking over your addled mind, and you wonder if it can shove down the thoughts you’re having about your dumbass step brother. Thoughts you can’t have, shit you can’t do - even if either of you did want to.

Sukuna would never want you like that. He’s never called you pretty, not that he should, but he’s said the opposite all the time. He doesn’t know, calling you a fucking gremlin or whatever sucks sometimes, you don’t expect his compliments, but deep down a part wants them anyway. You get looking extra pretty for him, a fact you’ll take to your fucking grave.

Toji slips under your panties, you’re gasping when he touches your wet slit with expert fingers. “Soaked, huh doll? Need me to make ya feel good?”

“I’m… ah! Toji…” you grip his wrist, his thumb is circling on your clit now, it feels really fucking good, twitching against his touch. “Mnh…”

“Wanna cum f’me, pretty?” He’s rolling quicker, more pressure now, while he drags messy kisses on your neck.

“Um, I don’t fuck on the - ngh - first date, Toji.” He pulls back now, a smile tugging on his mouth.

“Was just gonna have you cum on my fingers - fuck, mouth if you want,” you’re blushing and he notices, chuckling again. “You’re cute.”

“Cute, huh?” You wonder what it would be like, you’ve always pictured it with Sukuna, his long fingers and black nails in your cunt, things you should never, you shove it back, focusing now. “You wanna finger me?”

“Wanna have you cum,” his voice is gruff, he’s not fucking around when he slips a finger in your soppy little cunt, your nails press into the leather of his jacket as he kisses you again. “Mmm, that’s it.”

Your eyes shut as he massages your cunt with his fingers, stretching you out and making you tense, thighs trembling on either side. For whatever stupid reason you can’t get fucking Sukuna’s body in a towel out of your damn mind, no matter how many times you shove it down, instead just getting wetter. You focus on kissing him, on feeling him, the squishing wetness loud in his car still running.

“That’s it, cum, I can feel it.” Toji’s words urge you on, as he sucks along your shoulder, sinking his teeth in as his fingers curl just so, and you feel yourself cum then, pressure building and releasing in your tummy.

“Ah!” You’re whining out, earning Toji’s grin against your skin, you feel his teeth lines along you, breaths coming quicker and quicker. “Toji, god…”

“You’re so wet.” He puts your panties back, a hand entangled in your hair now. “See, I wasn't gonna go that far.”

“Are you a gentleman?”

“Fuck no,” you giggle a bit. “But we don’t have to rush things. Are you gonna go out with me again?”

“I’d like that.” He kisses you once more, you’re a little dizzy, from your thoughts, your mind, when you walk back to the porch and Toji takes off.

Why do you feel bad?

Surely not for his ass.

Surely not for a man who is just… a jerk, who’s hot sure okay, Toji is too. You need to shove it down, all of it. You try to do just that, it’s still warm outside so the jackets were a silly idea, you unlock the door with your key, stepping inside and sighing as you feel the cool air conditioning hit your skin.

You slip off your shoes by the front door, picking them up and carrying them as you walk back up the stairs, yawning a bit. You know it’s late, so you try to be quiet when you finally walk into your room. You’re taking off that top and skirt, fingers touching the knobs of your dresser so you can find some comfy clothes to sleep in. Mom has everything you’ve ever owned in here still, so you have to sift through the old clothes.

Suddenly, you hear a rustle behind you, making you jerk and eye the mirror, nearly fucking screaming as you see something turning under your goddamn blankets.

“What the fuck!?” You walk over there now, seeing the tints of pink hair in the dark, as none other than Sukuna is in your goddamn bed.

You shove at the big lug of a fucking man, only for him to stop snoring and peek at you with eyes almost black, you tense as they hit you, as you realize you’re just in a bra and panties now. They drift down your body, when he leans up, yawning now, his look making you feel even wetter, even more needy than earlier.

“Are you pranking me? Get up…” Your voice is quiet, as he yawns, gripping your wrist then, tugging you until you almost straddle him over those sheets. You gasp at it, at how his hand brushes across your shoulder.

“Let him mark your perfect fucking skin?” He demands in a scratchy, husky voice, shocking you so much you blink, leaning back. You’re far too close to his hard length you feel under those sheets, against your inner thigh.

“Are you having some weird dream? Sukuna, it’s me…” You say your name, but he hears nothing with the blood rushing in his own ears, as he eyes that damn mark Toji left on your pretty shoulder. His thumb brushes it, while he pictures leaving marks everywhere. “Sukuna?”

He tugs you closer, until you’re sprawled over him, and he’s too fucking tired to stop it, to stop how badly he wants you - the girl he shouldn’t but can’t fucking help but want over anyone. You have no clue, he sees it in your shocked gaze, when he eyes your other shoulder, pristine and free from any marks.

“Did you like it, brat?” He asks softly, you don’t know what to say at that moment, you just look at him, at his lidded eyes and parted lips.

What do you say to that?

“Would you be mad if I did? I’m a grown up, y’know that?” He scoffs then, huge hand slipping up your bare spine, watching as your eyes flutter shut. “Sukuna…”

“Can’t answer, brat?”

“What’re you even doing in here?” You tug back a bit, but he just drags you back down, and soon you find yourself completely straddling him - Sukuna, your enemy, your… what is he exactly?

tagsss- @sukubusss @yamadramallamaqueen @quinny23 @flowerymenendez @valleydolli @gradmacoco @lolliibunny @chosolover32 @tiredasiandaughter @nanam1nz @sukunabish @valentinegab3 @heichouaack @throwmethroughawindow @mizuwki @omkookie @lemonadesforsale @dannaya @maybe-a-bi-witch @fl4weriesworld @karvokr @pillkits @yummycastiel @fl4weriesworld @kitty-yaps @kitassecretgf @deathrye @musiclover2119 @goldenfawnwriting @sttaejoon-blog @lil-cinn @keiiate @sageosimps @paradisestarfishh @ohohostinkyyyyy @blitziwitch @b0nez9 @sukunaforlife @mihauh @gojodickbig @ashlantismorning @erenspersonalwh0re @uncertainlyours @t4ters @msniks @seellove @lnette04 @salemsays66 @chxngminji @poopooindamouf

[windghouls]

NEW CHAPTER SPOILERS (INCLUDING WEIRD ROUTE) BIG KRIS RAMBLE

They actually do this really often. Before the new chapters dropped I was super fixated on the player Kris relationship (as expected, its acting up even more now lol.) But I was paying a lot of close attention to all the little choice interactions.

I'm super jumbled and not fully in the loop because I've only been semi-spoiling myself (since I can't play the new chapters right now.) But there's another part in one of the new chapters (chapter 4 I believe) where there's an interaction with Susie where Kris is asked if something's up and if you answer "Say what's on your mind" Kris covers their mouth. I believe this happens if you wait by the pond for 10 minutes.

The notion of them being able to hear the full command before they take action is very much supported by what we see with Noelle in the Weird route and I think its nice to have the confirmation that Kris experiences the player similarly to how Noelle does... with the only difference being that we are quite literally possessing Kris.

Assuming we are possessing Kris's actual soul, I think their ability to work around the player- and resist in the ways that they can- speak to their determination. I remember there used to be debate on whether the red soul is Kris's or our's that's been inputted. Personally, I can see it either way, but I lean towards it being their soul that we are just possessing. I think a red soul very much suits Kris's drive and how far they're willing to go for whatever it is they want to accomplish, even if we aren't sure what that goal is currently.

I really do love their malicious compliance with the player. It's a specialty of their's but it's definitely had me thinking on how they're able to interact with our commands/choices.

There's something specific in the weird route in chapter 4 that has me wondering if Kris is able to do more than just maliciously comply. I think its a possibility that they are completely able to block us, loopholes aside. Maybe they're just determined enough to be able to do it in this one instance due to the severity of the weird route. (We did just do something terrible. And Kris did beat the shit out of us soooo...) (Has me wondering about the third entity theories though cause like... we aren't controlling Kris all the time in weird route, but it also doesn't seem to be Kris. So hm.... seems possible its something or someone else.)

But there's this scene after Noelle's house where Susie is clearly insecure that you guys were off on your own. We are then presented with four choices, none of which we can see, and the screen is tinted red. I personally don't recall having encountered anything like this before.

No matter what you pick, Susie responds by seeming reassured that it wasn't about her and also brushes it off and promises not to mention it again. I think the only conclusion to draw from this is that this was somehow Kris's doing because they wanted to block us from hearing whatever it is they wanted to say. The red tint I think could easily be a reference to the soul being messed with. Due to Susie's response, I don't think its the third entity if there is one, as I'd only attribute them to malicious actions that Kris doesn't seem to approve of.

We know from the previous dialogue with Noelle before THE you know... THE scene that Kris will explicitly say not to mention things again to keep the information out of our reach.

Here's a couple of conclusions I think we can draw with a lot of certainty:

1. We do not need to possess Noelle to control Noelle.

2. We HAVE to possess Kris to control them. They can do whatever they want when we are not inside them and we only control the soul.

3. The wording of our choices matter. Our choices can sometimes be specific and Kris can take full advantage of loopholes within this.

4. In instances where our soul travels away from Kris, (ex. To see what Susie is doing as per Ralsei's suggestion) Kris is able to act on their own. (Supported by catching the tailend of conversations when we return)

5. Kris has some control of their actions even while we are in them and can sometimes act on their own without any say on our end. (Seems to be based on circumstance and maybe it comes down to willpower?) (Ex. Kris playing piano with the encouragement of Susie)

6. Kris can move and appear normal without the soul inside of them. (Though I assume it's probably strenuous to upkeep)

7. Kris might have a way to block our input, even if only in one instance in the weird route. (Maybe this'll continue to be shown in the weird route specifically)

Ok yall goodnight sorry this might have been completely incoherent im so neurodivergent abt Kris

Still incoherent about the new chapters, but something just occurred to me about the mechanics of the player's influence on Kris. In chapter four, Kris defies us by maliciously complying with our command's exact words:

Compare this to a similar scene with Asriel's room in Queen's mansion, where they simply close their eyes as we do the motion of opening the door- here they change what the actual motion is based on the command's wording.

Earlier, they cover their mouth before they can be cruel to Ralsei:

Kris stops themselves from completing their own sentence- they don't have any evidence to just predict what the player will say next, so this confirms they are aware of the whole sentence they have to say before they say it. Kris isn't just being forced through physical actions by the Red Soul, they can actually hear the entire command.

I don't know what to do with this piece of information at all.

[revelboo]

I got a death tracker and instantly thought of doing this. D-16 and his scary dog. Soundwave would definitely be there for d-16 through and through. Hope you're doing alright and having a good day! 💜💜💜

Cute! Soundwave just looming and being intimidating

Protective

TFO Soundwave x Reader

• Leaning over where you’re sprawled on your belly, he slides a servo down your spine and watches one of your legs stretch out. And the chaos of your organic thoughts is a deep, calm lake right now, not overwhelming him with you. Venting it’s a struggle to not just scoop you up blankets and all and slide you into his cassette compartment. That pull, almost an obsession, that made him take you to begin with is a constant hum in the back of his processor, whispering that you’re his. Meant to be his. That he knows you and he’s known you before in another life. That he’ll always find you no matter how far he has to travel.

• Startling when servos slide under you and you’re lifted with your blankets and pillows, you don’t resist when the giant mech slides you into the warmth of his cassette compartment. Still have no real idea what he wants with you, but you’ve seen his other little guys, his cassettes. Maybe because you’re around their size, he’s adopted you as another one of them? Have no idea and he’s not exactly that talkative, but he’s been nothing but gentle with you so far. Handling you like you’re made of glass even as it’s obvious you frustrate him.

• Shivering slightly as your too quick organic emotions cascade through him, even relaxed, you’re overwhelming him. And he clears his vents slowly when you just curl up in your nest inside him. Hoping you go back to sleep because it’s easier to deal with you when you’re not awake and flooding him with flashes of images and sensations. Slowly inoculating himself to you, slowly getting used to it so you don’t cripple him with your thoughts. Because you’re worse than the little yellow bug had been, at least he’d been able to understand B-127’s thoughts, you’re a constant assault on him.

• He’s on the move, his cassette compartment dim aside from the faint ruddy glow of his biolights. Lazily stretching out an arm, you trace one and it brightens, pulses. Responding to your touch. Why do you feel so safe with him? Like he’d protect you no mattter what? You don’t really know him at all, but it feels like you do. Like you should know him. Like you were waiting your whole life for him and you don’t understand it. “Soundwave?” And he rumbles around you, the deep noise strangely soothing, seeming to whisper through you that everything’s okay.

• Servos lifting to press against his cassette compartment, he can feel you touching him, feel your heart beating against him. Knowing he’s not the only one affected. Feeling your sense of peace at being near him. And he knows several other Decepticons have been affected. Driven to claim the little organic denizens of this planet, to find one specific human that’s only theirs. That they somehow, impossibly know. Like they were always meant to crash here.

[giuliannna]

LESSON PLAN

studying isn’t so entertaining when you have something else on your mind - something that involves your shy tutor. inspired by this request

contains: loss of virginity (don’t read if uncomfortable)

hamzah always knocks on your door too lightly, shifting from foot to foot like he’s thinking about running away. you open the door and he’s standing there with his sleeves tugged down over his hands, backpack hung on his shoulders.

“hi,” he mumbles, not meeting your eyes.

“you’re late,” you say, but you’re smiling, leaning against the doorframe in a tank top that’s showing too much. or not enough, depending how you look at it.

“sorry - uh, my car.. i mean- yeah. sorry.”

you step aside to let him in, and he walks in like he’s entering a museum. eyes darting around your room - pink sheets, candles, glossy lip balm tubes scattered on the desk - like he doesn’t know where he’s allowed to look. his cheeks are already turning pink.

“you can sit,” you say, already flopping onto your bed.

he hesitates. “uh- here?”

“yeah, hamzah,” you grin, patting your bedspread. “you’re not gonna, like, catch cooties. i’m tired of you always sitting at my desk all the time. you’re too far away.”

he laughs, but it’s nervous. he sinks down onto the very edge of the mattress, leaving a prominent gap of space between you two. he opens the cover of his textbook, flipping through pages with shaky hands. he clears his throat.

“so.. i figured we could start with the practice on page 211. if that’s okay.”

you hum. “sure.”

you lean over to look at the page. and when you do, your arm brushes his. his breath catches. he tries not to move, but he tries even harder not to look at the way your collarbone is peeking out or how your lip gloss shines.

you glance at him. he looks like he’s trying to remember how to breathe.

“you okay?”

“y-yeah. yep. page 211.”

he’s trying so hard.

his voice is all quiet and focused, like he really believes you’re going to care about vectors and kinematic equations just because he’s reading them off a flashcard.

“so, um, if the object’s moving with constant acceleration, you can use the formula - i mean, like.. initial velocity plus acceleration times time is..”

he squints down at his notes and pushes his glasses up with the side of his hand.

the frames keep sliding down his nose. you want to tug them off and crawl into his lap.

you’re sprawled out on the bed in your tiny sleep shorts, legs stretched long and bare toward him, like you’re just testing the waters - seeing how far you can push him before something breaks.

he’s still perched right on the edge of the mattress, like your bed is a sacred place. like one wrong move might make him bolt from the room.

“hamzah,” you hum, voice sugar-sweet and full of amusement.

his eyes dart up, nervous and wide behind his lenses. “yeah?”

you tilt your head, playing with the strap of your top. “you’re so cute when you talk about physics.”

he blinks. you see the pink rise to his cheeks.

“i- uh, thanks. it’s, um.. it’s just the way the curriculum explains it, i’m not, like, making it up or anything-”

you smile. “i know. you’re just so smart.”

his voice stutters into silence. his fingers tighten around the flashcard.

you roll onto your stomach, bending your knees up and swinging your feet lazily. “are you always this nervous around girls?”

“i’m not - i’m not nervous,” he says too fast, eyes flitting around the room like they’re begging for a safe place to land. “i just, uh, wanna make sure you understand it. the material. so you don’t fail.”

you giggle. “oh, right. i stopped listening, like, fifteen minutes ago.” your voice softens into a pout. “i’m bored.”

he hears that tone in your voice and looks up at you, the flashcard in his hand starting to tremble a little.

“b-bored?”

you nod, stretching again, letting your shorts ride up just a bit more. “mhm. think you could teach me something else?”

he swallows. audibly. “i- i don’t know what else you’d want me to teach you..”

you sit up on your knees and shift closer, slow and casual, like this isn’t going to break his entire understanding of reality.

“well,” you murmur, touching the hem of his sleeve. “you know what i heard?”

“what?” he nearly whispers.

“i heard that you’ve never kissed a girl before.”

he doesn’t say anything. he doesn’t even try to deny it. his mouth opens like he wants to speak, but nothing comes out.

you hum, pleased. “you want to?”

his whole body tenses. “i.. y-you mean.. right now?”

you reach up and adjust his crooked glasses, nodding. “right now.”

his eyes flick to your mouth and back up again. “y-yeah. if.. if you want to.”

you laugh softly and cup his cheek with one hand.

he melts.

he makes a tiny, broken noise in the back of his throat like that short-circuited something in his brain.

you kiss him.

he gasps against your mouth - not dramatic, just genuinely surprised. he doesn’t know where to put his hands, he doesn’t even move at all until you guide him, fingers lacing with his and placing them on your hips.

his mouth is soft, warm, clumsy. he kisses like he’s afraid to mess it up, like he’s thinking too hard about what to do with it. his lips are glossy and red when you finally pull back.

he blinks up at you like he’s not sure the kiss actually happened. like maybe he blacked out halfway through it. his glasses are crooked again. you fix them for him gently.

“you wanna learn something?” you whisper.

he nods, like it’s instinct.

“lie back. i’ll show you how to make a girl feel good.”

he obeys. no questions asked.

and you’re already thinking about how he’s going to look between your thighs - desperate, overwhelmed, ready to worship you without even knowing how.

he lies back, palms flat against your sheets. his fingers are twitching like he doesn’t know what to do with them, and his legs are a little too close together, stiff with nerves. his shirt rides up at the hem and his glasses are fogging slightly, but he watches you as you crawl over him and straddle his waist like you’ve already done this a hundred times.

he looks terrified.

yet already, he’s so hard.

you lean down, kiss his flushed cheek, whisper against his ear, “you wanna go down on me?”

his breath catches. “i- i’ve never..”

“i know.”

you smile and kiss him again, slower this time. “i’ll help you.”

and that’s all it takes. he nods, frantic, already trying to sit up like he wants to be useful.

you tug your shorts down slow, teasing, watching the way his eyes track every inch of your skin. when you toss your panties aside, his mouth drops open like he’s seeing something heavenly.

you climb up and settle your thighs over his face, one knee on either side of his head. “you okay down there?” you ask sweetly.

he breathes out hard, nodding. “yeah. yeah, i’m- fuck.”

you giggle.

and then you lower yourself.

his first lick is so clumsy it barely even lands. he sort of just presses his tongue to you like he’s not sure what he’s supposed to do, and it’s so messy, so warm, so desperate it makes you laugh breathlessly.

“oh my god,” you whisper, grinding down just a little. “you really have no idea what you’re doing, hamzah.”

he moans into you. it vibrates through your whole body.

“but you want to, don’t you?”

he nods under you. you feel it. his hands are on your thighs now, squeezing gently, trying to hold you in place even though you’re the one doing all the moving.

“don’t think too hard about it,” you murmur. “just try.”

and he does.

he’s sloppy and starved and so completely in awe of your body. he licks too fast, then too slow, then gets better when you tug on his hair and grind your hips just right.

he’s not coordinated, but he’s willing.

you rock against his face, moaning when his tongue finally catches your clit the way you want it to.

“fuck - right there, hamzah. keep going, don’t stop.”

he whimpers, like the praise is feeding him more than your cunt is. you ride it out, guiding his head, rolling your hips while he holds on and tries so hard to avoid screwing it up.

he’s soaked. his chin, his nose, his whole mouth - all wet. all yours.

when you finally cum, it’s sharp and fast and mean, your fingers yanking his hair and your thighs trembling around his head.

you don’t even get all the way off him. you just slide down until you’re sitting on his chest, catching your breath, looking down at him.

his mouth is red and slick and his lips are parted. he looks ruined. you smile, feeling proud.

“good boy,” you whisper.

he twitches under you - hips jerking up like he’s this close from just finishing in his pants.

his hands hover in the air like he doesn’t know where to put them. not on your waist, not on your hips, not on your thighs. you take them and pin them to the bed.

“stay still,” you tease, climbing down his body. “i’m not done with you yet.”

his eyes flutter shut for a second, overwhelmed. he’s so red in the face you can see it creeping down his neck, blooming along his skin like heatstroke.

“you’ve never even.. touched a girl before, have you?”

he shakes his head. swallows hard. “n-no. i mean, not - not like this.”

you hum like you’re thinking. “not even.. over-the-clothes stuff?”

“no,” he breathes. “i’ve only ever - like.. y’know. on my own.”

you sit back and smile like you’re delighted. “god, that’s so cute.”

he groans, burying his face in his arm. “please don’t make fun of me.”

“hamzah,” you purr, leaning in to kiss the corner of his mouth, “i’m not making fun of you. i love it.”

his hips twitch at that. he doesn’t even mean to - it’s just instinct, pure and helpless.

you reach down and finally palm him over his sweats. he’s rock hard, twitching, so sensitive. he gasps, trying to hold still.

“look at you,” you murmur. “all worked up and i haven’t even taken these off yet.”

he covers his face again. “i’m sorry-”

you laugh sweetly. “don’t be sorry, hamzah. you’re doing perfect.”

your fingers curl into the waistband of his sweats. you pull them down slow, along with his boxers, and he lifts his hips eagerly without you even asking.

and when he springs free - flushed and leaking and pretty - you just look at him for a second.

“fuck,” you whisper. “you’ve been keeping this from me?”

his face is burning. “i didn’t - m’sorry, i didn’t think-”

you cut him off with a kiss.

“you want me to be your first, don’t you?” you exhale against his lips.

he nods instantly. “please. i want it so bad.”

“yeah?” you stroke him once, slow and mean. he chokes on a moan. “you gonna be good for me?”

“yes. yes, i will, just - tell me what to do. i don’t wanna mess anything up.”

you climb back over him and straddle his hips again, dragging your slick along the length of his cock so he can feel how ready you are.

“you’re not gonna mess it up, hamzah. i’ll take care of everything.”

his whole body shudders. you reach down and guide him with one hand, pressing the head of his cock to your entrance.

“wait,” he whispers, chest rising and falling rapidly, “i don’t - i don’t wanna cum yet.”

you smile. “you’re not gonna. not yet. just breathe.”

his hands grip your waist, fingers digging in just enough to ground himself. his eyes are locked on where your bodies meet - lips parted, completely speechless.

you sink down slow. his head hits the pillow. a choked moan leaves his lips. his hips jerk without permission.

“oh - oh my god,” he whispers, voice cracking. “it’s so.. good, it’s - fuck, i’m..”

you pause halfway, hand splayed across his chest. “c’mon, breathe, hamzah.”

he gasps like he’s forgotten how.

you press a kiss to his jaw. “you’re doing so good, i promise.”

you take the rest of him inch by inch, letting him stretch you slowly. his cock is twitching inside you, like everything is too much, like he’s been waiting his whole life for this exact moment.

you settle fully, hips snug against his, and you don’t move. he’s trembling under you.

“this okay?” you ask softly, running your fingers down his chest.

he nods. “y-yeah. i just.. it’s so much. i can’t think.”

you lean down and kiss his temple. “that’s good. you think too much. you don’t have to for once.”

you rock your hips once - shallow, gentle. he gasps.

“oh my god- don’t stop-”

you shush him sweetly. his hands are fisting the sheets now. his head turns to the side like he’s trying to ground himself in anything that isn’t you, but you won’t let him look away.

you grip his chin and make him face you.

“eyes on me.”

he obeys instantly. he’s all flushed, fucked-out.

you start rocking your hips again, slow and steady, dragging yourself up and down his cock while he just whines under you.

his hands twitch at your waist, like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to touch you more, but when you grind down just right and clench around him - he loses all of that control.

his hips snap up into you without warning. once. twice. again.

“shit - i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to-”

you gasp, caught off guard by how deep he hits. your hand slaps down on his chest to keep yourself steady, but he’s already chasing it now - thrusting up into you, messy and fast and needy.

“fuck-! i can’t stop, oh god - sorry,” he whimpers.

you moan, loud. “don’t be sorry, hamzah - oh, my god.. fuck me just like that.”

his eyes go wide. his hands grip your ass, holding you down as he drives up into you with these frantic, uncoordinated thrusts.

“you feel so good - jesus, i didn’t know it would feel like this-”

you’re bouncing now, letting him fuck up into you while your fingers dig into his chest. he’s gasping under you, all choked breaths and flushed skin and eyes locked on your tits through the thin fabric of your top.

“you gonna cum already?” you tease, breathless, grinning down at him.

he nods, eyes glossy. “i’m trying not to - i swear, i’m trying.. i don’t wanna cum yet, please-”

“why not?” you pant, leaning close so your nose brushes his. “you wanna make me finish first?”

he whimpers. “yes.”

you smile. “good boy.”

and that breaks him.

he bucks up harder, sweat gathering at his temples, teeth sinking into his lip. his hands are sliding all over your waist now, greedy and clumsy like he can’t decide whether to hold you still or pull you closer.

you guide one of his hands to your clit. “touch me here, hamzah. just like i showed you.”

he does. shaky at first, then more confident when he hears how loud you moan.

and then you’re right there - hips stuttering, thighs trembling, your whole body shaking on top of him.

“hamzah, fuck- don’t stop..”

he watches you fall apart like he’s witnessing something holy.

you cry out as you cum again, clenching hard around him, and that’s when he completely unravels.

“oh fuckfuckfuck - i’m gonna cum, i can’t-”

he sobs your name as he finishes. hips locked, cock twitching, entire body stiffening under you. he moans through it, whimpering and cursing, clinging to you like you’re the only thing keeping him on earth.

his chest heaves. your body goes limp over his. and neither of you say a thing for a second - just trying to breathe. your thighs are shaking and his chest is slick with sweat, his glasses fogged and askew, but neither of you move right away.

he blinks up at the ceiling.

“oh, my god.”

you giggle against his shoulder, tucking his glasses up onto his forehead gently. “s’that good, huh?”

he just stares at you with this wrecked, teary, completely worshipful face. that’s all you need to know.

“mm. glad i could teach you something for a change.”

a/n: not proofread again sorryyyy

xoxo giulia

taglist: @gulicore @slushedup @arroganceisherfavoritecolor @layzerzlovesu46 @babysitter19 @marixoa @starjely @viennawaiits @h-yalexaaaa @freakzah444 @anginluv @gabwilliams @sturniyolo @screamertannie @brlwla @yourstrulykiya @angelegss @hamzaholic @isathefantastic @divinesturn @forestlv4r @mayapuma20 @ottakugirl @hamzahsbestone @pulcen @rustnroll @venus-planetof-love @hamzahsn1gf @rock678 @wandas-lovey @guiltyfemcel @axetheboyboss @harrys0nlyange1 @ttlynotme @yassqueen1303 @animalcrossingshameless @opiumfidgetspinner @pictureperfectblue @slushingmynoob @vampzah @ilovezah @wh1speringstarr

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

TABLE SIDE ENTERTAINMENT.

bucky barnes x fem!reader

WORD COUNT. 1067 SUMMARY. your anniversary dinner takes a slight turn when bucky’s team begin to bicker despite best behaviour being asked of them. [fluff] NOTE. tower fic resurgence YEAAA!

⎯ ☆ ⎯

Things were different this year, though not by choice. Rather a small series of events that lead to an unforeseen change. Originally, your plan was to cook for your anniversary dinner like either of you normally would when the date came. You would each alternate between your apartments, taking turns hosting and cooking for the other. 

Two years ago, it was your apartment, the year after, Bucky’s, ultimately meaning this year was yours again. But since your last anniversary hosting, you have taken a roommate, the cost far too much for one person alone in New York. And quite similarly, Bucky was in the same boat as you, living with, not one, but five other roommates now.

And while it was your turn to cook, you were unable to host in your apartment: your roommate planning a get together with friends before even checking with you. Consequently, meaning things had to be rearranged. 

You sit at the dining table, Bucky at the head beside you as you both tentatively poke your forks into your candlelit dinner. It wasn’t quite what you pictured for your third anniversary. 

Despite Bucky having asked for some privacy from his team, they gave him literally anything but. All of them residing in the communal areas just so they could poke their noses into your date.

Off to the side, Yelena and Ava sit on the sofas, stuck in faux conversation as they clean their guns — pretending to occupy themselves, essentially, making themselves look busy. Beside the kitchen counter, John and Bob stand, their attention earnestly caught by a fancy, new, gimmicky kitchen appliance. And how could you forget Alexei, his loud, booming voice making it impossible to lose track of his whereabouts. 

“Where’s mine?” you follow the direction of Alexei’s question and notice him looking around the kitchen disapprovingly, hands theatrical as they lift the lids off the pots and pans.

You hear John and Bob bicker ahead of you, a growing miscommunication becoming all the more evident.

“Wheres the ice cream?” 

“Why would there be ice cream, Bobby?” Walker replies, brows scrunching together as he looks at Bob like he’s an idiot.

“You said you were making a shake,” Bob repeats. 

“Exactly.”

“You put ice cream in a milkshake, why is there no ice cream?”

“Protein shake, Bobby,” he clarifies, gesturing to an array of supplements beside the blender. “Just try it,” John offers.

“You make shakes?” Alexei interrupts, laughing like it was an attempt to mock them. “Crack egg in mouth. Be a man.”

“Ignore him,” John steps in front of the interruption, pushing him aside.

“What flavour is it?”

“It doesn’t matter what flavour it is, just try it.”

“I don’t think I’ll like it.”

“See,” Alexei continues. He recaptures everyone's attention and cracks an egg directly into his mouth. He swallows it hesitantly and lifts his arms, showing off his muscles. “Look how strong.”

You hide an amused smile behind your glass, finding humour in their squabbling. Though Bucky looks far from pleased, he’s clearly rather embarrassed from their failure to fulfil their promise of being good. Who needs dinner and a show when you have a group of enhanced individuals as your entertainment?

“That’s not how you do it, dad,” Yelena joins in, a subtle smirk on her face as she nudges Ava’s side. “You have to eat the shell too.”

“That’s not true,” Alexei exclaims and looks around the group for assurance. “You make joke, Lena. Very funny, HA HA!”

“It is,” Ava adds. 

John looks over to the girls and they nod at him, trying to get him to keep it going. Though he needs no convincing, he was still feeling wounded by the emasculation. And so reaches for the egg carton and pulls out another, smugly dropping it into Alexei’s open hand.

“Try it again,” he nods like it was an act of encouragement and steps aside. “Bucky does it. You want to be like the Winter Soldier, don’t you?”

“Two is a lot, no?” Alexei protests and looks over to Bucky, using him for guidance. 

Bucky doesn’t give enough of a response, though it still holds weight: a simple, short shake of the head as if it was a signal to let him know he was being used as the butt of another joke. He enjoys humour, but not at the sake of others. And sure, yes, Alexei probably deserves it, but it was date night and things were steering way beyond proportion. It needed reigning back in, massively.

“You make fool of me,” Alexei turns to look between the members of the group, an accusatory finger waving at them. “That’s hurtful.”

“Nice one, Buck,” Walker exclaims, irritation evident.

“It was mean,” Bob adds, coming to his defence.

John’s brows pinch together like he’s displeased. “It’s a joke, Bobby.”

“Woah,” Yelena interjects. “You don’t need to shout at him.”

The rest of the group begins to chip in with their own pieces and eventually it turns into indecipherable squabble — all of them trying to speak over the other with their own very important thing to say. You turn to look at Bucky, expecting him to be a puddle of embarrassment and aggravation, though he’s anything but. Instead he’s smiling, a rather sly grin forming as it all descends into chaos around him. 

With the group's attention occupied on being heard, Bucky slips his hand into yours and gestures to the stairs with a short nod of the head. He picks up the glasses from the table with his free hand while you grab the bottle of wine, with yours holding the neck tight as your footsteps begin to pick up — trying to keep up with his brisk, haste movement.

The noise from his team’s arguing slowly dwindles down the further distance you make and you each pause, reaching the door of his bedroom. 

“Did you know that would happen?” you ask, a smile forming that matched his cheeky one downstairs. 

He nods and that same grin resurfaces. He lets go of your hand and reaches for the handle, lingering in place for a moment before he turns to look at you. 

“Happy Anniversary, honey,” he says now that it’s just you two, words gentle and earnest.

You bring a hand to his cheek, thumb swiping over it softly as you lean in, pressing a kiss to his lips. “Happy three years, my love.”

⎯ ☆ ⎯

[competitioneddie]

As someone who genuinely likes Tommy as a character specifically because he's so flawed and morally questionable, points 3 and 8 are so so valid.

Maybe everything else makes Tommy a bad person but doesn't directly affect Buck as long as he doesn't find out about Tommy's past or sees him acting out his bigoted beliefs. He can be oblivious to everything else, but 3 and 8 stand out as a bad romantic match.

Tommy is valid for not wanting to deal with Buck's possible internalised homophobia and having to stand on the sidelines as Buck comes out to everyone, he might be triggered because he didn't get to come out safely or he might be scared that this is just a trial run for a baby bi man, which is a fucking valid fear starting a relationship!!! But there are oceans between being afraid and having quite literally no faith in the relationship you're entering. Don't do that to yourself baby, pace yourself a bit and start out as a casual thing and see where it goes, cut your losses if it really doesn't work but be emotionally available to the other person and tell them the reason, allow them to know and do what they want with the knowledge. It's clearly not the case with Buck because it has been pointed out endlessly that Tommy isn't the landing place for Buck, but someone else might see your struggle and want to put in the work to make you feel confident in your relationship, don't doom yourself Tommy!

And as for 8, this is such a stark contrast with Eddie who took one look at Buck after the breakup and said you know what, my basketball buddie is not that important to me, Buck's my best friend and I'm gonna ditch Tommy's ass for hurting him. Tommy was positively ecstatic that Eddie had left. That's so mean and not romantic in the least, if you love someone you can't be so openly happy that their best friend left temporarily and surreptitiously reinforce Buck's fear that Eddie's gone forever, no matter how jealous you were of their relationship. Sure, you can have that knee-jerk reaction, but at some point you've gotta learn to keep it in check because it's not healthy to think of your partner in terms of a prize. There is no competition, either Buck loves Eddie romantically or he doesn't, and even if he does it's not about who scores more brownie points. It's ultimately up to Buck and if pressed he would probably choose Tommy in a misguided attempt to make it work to prove that he's not unlovable, which sucks for Tommy same as it sucked for Taylor, but I truly honestly think he would never ever go for Eddie unless Eddie made the first move. Buck treats their friendship like it's this very fragile thing that will startle and break if he looks at it funny. He would never risk it. Tommy doesn't deserve to be in that kind of relationship and ultimately I think he was smart to break things off with Buck, but they're so ill fitting as a couple because they really can't get past Eddie. Someone else might look the other way but because Tommy knows Eddie and maybe suspects he's not as straight as Buck thinks, he's always going to fear that romantic potential and that's unfair to himself first, to Buck, Eddie, and to Eddie's potential partner.

Is Eddie perfect? Hell no, but he pushed for Buck and Tommy to get together, and once confronted with Tommy being gone, he felt for Buck, put aside his ONE (1) instance of joy and sat there in silence for his best friend who'd been dumped by someone Eddie for once liked, and thought quietly to himself, how can I best support Buck through his breakup and not enable him to get back together with someone who, from my side of things, doesn't seem interested in the kind of long term partnership Buck craves? That's a friendly thing to do and if Tommy can't see past that, that's on Tommy until Eddie has some kind of sexuality realisation that makes it undeniable that he's been sabotaging Buck's relationships. There is so far no canon evidence to believe that Eddie is after Buck romantically, yet the only instance where that is canonically touched on is in the context of Tommy's up to that point unfounded jealousy and suspicion. Tommy is the one making buddie canon in his head.

If Tommy loved Buck and wanted to make things work, he'd have expressed his fears about Eddie at the very least, or reasoned with himself that there is no reason to see Eddie as competition, and he would've supported Buck through Eddie's departure instead of rubbing salt on that particular wound. The point is Tommy doesn't want to make things work unless they're low effort which is very valid and understandandable for a man in his 40s who came out later in life and has experienced the kind of solid, loving relationship he wants. He's repeating Buck's mistakes of craving intimacy and speedrunning through a relationship with shaky foundations and to his credit, Tommy at least has the insight to notice this and end it before Buck gets more attached.

The thing is, and I think this doesn't get touched on enough, that Tommy and Abby worked for such a long time because they were friends too, and Tommy can see all of that potential for Buck and Eddie and be adult enough to step aside when he becomes aware that he will never be able to look past that and trust Buck and Eddie not to wreck Tommy's relationship with Buck.

okay in tommy hater era because here is a list of reasons i hate him

1: racist.

2: even if you dont acknowledge that he himself was racist, his complacency in the system that othered women, queer people, and people of color, despite the fact that doing so might have kept himself safe. we also never see him apologizing for the way that he treated them.

3: refusing to give a closeted bisexual man the LITTLEST bit of understanding for not immediately being ready to come out to his best friend once he had his gay awakening.

4: that entire deleted scene where henren very clearly DONT fw tommy #standwithlesbians

5: that very same deleted scene where tommy refused to reveal his intentions with buck implying that tommys intention with buck was ALWAYS going to be breaking up with him, because he never had any real intentions with him.

6: the whole daddy issues scene. like that is an INSANE joke to make a) with a man you are not that close with and do not know his personal relationship with his father b) DURING A SERIOUS CONVERSATION c) ESPECIALLY considering bucks issues with his father

7: the entire breakup. tommy not telling buck the real reason he was breaking up with him (viewing his best friend as competition) and instead leaving him confused and alone because he couldnt handle buck and eddies relationship.

8: actively adding on to bucks anxiety about eddie never returning by treating eddie like he was gone (competition being 'out of the way' = not there anymore) and treating the departure of bucks closest friend as a positive thing just because it could mean something for their relationship.

9: CALLING BUCK EVAN. DESPITE THE FACT THAT NOBODY CALLED BUCK EVAN, THAT BUCK WAS HIS PREFERRED NAME, THAT ONLY PEOPLE THAT BUCK WAS CLOSE WITH WERE ALLOWED TO CALL HIM THAT. HE TOOK THAT SYMBOL OF CLOSENESS AND TURNED IT INTO A FUCKING LIKE RELATIONSHIP 'NICKNAME'

10: i just dont like him. i never got what buck thought was so cool about him (besides the fact that all of the traits he found cool he shared with eddie)

[kristallioness]

…Cause I don't wanna lose you now. I'm lookin' right at the other half of me. The vacancy that sat in my heart is a space that now you hold. 💚 Show me how to fight for now and I'll tell you, baby, it was easy comin' back here to you once I figured it out. You were right here all along. It's like you're my mirror, my mirror staring back at me. 🪞 I couldn't get any bigger with anyone else beside of me…

Tfw you have the power to illustrate your own fanfics (cause no one else will *lol*). (Thanks for pointing it out in one of your old tags, @kataracy! I never thought about it as a strength before from this POV and, whenever I'm feeling down, I come back to that reblog of yours just to read it again.)

Jokes aside, there's a bit of a story behind this post. Namely, I went to the first ever Justin Timberlake concert in Tallinn this Monday. I'd come down with a sore throat at the weekend and was pondering whether to go or not since we knew it'd be raining the whole day. 🌧️ I was prepared to dress up warmly, pull my rain poncho on and so, ultimately, as I felt better in the evening I decided to go. I'm so glad I did because now I know I would've regretted missing it.

And of course the show started with "Mirrors", which was one of the biggest hits back in 2013. I've been feeling so nostalgic ever since because I listened to this song AT LEAST once every day while I was working on this old "masterpiece" of mine (it was one of my best works back then). I associate that time - that particular summer break - in my life with this song.

A day or two later back home, I decided to reread my old fanfic titled "Rainy day" (which the drawing was based on). I remembered it being really awkward and I thought I'd feel embarrassed going back to it, but like.. *clutches chest*.. I didn't remember it being so sweet.. and intimate, and well-written. So I wanted to pour my feels out into new illustrations of this story, including a redraw of the original piece from a slightly different angle. 🥰

It's been a dozen years and I can't get over how proud I am of myself - zero references used, huge progress made (especially with the anatomy). Finished after drawing for 24 hours straight. *lmao* It looks like it turned out to be drawing practice with Aang (I just love seeing him in those ceremonial air nomad robes). And Momo? Well… Momo's always important.

I'll also post them below one by one, so you could see them up close (along with the corresponding excerpts from my fic):

…"I had better land before I get hit with lightning," he pondered to himself before changing his course down to the street. In a couple of seconds he was safely on land again. Luckily he wasn't too far from his house so it was no trouble walking the rest of the way. While walking in the Upper Ring, the Avatar noticed how some blue jays flew past him and the ones sitting on tree branches took off the same way. Pretty soon he could feel raindrops on his bald head. Seconds later, a heavy downpour fell upon him and the city. Using his cleverness and remembering what another master waterbender had once done, Aang waterbended a round shield of water above his head to keep himself from getting wet. He cheerfully continued his walk back home, the angry looks of fellow passers-by, who didn't have umbrellas, almost making him want to laugh…

…Aang opened the front door, stepped into a very dark living room and closed the door behind him. He put his glider next to the front door, took off his shoes and put on a pair of warm yellow woollen socks that Katara had knit for him last winter. He immediately spotted Momo sleeping on one of the lime green pillows around the table which was located in the center of the room…

…"Katara, is that you?" he asked worriedly. "Yeah." "Well, where are you?" "I'm right here, on the couch." Aang started walking towards the lounge, the part of the living room higher from the main floor. To his relief, he could see Katara's brown locks resting on the dark green pillows of the couch. She had pulled a blanket of the same colour almost all over her face. "Katara, are you okay?" Aang carefully asked when kneeling beside the couch in front of her. He lifted the blanket from her face only to have a slight shock. "Oh no! You look terrible!" "I know." "When did you get sick?" "Right after you left home this morning. I started feeling really weak, hot and cold at the same time. Soon my nose became stuffy and my eyes began watering." Aang put his right hand on her forehead. "You're burning up! Hold on, I'll fetch the thermometer. I'll make some tea and get some water for you to drink."…

…"Since when are you afraid of lightning?" Katara lifted her head to look up at Aang. "Since the time you got shot with it." There was a long pause in between. Aang didn't know what to say, so Katara opened her mouth first. "I believe it's time I admit something. I've been having nightmares. Nightmares about that time when we were fighting Zuko and Azula in the Crystal Catacombs of Old Ba Sing Se. I keep seeing the moment when she shot you with lightning, you falling. I always catch you and bring you out of there, but each time we escape on Appa, everything doesn't end the way it actually did. I have never been able to revive you." At this point her eyes began to tear up. "I would use the water from the Spirit Oasis to heal you, but it never has any effect. Before I manage to try anything else, I always wake up. I feel so useless!.." her voice was cracking, she was starting to cry out loud. "Shh-shh!" Aang stroked her head, hushing her sobs with his robes. "But you did revive me. I wouldn't be sitting on this couch if it weren't for you. You saved me."…

…Katara enjoyed this. His constant stroking made her feel like nobody could sneak up from behind nor attack her. She adored the idea that he was listening to her heart beating because she considered it to be a way of telling how much she loves him. The waterbender liked that the airbender would let her lean on him as a sign of trust. Not to mention that she was still a bit turned on by his touch near her breasts. She was beginning to sweat and Aang noticed that. It was definite proof that her fever had fallen…

Twitter | my art / sketches

[friedthoughts]

Leclerc thinks he's 'driving at a very high level' this season (Inteview video + Transcript)

Charles Leclerc joins TSN's Tim Hauraney to explain how good he feels about his performances so far this season, discuss if he feels he has the second-quickest car in Formula 1, if he thinks his car is more competitive when curb riding, and more.

TH: From the eye test, watching you drive this year, I've never seen you drive this good. Do you feel that these are some of your best performances? Like I know the car is not where you want it to be but from a driving perspective in a Grand Prix, aside from qualifying, do you feel like this is the best you have driven?

🆑: First of all, thank you. Yeah, I feel like I'm driving at a very high level. I'm with my performances this year. I think it's all about trying to improve years by years. So, do I feel stronger compared to last year? Yes, because with experience you get to know and understand different things then it can help you with the driving. So yeah, I do feel really good. Unfortunately for now, we don't quite have the car yet to win races but we are working towards that.

TH: As you get more experienced, what are those little things that one would have to chip away at or work on it as you go through a season?

🆑: I think the speed is not something that comes with experience. It's either you are fast or a bit less fast but it's not something that comes with experience. What definitely changed a lot for me was all that is around that. That's race craft, and the tyre management is something that is not something you have naturally. You've got to learn the hard way. You need to do mistakes, you need to destroy your tyres and have no tyres by lap 10 to try to understand what you have done wrong. And these are the kind of things that you learn little by little, years after years. And conditions are always changing so you know what's going to happen, when the rain is going to wet the track and then it's going to dry the track. That resets the grid for the track. But if you don't experience these kind of things, then you don't know so these come from experience. So on all of those different subjects, I've grown a lot. But I don't think the speed ever change.

TH: So we're done with the portion of the European leg, and the team has the second most points from that triple header. Do you feel that you have the second quickest car?

🆑: No, I don't. I think we are doing a really good job at putting everything and during this triple header especially, we did a good job at maximizing the car potential. I feel like all the teams maybe struggled a bit more to extract the maximum potential out of their car. I think Red Bull is in front, I think McLaren is definitely in front. And probably Red Bull then us with Mercedes. And Mercedes is a little bit more difficult to understand. I think they are a little bit up and down and they seem to have a bit opposite issue compared to us where they are very strong in qualifying and struggling in the race. We are struggling in qualifying and very fast in the race. I prefer it our way but we need to now understand what we are doing wrong in qualifying in order to have both sessions good.

TH: Watching you in Monaco this year was incredible but it did look that the car was good with kerb riding. Here in Montreal, at the Circuit Gilles Villeneuve, you will have to kerb ride, like I think you know… do you feel the car is more competitive when kerb striking or kerb riding compared to it not having that at other tracks?

🆑: I think Monaco is very, very extreme in that direction. I don't think here it's as extreme. So I think in Monaco we get a big benefit out of this, here the benefit might be smaller. But I hope it helps us to at least be closing the fight a little bit to the McLarens, but only time will tell. I think kerb riding is a big thing here, I think we've got a strong car on that. Whether it will make a difference in order to be fighting with the McLaren, I'm not sure it will be enough for here.

TH: Do you think the temperatures might help at all if it's a little cooler on the Saturday or the Sunday?

🆑: Yeah, this adds a little bit of yeah, like unexpected things because whenever the temperatures changes, then you need to re-adapt the car and then room for mistakes is bigger. I hope we'll get it right.

TH: About your dog. In Imola, I gotta try to remember this right. So in Imola, I believe there was a fan in the stands and she was holding a sign and there was like the pope's figure but it had your dog's head as its head. A lot of people spoil their dogs, that absolutely natural. Do you spoil Leo?

🆑: Yes, yes, very, very much. I think we kind of always say, that me and my girlfriend, we are very extreme. We love our dog, we love Leo and he is very spoiled. But I mean, he's amazing. He's amazing, we love him and he definitely changed our life for better. And we try and bring him whenever it's reasonable to bring him so whenever he can travel in the right condition, because obviously it puts quite a lot of stress on them whenever there's a lot of travels so we always try and do it in reasonable races. But we also try and bring him as often as possible because he's happy like that. He's great.

TH: Are you surprised how popular your dog is?

🆑: I am, I am. I'm mostly surprised like sometimes I walk with Leo and I can understand maybe people recognize me and then recognize Leo. They always mention Leo in the conversation. But now, like last time, my friend was walking Leo and he's not a celebrity or anything like that and he was getting stopped because they would recognize Leo. And this is at a level I never would have expected. So yeah, I never heard about a dog that would get recognized in the streets. But Leo does and he loves people in general, so yeah, he loves it.

TH: Charles Leclerc, thank you so much for taking your time to this. We appreciate it.

🆑: Thank you.

[doodle-pops]

Sweets and Treat

Fingon x modern human!reader

A/N: I have arrived with my beloved Fingon and another modern reader fic (*^▽^)/★*☆♪

Warnings: none, absolutely fluff and sweetness, modern human reader

Words: 3.7k

Synopsis: An attempt to bake your favourite treat, ends in burns, bandages and a sweet confession.

Masterlist | Navigation

The soft scent of crushed athelas and lavender hung in the warm air of the apothecary, mingling with the crisp breeze that filtered in through the open windows of Elrond’s homestead in Valinor, where ivy clung lazily to carved stone archways and light fell like gold through the treetops. There you stood elbow-deep in mortar and pestle duties, sleeves rolled to your forearms as you worked with slow deliberation to grind dried herbs into a fine powder after a long morning of bandaging over-eager hunting injuries and tending to minor wounds.

The healing house was quieter now since the earlier flurry of activity had dwindled to a few murmured conversations and the occasional bark of laughter from the ward beyond. Not too long ago, you had just begun to sort a small pile of freshly laundered bandages when you heard the sound of familiar footsteps, accompanied by the subtle rustle of robes and the telltale clink of vials in a tray.

“Is it safe to enter,” came a teasing voice from the threshold, “or will I be assaulted with flying gauze and foul language again?”

Looking up and arching a brow at Calwen, a fellow healer whose wry smile always hinted at mischief, and had taken to delight in troubling you at any available opportunity.

“Depends,” you replied, brushing a strand from your forehead with the back of your wrist. “Are you bringing news of another poor soul who mistook a sword for a walking stick?”

“Worse,” she said with a grin that immediately set your internal alarm bells ringing. “We’ve got a new patient in the east wing. Rather urgent, or so he says. Requested you specifically.”

That alone prompted you to frown. “Is it that reckless idiot who tried to cauterise his own arm last week?”

Tilting her head while her lips twitched, she bore a ‘clueless’ expression. “Couldn’t say. Though I do recall a certain someone promising to throw the next fool who lit themselves on fire into the nearest fountain.”

“Glad you’re keeping track of my threats.”

“Always. They bring such flavour to the place.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Why do I feel like I’m walking into a trap?”

There was no reply, only a suspiciously bright smile as she handed you a rolled up parchment of paper and turned sharply on her sandals before disappearing around the doorway with the flounce of someone who knew far more than she was willing to say. You didn’t know what else to possible say or do. Being around a class of people in a league entirely above you, left you exhausted as you tried to understand their love for being poetical, theoretical, hypothetical and metaphorical. You didn’t have time for such a brainrot moment.

Keeping the last of your two brain cells sane, were your jot and comfort in this foreign land.

Sighing, you set aside your tasks, you wiped your hands on a cloth, and snatched up the parchment as you moved out of the back room and into the airy corridor that connected the treatment wards. The moment you stepped through, the lingering scent of sweet herbs gave way to a subtle waft of chocolate and something else…something suspiciously like burnt flour. It made you wrinkle your nose.

“Great,” you muttered under your breath as you stalked toward the east wing, muttering to yourself as though you were gearing up for war. Maybe you were because dealing with people who lived like ‘you only live once’ didn’t exist since they were allowed to have second chances. “If this is that same overconfident fool who thought boiling salve didn’t need gloves, I swear I’m going to light him on fire. One more elf walks in with a burn injury and I’m submitting a formal request to ban anything fire from existing.”

Protesting like a lunatic to yourself as you marched through the hallway, your footfalls echoed faintly along the marbled floor. That glimmer of the halls glowing with that ever-present soft illumination that Valinor seemed to bestow on everything it touched, but you paid it little mind, too preoccupied with rehearsing a scolding worthy of the ages.

“I’m starting to regret opening my mouth and go “Hey, I know medicine!” the minute I dropped out the sky to save my ass. I should have let them throw me into the ocean or something.”

Rounding the corner with the intention of storming in, expecting the worst—probably someone trying to show off for one of the fair-haired maidens in the training courts again—and flung open the door, ready to unleash hell. But alas, it wasn’t some arrogant warrior sprawled dramatically on the healing cot.

It was him.

Fingon.

His dark hair was half-loose, braids falling lazily over his shoulders, the ends tied with a golden ribbons that looked slightly singed. From your angle, his cheeks appeared flushed, and fingers emerged in cool spring water which, from the look of it, had been mercifully given to him by someone with enough grace to buy him time but not much more. And then there were his robes, ever finely embroidered, were singed at the sleeve, and in his uninjured hand he held a covered dish carefully balanced on a folded towel.

For a long moment, you just stood there, the words you’d been crafting, caught somewhere between your brain and your throat.

Sheepishly he looked up, but hopeful, as though he wasn’t entirely certain whether you’d laugh at him or throw him out. “…Hello,” he said, with a slow dimpled smile that would do dangerous things to anyone’s composure. “I seem to have run afoul of the culinary arts.”

You blinked, dumbfounded. “You…cooked?”

Gently he lifted the dish. “I tried.”

There was a beat of silence passing before you exhaled, letting your shoulders drop with a quiet sigh of disbelief as you closed the door behind you. “Ah, uh, what, how, um—What did you do, throw yourself into the oven to see if it was warm enough?”

“Not at all,” he cheerily beamed, holding back a laugh, “just the tray. Though in hindsight, I do wonder if it had it out for me.”

Stepping forward, already reaching for the bandages and ointments, your eyes flicked toward the dish he held with curiosity now tinged with concern.

“Is that the dish? What did you whip up?”

There was a small puzzled expression crossing his face, resembling a puppy, before recognition. “A peace offering,” he replied shakily, as though all his confidence vanished at his pre-confession. “Brownies. I followed Glorfindel’s instructions. Mostly.”

There was a sudden pause as you looked him over, teetering on the edge of disbelief. “Glorfindel taught you to bake?”

Fingon nodded with utmost seriousness. “He claimed it was the quickest path to someone’s heart. Though he failed to mention how hazardous the process would be.”

And in spite of yourself, you laughed softly, like a bubbling spring because the image of the fierce and golden-haired Balrog-slayer teaching Fingon, High Prince of the Noldor, to bake brownies for the sake of wooing someone was so utterly absurd and endearing that you couldn’t help it.

Turning to set down your supplies, you shook your head. “Well, I suppose we should take a look at the damage. Your hand, I mean. I’ll see about the brownies after. Hopefully they’re still alive.”

“It isn’t burnt that terribly,” he whispered depreciated, feeling as though you might view his attempt as failure if you deem it needing ‘saving.’

As you began to gently unwrap the compress, your fingers working with the familiarity born of long hours spent in this house, you caught the way his gaze lingered on you with the an observational reverence of someone who saw more than what you showed to others.

It was the same look he always wore when he visited under the guise of wishing to see Elrond and learn more stories about Middle Earth through the ages.

Shaking your head at the notion, you drifted your focus to the warmth of his skin beneath your fingers—warmer than usual, reddened and delicate where it had come into contact with the offending tray. You handled his hand with practiced care, gently dabbing the cool salve along the burn in slow, even strokes, watching his knuckles twitch ever so slightly under the cooling touch. Callouses had decorated his broad hand from years of training, strong and sure in ways you had always noticed and tried not to dwell on.

The silence in the room shifted into something softer, the kind that always stretched between you and Fingon whenever he visited—full of things unsaid. It was filled with his quiet, steady gaze and the careful way he spoke around you, never too forward, always leaving space for you to step toward or away. His gesture always made you flustered and you hated how your heartbeat sped up at his nearness, how his mere presence made the room feel smaller, warmer. More intimate.

“You really burned yourself baking brownies?” you asked again, anything to resist awkwardness settling, though your voice had lost its earlier sharpness. “That’s a new low, even for you.”

There was a faint tilt of his head, and a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth, his gaze never leaving your face. “It is a rather undignified wound, is it not? Shall I conjure a better tale? One involving a great hunting tale, perhaps?”

“I might believe it more,” you airily chuckled, smoothing a salve-covered thumb across the edge of the burn. “You’d look more at home hunting than in a kitchen.”

“Then it pleases me you’re tending to me now. You’re far gentler than Glorfindel was with his ‘lessons.’”

That led to a soft snort. “I’m surprised he didn’t teach you with a sword in one hand and a spatula in the other.”

“You are quite the seer. That is close to how he appeared,” Fingon beamed with all the solemnity of someone recounting a great personal trial. “It was chaos. I nearly lost an eyebrow.”

You couldn’t help the grin that tugged at your lips, though you kept your head ducked slightly to focus on his hand. “Well, I suppose it’s commendable you’re still alive. And you made it all the way here without dropping the brownie, so really, you should be proud.”

“I am,” he whispered quieter, almost thoughtful. “Though I might be prouder if you agreed to share it with me later.”

That made you looked up slowly, your eyes meeting his, and there it was again—that look. As if he were studying something he didn’t quite understand but very much wanted to. As if the room contained only you, and nothing else in Valinor could possibly matter. You held his gaze for a moment too long before you cleared your throat and gently set his bandaged hand aside to retrieve fresh gauze.

“I’ll wrap this,” you muttered, more to yourself than to him. “It’s not severe, but you’ll want to avoid using that hand for a few days.”

A silence fell over you two once again as he watched you work without flinching, unmoving, and when he spoke again, his voice was lower, softer, almost hesitant.

“You know,” he murmured, “when I asked Glorfindel to teach me, it wasn’t only for the brownie.”

You paused, not looking up. “Really?”

“No,” he reassured, and now his voice carried a note of quiet conviction, the kind that unnerved you more than a storm ever could. “It was for the question I intended to ask you when I brought it.”

A pregnant stillness lingered in the air, forcing you to halt, fingers hovering above the bandage, your breath catching before you forced yourself to resume wrapping, slower now. “What kind of question?” you asked, though you felt like you knew, though you felt the answer humming under your skin already.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he flexed his uninjured hand slightly in his lap, his expression unreadable.

“You’re not from here,” he spoke up at last. “You’re not of Arda. Not even of the race of Men that my people once knew. And yet…you are here. Amongst us. Amongst me. And I find myself thinking of you more often than I ought.”

You swallowed, fingers tightening just slightly as you secured the gauze and fastened it in place.

“That’s not an answer,” you said softly, unable to stop the tremor in your voice.

He leaned forward, not enough to invade your space, but enough that you could smell the hint of chocolate still clinging to his robes, enough that his gaze became inescapable.

“I wanted to ask if I might court you,” he announced, simply. No fanfare, no embellishment—just quiet honesty. “Properly. Despite what separates us.”

You froze, fingers resting lightly against his wrist, your heart hammering as your mind tried and failed to conjure the right thing to say. There wasn’t a time when you had imagined this moment in foolish, lonely hours—always dismissing it as impossible, as something out of place and time. Because he was Fingon. High Prince of the Noldor. Reborn from the halls of Mandos, a song made flesh, heir to a house that shaped the fate of kingdoms.

And you were just…you. A human, displaced and strange, a creature of science and sarcasm, stitching wounds and fetching herbs in a world that still felt too luminous, too vast for your understanding.

Looking up at him slowly, words suffocating somewhere behind your teeth but refusing to come out. And he saw it—your hesitation, your disbelief. So he did what Fingon always did best.

He smiled.

“I know it is much to ask,” he said gently. “And I know our paths were never meant to cross. But they have. And I would not ignore that.”

You breathed out shakily, forcing yourself to step back and busy yourself with cleaning up the used bandages, because if you stood still any longer, you feared you might say something you weren’t ready to understand.

“Fingon,” you began, then faltered, eyes on your hands.

“I am not asking you to decide now,” he corrected quickly and earnestly. “Only that you think on it. That you know it is not a jest, nor some fleeting interest.”

Dared not to glance back at him, but you did and saw the sincerity etched in every line of his face, every soft curve of his lips, and something ached inside you, deep and old.

He didn’t press.

He only stood, slowly, cradling the brownies with his good hand and offering you the faintest of bows.

“I will return once the hand has healed,” he said, though something in his voice hinted he would return far sooner than that. “You may decide then whether to eat this with me…or scold me further.” And with that, he turned and left, leaving behind a strange warmth in his absence, and the faint scent of cocoa and burnt flour lingering in the air.

The healing house had grown quiet by the time the sun dipped low beyond the pearl-white trees and into the soft gold veil of twilight. Most of the other aides had long since gone home, leaving only a hush behind—the kind that settled thick over stone corridors and turned idle thoughts into wandering ghosts. You remained at your corner station, but your hands had grown still, unmoving for a while now, your mind elsewhere entirely.

You hadn’t been able to shake Fingon’s voice from your ears. The way he had said it—I find myself thinking of you more often than I ought. So simple, and yet spoken with the same conviction you imagined he might’ve once used before galloping into battle. No elf had ever spoken to you like that before, and certainly no prince. Not with intention. And definitely not after burning his hand trying to impress you with dessert.

A short, unwilling laugh escaped you at the memory.

He had really done that. The valiant, golden and hearty son of the House of Fingolfin had burned himself making brownies. For you.

When the door to the healer’s quarters creaked open, you were certain it was one of the senior healers come to check on late records. You didn’t glance up right away. But the moment you did, you found Fingon standing there again—cloaked now, though still informal, the hood pushed back to reveal the soft unbraided tumble of his dark hair, loose in a way that made him appear younger, more relaxed.

He held the same small covered dish in one hand. The other, the burnt one, was still wrapped in your handiwork. And you stared at him, stunned.

“You were meant to be resting,” you said dumbly.

“I did rest,” he replied, stepping inside. “Long enough to convince myself that if I waited until morning, the courage might drain right out of me. And then you’d be left with half a brownie and a full silence.”

You blinked. “Sooooo, you came back tonight?”

“I had hoped,” he said, a little more carefully now, “that you might be willing to share it with me. Now. If it’s not too bold.”

That should have been your cue to send him home. You should’ve told him you were tired, that it had been a long day, that patients were exhausting, that you needed to sleep and think and breathe—but you didn’t say any of those things. Instead, you stared at the hearty dish in his hands, the scent of sweet chocolate wafting from it as he stepped closer.

“Are you sure it is edible?” you asked warily.

“That depends,” he chuckled with a slight smirk. “Will you eat it even if it’s not?”

Your expression twitched. “If I die, Elrond will kill you.”

“Then it’s fortunate you are the healer,” he said, arching an eyebrow. “I assume you know how to revive yourself.”

You huffed, unable to help the small laugh that escaped as you shook your head and moved to the table near the corner hearth. Fingon followed, settling across from you as if it were the most natural thing in the world—as though he had done it a thousand times before and would again, for years still to come.

Producing two forks from the drawer, you slid one across the table toward him. He uncovered the dish with a flourish that would’ve been comical had it not smelled absolutely heavenly. You blinked at the warm, brown crust, bubbling edges, and faint caramelised glaze across the top.

“Well fuck me,” you muttered. “You actually pulled it off.”

“I am capable of more than I appear,” he proudly boasted with mock gravity, lifting a fork with the grace of someone raised to dine beside kings. “Though I dare say the presentation is Glorfindel’s doing. I only barely avoided burning it twice.”

Humming at his words, you took your own bite, and to your immense surprise, it wasn’t just edible—it was good. Warm and bright and syrupy with melted chocolate. You made a soft, delighted noise despite yourself. That response made Fingon’s eyes lit immediately. “That sound,” he said, too quickly, “—forgive me—it pleased me.”

Your fork paused halfway back to the bowl, and you looked at him across the modest firelight and shadows of the stone walls, feeling suddenly shy in a way that annoyed you.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” you reminded him. “I still haven’t agreed to anything.”

“I know.” He didn’t flinch. “I said I would wait.”

And he meant it. It showed in the steady way he looked at you, never pressing, never insisting, only offering his presence—his real presence—as if to say, Here I am. If you want me.

It had been a long time since anyone had made you feel like the choice was yours.

“I don’t know how it would work,” you admitted finally, the words barely above a whisper. “I’m not from this world. I say strange things, do stranger things. I don’t have kin here. No lineage. No...destiny. And human-elven relationships…” You trailed off, glancing away. “They never end well. You know that. You’re ancient, Fingon. I’m a blink.”

He didn’t reply right away. Instead, he leaned forward slightly, spoon still resting untouched in his bowl.

“And yet, for all my age, I have never met another like you,” he whispered quietly. “Not in all my days of fire and war, nor in all the years I have wandered since. You carry strangeness like a torch. You shine in ways that make my kind curious, and sometimes confused, but never unmoved. You remind me of the world we nearly lost—the one we fought for.”

You blinked fast, your throat tightening at the rawness in his voice. Then he placed his fork down, looking suddenly uncertain, hesitant.

“I do not ask for forever,” he said. “Only…for a beginning.”

And it was then—only then—you understood. It wasn’t just affection he was offering, it wasn’t about courtship the way your world understood it. He wanted to build something with you. Whatever shape it could take. He wasn’t afraid of the human-elf barrier because to him, the time he had now meant more than the memory of what time had taken.

You didn’t speak for a moment, only reached for his hand again—the one you’d wrapped in bandages earlier—and rested your fingers lightly over his wrist.

The gentle touch of your hand upon his, he looked down at the contact, then back up at you with a quiet, surprised hope.

“I’m not promising anything eternal,” you reminded, a smile tugging weakly at your lips. “But…we can start with brownies.”

Just hearing your response, accustomed to your playfulness, his laugher echoed softly, yet disbelieving, eyes shining in the firelight.

“I would’ve burned both hands for that,” he proudly stated. “And I’m ready to try another sweet.”

Taglist: @lilmelily @ranhanabi777 @rain-on-my-umbrella @mysticmoomin @asianbutnotjapanese @batsyforyou @involuntaryspasms @stormchaser819 @aconstructofamind @addaigio @lamemaster @feanorynz @6esi @will-0-wsps @the0twst0shrimp0mc @ella-error505 @xximmortalkissxx @gauntletgirlie @zheiya

If you wish to be tagged, click on the Taglist Link to join.

[lvnleah]

more than religion | no more secrets.

find the no more secrets masterlist here

this is part of hayden’s background! this will help you to get to know her more and understand her past :)

this is part 1/4 of haydens past! i suggest you read the other parts to make sense of everything! find the mini series master list here!

April 2nd, 2022 | age 18.

You didn’t hear the car in the driveway.

The living room was cosy, and Grace’s laughter still echoed faintly in your ears. Her legs were tangled with yours on the couch, her joggers brushing your bare skin every time she shifted. You had her hand in yours, thumbs brushing. 

You felt calm for the first time in weeks.

Grace relaxed you in ways you felt like no one else could. 

The past few weeks had been hectic and crazy. Ever since your debut for Arsenal in November 2020, you had worked your way through the England youth groups.

Recently, after your performance at Arsenal being amazing lately, you’d received your first England u23s call up where you’d met Grace. You had instantly clicked. Both of you had fallen for each other very quickly and that’s how your little fling had started. 

You had known since you were fourteen that you were gay and liked women but you hadn’t told a single soul. Your parents were very religious, it was their whole life. 

You could never come out to them. 

The movie had finished an hour ago, but neither of you moved to turn it off. The television flickered with a “next up” screen, the silence between you easy. Grace leaned forward to press a kiss to your shoulder, then lingered there, lips soft against your skin.

You turned to look at her, heart swelling with something light and dangerous. That kind of love you’d only ever let live in the quiet corners of your mind. She smiled. You kissed her. She kissed you back.

And in that moment, it felt safe.

You forgot, for just a minute, what the world outside this room could be like. What your parents might say if they ever found out. 

Then the front door opened.

It didn’t slam. There wasn’t shouting at first. Just the sound of keys hitting the dish by the door. You flinched, instinctively pulling away from Grace. She sat up straighter, blinking, disoriented. You both looked toward the hallway.

Then came footsteps. Not just one pair, both of them.

“Mum? D-Dad” you called, voice already trembling. “You’re… you’re back early?”

No answer.

The footsteps rounded the corner.

Your father appeared first, stopping in the doorway to the living room. His face froze in an unreadable expression. Your mother was just behind him, her hand still on the strap of her bag, mouth slightly open. Time stopped.

You realized, far too late, that Grace’s hand was still in yours.

There was silence. Two, maybe three seconds of awful, suspended silence.

Then the shouting started.

“What the heck is going on here?” your father barked. 

You let go of Grace’s hand like it had burned you.

Your mother’s face twisted in something between horror and rage. “Is this a joke?” she hissed. “Are you serious right now?”

Grace scrambled to her feet. “I—I should go—”

“Yeah,” your father said, stepping aside with a sneer. “You definitely should. Don’t come back!”

���No, wait,” you tried, reaching for her, but Grace was already backing away. She didn’t look at you again as she rushed toward the front door, slipping into her shoes without even tying them.

Your mum turned to you then, “What is this disgusting behaviour?!”

You stood, heart hammering so loud it made your ears ring.

“I—It’s not disgusting,” you said, barely more than a whisper.

Wrong move.

Your father’s voice boomed, “Don’t talk back to your mother!”

You flinched as he stepped toward you. He didn’t touch you, but he didn’t have to. The weight of his rage pressed against your chest, suffocating.

“I didn’t raise a sinner,” he spat, his voice trembling with fury. “We gave you everything. And this is how you repay us? Bringing her into our home?”

Your mother’s eyes were wet now, but her expression held no softness. “You were our good girl. You were meant to know better. You’re confused. This… this is a phase, and we’ll fix it.”

“I’m…I’m not confused,” you said, stronger this time. Your knees were shaking, but you stood your ground. “I love her...”

Your father’s face darkened. “You don’t know what that word means. That isn’t love. That’s sickness. Filth! Do you want to throw your future away for that girl? Fine. But you won’t do it under our roof.”

You blinked at him. “What?”

“Get your things,” he said coldly. “You’re not welcome here until you’re ready to live a decent life. You have one hour to pack your things.”

“What?” The word barely left your mouth, strangled by the knot forming in your throat.

“We won’t have this filth under our roof,” your father spat.

Tears pricked your eyes. “Please,” you whispered. “Can we just talk—”

“Pack your things. Now.”

“I’m only eighteen, you can’t!”

“I can and I will!” He snapped back, “You’re eighteen. I want you out. Now!”

You stood frozen for a beat too long. Your mother walked past you, refusing to meet your eyes, and began opening cabinets, slamming them closed one by one like punctuation marks to a sentence you didn’t understand yet.

The weight of what had happened settled over you like a fog. Grace was gone. Your parents had seen it all. You had nowhere to go.

And you had less than an hour to pack up everything you needed. 

You rushed upstairs, your hands shook uncontrollably and tears streamed down your face. Your body worked on autopilot as you grabbed backpacks, duffle bags, suitcases and anything you could put your belongings into. 

You shoved open your closet with trembling hands, yanking clothes from hangers without thought or care. Your throat burned. You couldn’t breathe properly. The drawer with your keepsakes like photos, medals, and tickets from old matches, felt like a punch to the gut. 

You hesitated, fingers grazing a photo of you and your younger sister, Maisie, from her last birthday. You were holding the cake, she was laughing, icing on her nose. You stuffed it into your bag before you could fall apart.

Every sound downstairs was deafening. Cabinet doors. Your father’s angry pacing. Your mother on the phone, probably to someone at church. Probably already painting you as broken, lost, and needing prayer.

You didn’t want to cry harder, but you did. Silent, ragged sobs that made your chest ache.

Maisie burst into your room without knocking. “H-Hayden?” Her voice was small. She was still in her school uniform. “What’s going on?”

You froze. Your sister’s face crumpled before your eyes. She was only twelve, she wouldn’t understand.

You swallowed hard, brushing furiously at your face as if you could erase the tears fast enough to not scare her. But she already looked scared.

“They’re making me leave,” you said, voice hoarse.

Maisie blinked, her mouth falling open slightly. “What? Why? What did you do…”

You hesitated.

You didn’t want to lie. Not to her. But how could you explain in a way that wouldn’t ruin her too?

“I… I kissed someone,” you said, carefully. “A girl. I kissed Grace. Mum and Dad came home early and saw us.”

Maisie’s face scrunched in confusion. “That’s… that’s it?”

You nodded.

She didn’t move at first. Just stood there, trying to make sense of it, eyes wide, blinking like she’d missed part of the story. Then something shifted. Her mouth was set in a hard line. Her fists clenched.

“That’s so stupid,” she whispered. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Tears stung your eyes again. Not from pain this time but from how upset you could tell your baby sister was. 

“I’m not allowed to stay,” you said. “Mum and Dad gave me an hour.”

Maisie stormed across the room and dropped to her knees beside your duffel bag. “Then I’m helping.”

“Maisie—”

“No. You helped me with everything. With school. With my hair. When I was sick. You’re my sister. You’ve basically raised me.” She glared at you like she dared you to argue. “And they’re wrong, they’re so stupid!”

She pulled your charger from the wall and wound it up expertly, tossing it into a backpack. You watched her work for a second, heartbreaking.

“Hey,” you said softly, kneeling next to her. “Listen to me.”

She looked up.

“I don’t know where I’m going. I don’t even know when I’ll see you again.” Your voice cracked. “But I’ll always be here for you. I’ll text you if they don’t take your phone. And someday, when you’re old enough, you can come find me if you want. Hey, we could even live together!”

Maisie’s lower lip trembled. She threw her arms around your neck and held you like she’d never let go.

“I don’t want you to go,” she sobbed. “Who’s…who’s going to look after me?”

“I know,” you whispered. “But I have to. Mais, you’re so strong, I know you are. You’ll be able to cope. I’m always a phone call away, okay?”

Downstairs, the front door opened and slammed again. A new voice joined the mix, probably your aunt or maybe someone from church. You didn’t care. Not anymore.

You packed faster.

By the time your suitcase was zipped and the bags were full, your room looked like a ghost had passed through it. Only the dent in the bed and a stray sock left any trace of the girl who used to live here.

Maisie followed you out. She ignored your mum’s order to go upstairs and stayed by your side all the way to the car. Your dad didn’t say another word. Just stood with his arms crossed on the porch, watching with cold eyes.

You loaded the bags into your boot with shaky hands.

Maisie stood at the edge of the driveway, arms folded, shoulders trembling.

“Here,” she said, holding something out.

It was a friendship bracelet. Pink and blue threads, frayed at the ends. One you’d made her years ago when she was scared to go to school.

“I want you to have it now,” she said. 

You took it like it was made of glass and slipped it onto your wrist. You weren’t sure how you managed a smile, but you did.

“I love you,” you told her, placing a kiss on her forehead. “So much. I’m so proud of you.”

She nodded, wiping at her cheeks. “I love you too.”

You got into the car and drove although you weren’t sure where you were even going. 

As you drove away from the house that raised you, from the sister who still believed in you, from the parents who never really knew you. You promised yourself one thing. 

You’d make a life that was yours. That one day you would have a family of your own. A family that you cared about so much. You promised that you would have kids and a wife who you loved forever. 

Even if that life had to start from the back seat of your car.

Even if it meant building from scratch.

You weren’t going to let them break you.

[destinysbounty]

On the whole I think DR is doing a fantastic job, it's literally peak, and this should be the blueprint for anyone who ever wants to do a next-gen sequel. However, I think my one critique is that I think they found all the OG ninja a bit too soon.

On one hand I can understand why from a marketing/optics/viewer retention perspective, and I cant fault them for trying to guarantee all the OGs show up in the new series at least once and as soon as possible, in the interest of maintaining audience expectations and merch lines and all that. On the other hand, it's kinda left them in this position where they have a lot of characters to juggle to juggle all at once, and not enough time to give every single person the attention they deserve (Zane and Cole immediately stick out to me as examples of this).

For all that people complain about a lack of screen time, I think Jay is a perfect example of what they could have done. Slowly drip-feed us scenes of him while foreshadowing to a larger storyline at play - that way fans of his character are assure that he is not only still around but will have a major arc to come, but also not shove him into the story when the plot is juggling so many other plates already.

The DR team absolutely knocked it out of the park with the RGB trio, and it looks like another knockout for Jay's arc is in store as well. So maybe it's just Zane and Cole that are starving here, but I feel like perhaps the writers shot themselves in the foot by bringing them into the story so early. It might have been more satisfying to, as they did with Jay, lead us on with cutaways and foreshadowing, and then allow the reunions to fully settle in later on. Ideally at a point when it feels more earned + can be given the full narrative attention it deserve. Like, Cole could've easily been staved off til s2 with all the Bonzel shenanigans, and Zane...honestly, Zane hasn't needed to be here for pretty much any of this yet. I genuinely can't think of a single plot line that Zane specifically had to be present for, that couldn't have been given to someone else with little to no change.

For what it's worth, though, I think that's still pretty impressive that this is my only major complaint, especially as far as next-gen sequels go. Arin + co are all extremely well written and well loved characters, and aside from this one snag I think there's a general consensus that characterization is one of DR's biggest strengths. I just think that, at least when it comes to Zane and Cole (but especially Zane), a lot of the issues with come from the fact that they got shoe-horned in before the story actually needed them, and there is simply too much other stuff going on to give them the narrative space they need to flourish.

[thydungeongal]

Sorry for another AI ask, I'm sure it's getting tiring, but I am curious on your opinion. My general concern as far as the AI vs commission discourse is that AI will most hurt independent artists. Like unless AI gets way better Disney won't suffer from the spread of AI because they can effectively always use the power of the state to ensure profit, but small independent artists can't.

I do also agree that people who can't afford commissions do deserve art. I'm just concerned we are going to miss out on a lot of great art in favor of an ocean of not very good art, like is happening on Pinterest for example.

I don't really know what the solution is though. (Aside from the obvious solution of the revolution :P)

The issue pretty much boils down to "this is business as usual under capitalism." As I stated in a response to a different ask, in a world where people have their needs met and don't need to compete against the computer program that draws anime girls this whole thing would be a non-issue.

Independent artists do deserve compensation for their work, but too often I find that "compensation for work" gets perverted into this idea that independent artists deserve to have people commission their services. Which as I have stated I don't see as any different than the corporations saying "profits that didn't manifest = stealing." Working under the logic where people simply not buying your product is stealing will serve to only pervert intellectual property law further and make things even worse for the working classes.

I do think that another person in my notes said it better than I could have though: paraphrasing, the sentiment was effectively that anyone who was going to commission independent artists before is probably not going to want to use the slop machine. And most people who like creating generative images weren't going to commission independent artists anyway.

But yeah, I know that saying "this is just business as usual under capitalism" is in and of itself not too comforting, but it's also the truth. And independent artists should realize that even as they seek to ally with big companies "against AI," those big companies are actually using generative AI increasingly in their work. The technology won't go away even if Disney and Universal win their lawsuit against Midjourney, and Disney and Universal are undoubtedly already using generative AI in their workflows. The technology itself isn't going anywhere so the choices for independent artists are to either accept that they will have to contend in a market where many people will simply choose to use the free image generation machine because they have that as an option, or they must try to work towards a future where their economic anxieties are resolved.

[ilikekidsshows]

This isn’t talked about a lot, but isn’t it kind of messed up and sexist it that for being so important and wonderful, we never saw Emilie or heard her voice until season 6? I mean she’s supposed to be the whole reason Gabriel is trying to destroy Paris, yet we know next to nothing about who she really was outside of being Adrien’s cool mom and Gabriel’s wife, and that’s it. I guess we know she ran away and wanted to become an actress, but outside of that nothing. Was she really a good person? Why would she lock Adrien away and prevent him from going to school? Why did she never throw a birthday for him? Was she really in love with Gabriel? Or was he just a good time for her? Did she love Adrien? Or was he just a dress up doll? I mean she did create him instead of adopt, and his lifestyle isn’t something new and began while she was alive. Who was she?

I’ll tell you what she was. A MacGuffin. An object. A means to tell to the story of the men in her lives with no thought into her actual character.

Honestly, it’s very disappointing she wasn’t explored more because it would actually be very interesting to find out she wasn’t the saint everyone believed her to be. After all she created Adrien to be perfectly obedient and never fight back, which shows how she sees parenting and Gabriel changed literally everything about himself to fit her standards. Frankly, she’d make for a compelling evil villain with all these ideas, but no. She just dies and that’s it.

What a shame.

You for this feminist show, they sure treat the women of it aside from Marinette as objects or appendages to the men around them more often than not.

---

Yeah, like, the in-universe explanations I had before it became pointless were 1) she's evil and complicit and 2) she’s a fellow abuse victim. Like, even with the reveal that Gabriel changed his very identity for her, making it clear he values her comfort above all else, she could have come to him conveniently pre-abused (we saw Emile) and ready to smile and call Gabriel so smart when he says they don't have time for a birthday party so let's not have one.

But, like, with the way the arc ended, with her dead body almost purposefully desecrated by Marinette in her usual careless approach to collateral damage, and her only voiced appearance is asking Nathalie to take on her motherly duties, it becomes apparent that Emilie is a concept and not a character. The writers intend her to be the saintly mother archetype, where just mothering a child makes a woman beyond reproach. It's not the only time Miraculous emphasizes the idea of inherent goodness over looking at a character’s actions, but it's extremely blatant with Emilie specifically because we don't really get her opinions on things, except for a conveniently noncommittal “Gabriel went too far” statement. She only renounces her misdeeds on her deathbed without making up for them and we’re expected to treat her like a saint for it.

Emilie is an idea, and a scapegoat, but one they try to absolve of all guilt to make us sorry for her death. She's the reason Gabriel is doing what he does, but she wouldn't have approved. And the writers think that's enough instead of showing her as an actual fictional person.

[11queensupreme11]

Hi queen! I saw how Jason is going to feel insecure around Percy, pls pls pls tell me that Piper will be just as jealous and insecure, if not more😭

Are you planning on keeping the Jason and Piper dynamic, or will she be called out like she is in your Eddie books?

i only have VERY little planned for act 4 so things are subject to change cuz nothing's concrete yet, but for piper......

most of my little planning so far for act 4 aside from the yans and percy are jason-focused 😅

i don't really want to put too much focus on piper because i really don't care for her at this point, but i plan on jason and piper to still be dating unlike in the essies series where jason (publicly lol) dumps her

mainly so i can have percy see the weird possessiveness piper has towards him and get major red flags cuz you know, SHE HAS EXPERIENCED THOSE HORRORS, and try to warn/take care of jason. because of this, piper would def be jealous that she's trying to take her man away (which percy is obviously not doing)

as for insecurity, also a good chance i'll include that too only because it makes sense for piper to feel that way lol. percy's faceclaim is literally adriana lima..... if there was a girl who looked like a victoria's secret angel encroaching on your man, you'd feel hella fucking jealous and insecure 💀💀💀💀

ALSO, I DO PLAN ON HAVING JASON AND PIPER BREAK UP AS WELL!!! with jason doing the dumping because it's only fair.

[sharlotscarletfox]

5 times Sirona Ryan and Mirabel Garlick tried to hide their relationship from their students, and the one time they didn't care

A/N: Been really excited for this one since I learned that Mirabel considered quitting Hogwarts because she didn't fit in, but Sirona helped her.

TW: mild period-specific homophobia and transphobia (NOT FROM THE STUDENTS) aside from this it's very fluffy

#1

Sirona Ryan wondered if the unease she felt staring at the enormity of the Hogwarts castle gates would ever go away. 

Once a month, the witch took some time to travel around England, and occasionally neighboring countries, to other inns and pubs to try new drinks and food items that she could potentially use to expand the Three Broomsticks menu. Keeping things fresh and the happiness of her clientele has been her top priority since she took over as the proprietor.

This month’s adventure took her a little closer to home, right in front of the gates of the place that held an equal amount of bad memories as it did good. This is the place where she had endured years of bullying, but also met some of her closest friends who remained important people in her life. 

It was a happy occasion right now, since she decided to pay a visit to her girlfriend, the title which she still had a hard time believing was real, and brought a giddy smile to her face every time it crossed her mind.

Normally, she’d send her request for ingredients via her owl, but with O.W.L. exams coming up, Mirabel was stuck working late, providing extra mentoring to students in need, and helping to keep track of the projects and experiments being done by her more capable students. Sirona missed her dearly and wanted to make this request in person (and maybe see her face as well).

She got her bearings and pushed the door open, making her way through the hallways. Some students gave her strange looks, probably wondering what she was doing so far from Hogsmeade; others gave her shy smiles and friendly waves, which she gratefully returned.

Students had just begun to filter out by the time she arrived. Sirona let the classroom empty out before entering.

Mirabel was looking slightly distressed as she lectured two students covered in dirt. 

“You have to be more careful with your Fanged Geraniums! We don’t want to send letters home to your parents telling them you lost a finger or two.”

The dissheveled Slytherin student with double braids reached for her haphazardly potted plant, which in turn snapped at her hand. She yanked it back and tried holding it out of snapping range. Sirona watched her hold the plant as far as physically possible from her body and then place it on the table with everyone else’s.

A Ravenclaw boy with fair hair in a similar state of disarray gathered his books in a hurry. Sirona thought she recognized him from the few Quidditch matches she has shown up to in order to support her own house. She was glad to see Ravenclaw accomplish great things after her graduation. “We are very sorry, Professor Garlick.”

“Sorry about the mess.” The Slytherin girl parroted before they both chased after their friends, who were no doubt already halfway to their next classes.

“Trouble with students?” Sirona asked.

“I am worried about those two.” Mirabel let out a sigh, casting a spell to clean up all the dirt from the floor and the tables. “It’s like the plants hate them, but all my plants are like children; they thrive in the right care.”

She took out her own wand and cleaned off a streak of dirt from her girlfriend’s clothes that were otherwise always neat and well taken care of. “I am sure they will figure it out.”

After making sure the classroom was in an acceptable condition for the next class, Mirabel finally gave Sirona a smile and caught her in a tight hug. “I’ve missed you! What are you doing here? What about the Three Broomsticks?”

“I missed you too.” Sirona chuckled. “It’s my day off, I thought I would pay you a visit and see how things were going in the castle. You’ve been so busy with teaching. Oh, I also had a request.”

“Anything for you! How can I be of assistance?” 

“I was thinking of experimenting with Osmanthus in some of the Three Broomsticks’ drinks. I don’t know if you grow them here or how long it would take to grow from scratch.”

Mirabel mused to herself for a second. “Not at the moment, but I just might have some seeds from an old colleague of mine I met at a conference! Wonderful wizard with a huge forearm scar from a Cobra Lily. Tricky plant, that one, definitely needs a swift and graceful hand to deal with it-“

Sirona wished she was half as passionate about anything in her life as Mirabel was about Herbology. She was quite the Quidditch player back in her day, but that was behind her now that she picked the Three Broomsticks over anything else. 

"I've truly missed you." Mirabel's words shook her from her thoughts. She was always better at expressing her feelings.

"I've missed you too." Sirona sighed. 

"You should kiss me." 

Always so confident and straightforward. Her Mirabel.

Somehow, even with clear permission, Sirona felt a bit shy as she pulled her girlfriend closer. She was warm under her touch, and her smile did something to Sirona's heart that she hoped she would never lose. She always wanted Mirabel to make her feel like flying.

She leaned in for the kiss, feeling the other inhale sharply when the door to the greenhouses let out an awful sound, as if the castle was alive and it was being tortured.

The two of them jumped away from each other, heart hammering in her chest.

"I've meant to oil those old hinges," Mirabel grumbled to herself and looked toward the door. "Ah, Ms. Winterald, how may I help you today?"

The Hufflepuff student with a prominent silver streak in her hair stood by the doorway, surveying the scene before deciding to approach. "Professor Garlick, am I interrupting?"

"Not at all, I was just leaving." Sirona lied, beconing the student in. "I'll see you another time… professor."

The student nodded her goodbye. "Professor, I understood the lecture, but I still had a couple of more technical questions-"

When Sirona was finally outside the greenhouses, she let out a sigh. They really had to be a bit more careful. She didn't want to put Mirabel's career in jeopardy. If Headmaster Black got word of this through student gossip, he would use that as fuel, on top of her Muggleborn heritage, to try to get her fired.

#2

Mirabel Garlick loved spring, mostly because she got to see her plants and students thrive everywhere, but also because it meant she could wear her nicest skirts and dresses to class, and also when going into Hogsmeade to run errands or visit Sirona.

Today was a day she did both.

She headed up the bridge to the Magic Neep, greeting Timothy Teasdale warmly. The two of them engaged in a lengthy conversation about alternate uses of Fluxweed in potion making and in medicine, and picked up some more fertilizer that she hoped would last her students until the end of the year. Between her fifth years doing OWL examinations and sixth and seventh years working on their NEWT studies, her resources for the year were wearing thin. 

Bidding him goodbye, she headed to the Three Broomsticks for her second errand. 

She pushed the doors open to the pub and stopped in the doorway, blinking in surprise. 

The Three Broomsticks was packed to the brim, every table filled with Hogsmeade patrons or visiting Hogwarts students. Some were celebrating among friends, some had books out, studying for the upcoming exams. Mirabel couldn't wrap her mind around how any of her precious flowers could learn anything in a place with such loud noise levels. 

Sirona was whirling around tables, busy at work. She looked in her element, wiping a table down with a rag which she then threw over her shoulder, and then using her wand in her pocket to conjure three more mugs for the table in the back. One of the patrons stopped her and rattled off an order for a party of four, which she acknowledged with a nod.

Mirabel decided to take a seat at the bar and figured she would wait the crowd out. She didn't have anything planned for today, aside from a few check-ins with her older students.

It didn't take Sirona too long to notice her. Mirabel figured she was hard to miss with her colorful attire and wide-brimmed straw hat. Her red hair was in a single braid today, decorated with a few flowers tucked in here and there. 

"I'll be with you in a moment," Sirona shot her a glance when she walked behind the counter to get more Butterbeer. Mirabel smiled at her brightly, watching her turn away and then back again. "Oh my gods, Mirabel, you came at a bad time, we are very busy."

"Take your time, love, I have most of the afternoon."

Sirona shot her a smile and went back to work. 

Mirabel continued watching the same scenes play out: cleaning tables, delivering more food and drinks, and chatting with patrons. Except this time, Sirona kept shooting her glances, as if she had a hard time believing she was here, or maybe she was afraid Mirabel would give up and leave.

As much as she hated the loud and busy environments (plants thrived in quiet places with lots of sunlight and love), she had to admit Sirona was in her element here.

She remembered how badly her girlfriend wanted to take over after the last owners and how happy she was when she got it. It was impressive how she managed to make things more efficient while also staying true to what the Three Broomsticks was really about, friends coming together and nurturing relationships. 

When things quieted down, Sirona took her rightful place behind the bar. "And anything I can get you today?"

"Just a Gillywater, please." She responded.

"What brings you to the Three Broomsticks during rush hour?"

Mirabel scrunched her nose and accepted her drink. "I didn't realize you were so busy on a weekend."

"Most students come during the weekend. They surely can't come in during weekdays." Sirona joked.

"Anyway, I brought what you asked! Evelyne helped research the proper care for it since it's an Eastern plant, so it took a bit of adjustment in a part of the greenhouse, but we got it done!" She hauled her basket on top of the table, dug around for a bit for a pouch, and then presented it with a grin. "Ta da! Your Osmanthus is grown and ready to be experimented with." 

"Oh, I could have picked it up myself, Mirabel-"

"Nonsense!" She interrupted, pushing the pouch into Sirona's hands, which she gratefully took and inspected. "It is an amazingly beautiful spring day to be out in Hogsmeade, and I was coming here anyway for fertilizer."

"Alright, would you like to come in?" Sirona said, and Mirabel detected a hint of awkwardness in her tone.

She gave her girlfriend a blank smile, making her sputter and continue. "I meant, come to the back. With me. I could show you what I am working on."

"Ah, of course!" Mirabel brightened up. She stood up and smoothed her skirt out. "Lead the way."

Sirona led her to a single wooden door behind the bar, which opened up to a storage room. Bottles upon bottles lined the shelves on one side, while the other stocked clean glasses and plates. 

"They mostly use it in desserts and tea, but I was wondering if I could put it in whiskey. It would enhance the flavor." She turned to one of the shelves and pulled out a plate of pastries. "Here. I got this from Steeply & Sons just this morning."

She took a pastry eagerly and ate it in two bites. The dough was just chewy enough to add an interesting texture, and the fluffy frosting tasted of lavender. "It's really good."

"Now imagine the same pastry, but the flavor gets elevated by the Osmanthus," Sirona explained, excited. 

"I am almost certain it will be amazing, you will do great, my love." 

There was a hint of blush on Sirona's cheeks now, masked by the darkness of the storage room. She was doing the thing where she was trying to hide her smile, which Mirabel thought was adorable. 

"There is a little, uh…" Sirona reached out to wipe a little bit of frosting that seemed to have gotten its way into her upper lips.

"Oh my, I apologize, I usually don't make messes."

She noticed Sirona looking at her intensely, hand slipping down to cup her cheek, and oh.

Mirabel missed being intimate with her girlfriend, they had both been so busy that they barely had any time to spend together. She thought back to that day in the greenhouses when she wanted to steal a quick kiss but was interrupted by one of her students.

She gave a small smile for reassurance and put her hands on Sirona's hips, leaning in for a kiss.

The storage room door cracked open just a bit, and the two of them broke apart quicker than lightning. 

Two Hufflepuff students stuck their heads in, looking confused. 

"Auri? Evie? What are you two doing here?" Mirabel asked, adjusting her hat.

"Sorry, professor." Evie apologized. She seemed oblivious to whatever was going on, but Auri had their eyes narrowed, giving the two of them a quizzical look. "Some patrons got in an argument, and we were getting worried." 

"I know exactly who you are talking about. Don't worry, I'll take care of it." She put the pouch on one of the shelves. "Sorry, Mirabel, we can catch up another time."

Sirona and Evie disappeared outside. Auri stayed and looked like they were going to say something, but decided not to.

When everyone had left, Mirabel let out a defeated sigh, lifting her fingers to where Sirona wiped off the frosting. 

How embarrassing!

#3

After weeks of tampering with the pastries and drinks, Sirona finally felt confident enough to pack together a basket full of food to try and make her way back to the castle. 

She scheduled her visit so that she would arrive just after Mirabel's class would end and planned to stay in the greenhouses to have her try everything at least once and give feedback. It was also an excuse to see her girlfriend simply because she missed her. 

Her good mood was unfortunately interrupted by a voice she hadn't heard since she graduated.

"Oh, Mist- uhhh. Ryan." Headmaster Black sputtered not so eloquently. 

He was one of the professors at Hogwarts who hadn't respected Sirona's transition, always misgendering her, whether by ignorance or spite, it did not matter, and she had to fight for herself every year, correcting him whenever she had to. "Headmaster."

She held his scrutinizing gaze as he sized her up, seemingly lost at what to say.

"Good to see that all that," he gestured at her, "wasn't a phase."

Not the worst thing he could have possibly said, and it was progress, but she still felt the need to set him straight. "It has never been a phase, it's who I have always been. It just took me a bit to realize."

He waved her away, embarrassed. "You run along now."

Sirona huffed but tried to get the interaction out of her mind. She was going to see Mirabel.

She pushed the door to the greenhouses open quietly, slipping in and letting it close behind her.

Students were putting their pots away, or chatting with friends, ready to leave already. 

Mirabel gave her a smile and a wave of her hand, which Sirona had returned. 

When most of the students had already left, she moved to talk to her, but she got intercepted by a blonde girl sporting Gryffindor colors.

"Professor Garlick, do you have a moment?"

Mirabel shot Sirona a glance, who shrugged in response. She could wait for the students to ask her questions.

What she didn't expect was fifteen minutes of in-depth discussion about the different uses of Wormwood. 

"But would a different way of processing it make it more potent?" She asked.

"Ms. O'Connell, you must be careful, while potency is a valued trait in potion making, in large quantities it is poisonous." Mirabel informed her gently.

The Gryffindor girl seemed to consider that for a moment and then nodded, conceding her point. "That's all I wanted to know. You have a good day, Professor."

"You two, petal." 

The two of them watched her gather her books and run along. 

"Passionate students, you have this year." Sirona remarked, putting the basket down.

"For sure, they have shown much growth this year." She grinned. "What's this?"

"The Osmanthus you have grown is so versatile. I've been putting it in everything and just testing the taste of it. I put together a sampler for us to enjoy." She opened the basket and started presenting her new lineup. 

"Oh, this is wonderful!" She exclaimed, throwing her arms around Sirona, who was giggling with excitement. She cupped her cheek and leaned in when-

The sound of the door opening made them break apart. 

"Professor?"

Two students stood in the doorway, mirroring twin looks of confusion.

The Hufflepuff student on the right had unmistakable white streaks in her dark hair, and the Ravenclaw student on her other side had short hair and a sizable scar on the cheek. 

"Lyra, Julia, what are you doing here? Did you guys leave your quills here?" Mirabel asked, clearly not expecting the intrusion. 

"It's 4 o'clock, Professor." The Hufflepuff student spoke politely. "We sent an owl last week. You agreed to help us prepare some ingredients for our Potions projects for Sharp's class."

Confusion turned into realization. "I remember now! You guys needed supervision for some of the plants."

"I can just go," Sirona assured when she saw Mirabel's smile drop. "I will see you another time, Mirabel."

When she got to the door, the Ravenclaw student refused to move for a moment, giving her a strange look. 

After a bit, she spoke. "Happy for you two."

Sirona nodded with tight-lipped smile, watching her join the other student in engaging in a discussion.

After she closed the door behind her, she let out a hopeful sigh. She was glad there was support for them out there, even if it came from unexpected sources.

#4

Mirabel rarely had free time to herself.

Herbology was a required class taken across the first five years of Hogwarts curriculum, and then proceeded to be a popular NEWTs level subject across most Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw students, so she rarely got breaks from it. In addition to that, most plants required care every single day. 

She was lucky enough to find one morning when classes were in session, but she herself had no class to hold, and decided to go into Hogsmeade for a visit.

She had owled Sirona in advance, who told her that she could get her assistant to run the Three Broomsticks in the meantime, since they are not very busy in the morning on school days. That would give them plenty of time to walk around Hogsmeade and enjoy their quiet morning off. 

When Mirabel arrived at the pub, Sirona was already waiting outside. She was wearing a skirt Mirabel hadn't seen before, and a nicer long sleeve. She wondered if she came to work looking prettied up, or if she changed just for their date. 

When she spotted her, Sirona gave a shy smile. "Good morning."

"You look beautiful." 

Her girlfriend looked stunned for a second and averted her gaze, a dark blush dusting her cheeks. Mirabel loved seeing her usually self-assured lover suddenly look shy and clueless. 

"Thank you. Shall we go?"

The two of them linked arms, and to anyone watching, they looked like a couple of friends and enjoyed their date. 

They went to get some drinks and pastries at Steeply and Sons, paid a visit to Mr. Pippin to chat about his plans for the summer, and reminisce about their Hogwarts years while splitting a box of Every Flavored Beans. 

They got near Ollivanders, and for a blessed moment, it seemed like the two of them were alone. 

"I've had a good time today." Garlick reflected. 

"Me too, it's so rare to see the village so quiet."

Mirabel reached up to brush a stray piece of hair behind Sirona's ear, and her girlfriend leaned into the touch. 

She shifted closer, glancing at Sirona's lip,s and closed her eyes-

The store bell next to them rang, announcing the exit of customers. "Thank you Mr. Weeks, see you on Saturday!"

They broke apart, Mirabel scowling at the intrusion until she spotted the three Gryffindor students piling out of Spintwitches Sporting Needs. 

The leader of the pack, Thomas Astbury, was tossing a Quaffle up into the air and then catching it. 

"Mr. Asbury, if my memory serves me right, the fifth years have classes at the moment. Care to explain what you three are doing here?" She scolded.

"We have permission from Kogawa." He shrugged, tossing the ball again.

"The Quaffle we were practicing with was old, and the stitching came apart, so we were told to get a new one." Clementine Ross, one of Mirabel's more passionate student added, stealing the Quaffle out of Thomas' hands on the next toss.

"Is this true Mr. Lewis?" She asked skeptically and heard Sirona snicker from behind her. 

William grinned at her. "Would it be so bad if a couple of Gryffindors went and caused a bit of trouble during school hours?"

"Hey!" Clementine protested.

"It's true." He amended. "We were sent by Kogawa for some supplies. Clementine had to drag Thomas out of there."

"In my defense-"

"Let them go Mirabel, we got up to our fair share of trouble when we were students." Sirona put a hand on her shoulder, and she conceded. 

"Fine, run along now."

The three of them made for the edge of the village, waving at them and saying their goodbyes.

"Goodbye Professor Garlick, enjoy your date!" Thomas yelled before hopping on his broom and chasing after his friends.

"These students and their assumptions." She huffed to herself, but Sirona let out a chuckle.

"Maybe they are just not blind, Mirabel. I thought attentiveness was a good trait to have when looking after plants." 

"It is! Speaking of plants, I need to get back and water the Sopophorous Beans. Evelyne might not have time today because of her history exam." She looked around, but the street was magically filled by townsfolk now, so she had to refrain from being affectionate. "I will see you another day?" 

"Of course." Sirona nodded, and the two parted ways.

#5

Their next meeting was a date they set up in Mirabel's room at Hogwarts. 

Sirona once again prepared her refined selection of pastries and some alcoholic drinks she couldn't exactly bring her during class time, even if her girlfriend did handle her alcohol rather well for someone with her build. 

The evening started off great, Sirona talked about the clientele's reception of the new menu items and the monthly Hogsmeade shopkeepers' association meeting that happened earlier that day. Beatrice Green, the owner of Dogweed and Deathcap, has proposedthat  she be allowed to keep outdoor plants, which was opposed by nearly all the shopkeepers. 

"Plants are retaliatory beings," Mirabel explained. "If you treat them well and give them the care they deserve, they thrive. They only attack you if you mistreat them. If students lose a finger or two, it's their fault."

Sirona chuckled, not wanting to argue that even if students are good with plants, not everyone has Mirabel's uncanny ability to charm every plant that she came across.

Mirabel then proceeded to tell her about some of her students' successful projects and the few unsuccessful ones as well. 

Over the course of the night, the two got a bit more intoxicated. Nothing compared to the parties they would attend in their 7th year at Hogwarts, but Sirona felt the pleasant buzz of alcohol in her system and didn't seem to keep her eyes off of her girlfriend, who had her hair down for this occasion instead of her signature double braids. 

"And then I was like," she slammed her cup on the table to emphasize her point. "Damien, you must have a bit more patience with the Gernaium if you don't want to lose an eye."

Sirona nodded along, surveying the liquid in her own cup when Mirabel suddenly stood up. 

"If you excuse me, I must use the restroom."

She headed for her bedroom when a loose floorboard tripped her. 

Sirona moved quickly, catching her girlfriend just before she hit the floor. Mirabel giggled as she helped her stand.

With her arms around her neck, she smiled brightly at her. Sirona figured that's why all the plants liked Mirabel so much, she was sunshine personified.

"I love you." She muttered, leaning in for a kiss.

There was a knock on the door, and Mirabel let out a loud, frustrated sound that Sirona didn't even think she was capable of.

She steadied herself on her feet, slipping from Sirona's arms, and made her way to her door. "Who at this hour-"

At the door stood a student in her plain nightgown, looking alarmed at the sight. Sirona didn't need the snake on the crest and green colors to recognize this one, as she was one of her hardest workers and favorite summertime employees.

Evelyne Lavandin looked back and forth between them with a calculating expression, probably wondering what her guardian and employer were up to, half intoxicated on a Friday night. 

"What's wrong, little bud? Is Imelda being loud again?" Mirabel seemed to sober up in an instant. 

"Am I interrupting something?" She muttered, taking a cautious step back. 

"Please do come in, you know we don't bite." Sirona joked, motioning her in. "Well, some of Mirabel's plants do."

She refused to move an inch from her spot by the door, but she did turn to look at Mirabel. "One of the Screechsnaps is causing a ruckus. Students have been complaining."

"I told that one, there is no need to be scared of the dark!" She fussed, grabbing for her robe by the door. "Sorry, Sirona, I will be back in a bit."

"Take your time." Sirona sighed, defeated. 

As Mirabel walked out the door, Evelyne gave Sirona a clear look of warning.

Sirona held up her hands in surrender as a response and figured the two of them were really bad at hiding their relationship. Or Evelyne was just exceptionally perceptive, which was on brand for the Slytherin girl. She was one of the most capable students Sirona had ever met and worked with.

When the door closed behind them, she let out a defeated sigh and got to cleaning the table so Mirabel wouldn't have to worry about it later.

+1

Sirona invited Mirabel to the Three Broomsticks on the Sunday they officially released the new menu to the public. So naturally, she put on a nice outfit and went to support her girlfriend on her big day. 

When she entered, the Three Broomsticks was already overflowing with patrons and students alike, it seemed some shopkeepers even closed early to try and get a taste of what Sirona was adding. Sirona waved her over when she saw her.

“I saved you a spot here at the bar.” She smiled.

“Oooo, front row seats.” Mirabel remarked as she sat down.

Mirabel watched as the orders kept pouring in, and how joyous Sirona looked at all of the positive feedback that she had received.

Just like a plant, thriving in her element and receiving plenty of love. 

She returned to the bar when people actually started eating and drinking rather than ordering.

“Everyone looks very happy.”

“I know, tonight can be chalked up as a success.” Sirona beamed, and Mirabel really wanted to kiss her. There was nothing greater in the world than sharing the joy and success with a loved one.

She looked around the room, noting how everyone was enjoying their money’s worth, with no one looking at them.

“What’s wrong?” Sirona asked, confused.

“Come here.” She leaned over the counter of the bar, dragging Sirona closer to her.

One more look at the people around them, and she leaned to kiss her girlfriend.

“Sirona, could we get some refills-”

Mirabel ignored her meddlesome students this time and finally pressed her lips to Sirona’s, who stood shocked for a moment before kissing her back.

“This is interesting.” Remarked another voice.

When they pulled apart, Mirabel turned to look at her students. 

Nettie had her mouth slightly open in shock, two Butterbeer mugs clutched in gloved hands. Beside her, Rayna sported a knowing smirk instead.

Sirona took a second to collect herself. “Refill on Firewhiskey?”

“Butterbeer, my dear.” Mirabel chided. “Please don’t give strong alcohol to my fifth years.”

She took the mugs from the red-headed Hufflepuff girl’s hands and turned around to give them a refill.

“How long has this been going on?” Rayna asked, seemingly pleased with this information. 

“Didn’t I teach you not to be pushy with your plants? Patience is crucial for Herbology.”

Before the dark-haired girl could answer, Sirona returned with the mugs now full.

Nettie accepted the drinks and leaned over to Rayna, whispering. “I heard rumors but didn’t want to assume anything.”

“The Ravenclaws have been betting on this for weeks now.” The other shrugged and gave them a slight smile.

After they left, she turned to Sirona. “Were we that bad at hiding it?”

“Maybe,” she chuckled, cleaning a cup out with her rag. “That and this batch of students have been wonderfully bright in my opinion.” “Couldn’t agree more.” She laughed and kissed Sirona on the cheek this time.

Thank you for everyone letting me use their OCs and give back to this wonderful community! Here is the roll call by section.

1:

Double braided Slytherin Herbology disaster is my own Rena Horvath

The other fair-haired Ravenclaw Herbology disaster-in-crime is @theladyofshalott1989 's Damien Evans!

The Hufflepuff girl with the silver streak is @fukae-flwr 's Edith Winterald!

2:

The Hufflepuff friends at Hogsmeade belong to @rypnami and @rosewoodcafe. Thank you for letting me borrow Auri and Evie. <3

3:

The wonderfully inquisitive blonde Gryffindor girl Scarlett O'Connell (I couldnt find your character sheet so I included the fic link), who likes chatting with Professor Garlick, belongs to @sallowedheart.

The potions girlies who recognize the importance of Herbology in their craft are @franciswitchcraft 's Hufflepuff, Lyra Esmeray and @superconductivebean 's Ravenclaw, Julia Wright!

4:

The awesome Gryffindor squadron consists og @negorizryoda 's Thomas Astbury, @gatypookster 's Clementine Ross and @eggzeroni 's William Lewis!

5:

Evelyne Lavandin belongs to the talented @libellule-ao3, Mirabel is her legal guardian in her fic, and also in this Pride Week project of mine. She's also mentioned in sections 2 and 4, I believe, because I figured Mirabel would bring her up.

+1

Last but not least, our favorite redheaded, gloved Hufflepuff girl, Nettie, belongs to @ladyofsappho, and the dark-haired Ravenclaw girl, Rayna, is once again @eggzeroni 's.

Thank you everyone again for letting me use them in my project! (If i messed anything up please let me know)

[yanderes-galore]

What about a romantic concept for Jon Snow?

I'm deciding to use Jon's book personality because it's INFINITELY better than the show in my opinion... So sorry if this seems off to show watchers.

Yandere! Jon Snow Concept

(FT. Ghost)

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Manipulation, Overprotective/Possessive behavior, Violence, Stalking, Taboo relationship, Blood, Murder mentioned, Clingy behavior, Dubious/forced relationship.

Jon, like most in his family, is always searching for love.

In fact, a common factor of the Stark family is the fact they do things out of love more than duty in the books and show.

Due to this, I imagine Starks are quite passionate if it comes to loving someone so much you obsess over them.

It doesn't help that in the case of Jon, a Stark and Targaryen in blood, that he'd probably also be possessive towards the one he adores.

Jon is often described as... wild at times.

It makes sense for his character, a man connected with wolves and dragons by blood.

Yet despite the feral nature he tries to keep controlled, I think Jon would be very caring.

Jon wants a few things in life.

He wants family, love, and a place to belong...

Yet as a bastard and the situation he's been thrust into, Jon can't seem to get such a thing.

Throughout the events of GOT, Jon is separated from his family.

He finds love, sure, but he's never able to keep it.

He finds a new family, yes, but again is never able to keep it since he belongs to neither the Black Cloaks or Wildlings eventually.

Jon would want to feel a sense of belonging with you to be his obsession.

Honestly, once he does he may just never let you go.

Not after what he's gone through.

Jon, especially once he's known as 'Lord Snow', has to make many difficult decisions.

Except, when it comes to you...

He probably will do everything in his power to prevent letting you leave him.

Let's talk more behavior than plot in this since the books and show are different past Season 3.

Jon would struggle with his emotions towards someone he loves.

He isn't quite like Robb who follows his feelings despite having duties that go against his heart.

Jon is very dedicated to duty yet also family.

He tries to stick to his duties... but when that doesn't work, he'll follow his heart.

Jon may try to ignore his feelings at first, especially if he is dedicated to the Night's Watch.

Perhaps he fell for you in his youth? When he was a young boy he fell for you?

You'd be his first love then... One he hadn't gotten a chance to explore before going to the Night's Watch.

He probably fantasizes at times laying with you... wishing he got to explore his feelings with you before leaving.

But as a bastard, he knows better.

He doesn't deserve such attachments.

That or maybe you're a Wildling he met after the death of Ygritte?

He's mourning and conflicted, unsure where he even belongs since he betrayed the Wildlings.

Yet you step in to try and aid him or trust him enough as a leader.

Then you'd be one of the Wildlings he'd let inside the Wall to help him plan against the enemies he has.

You'd help him with his grief... You remind him so much of Ygritte...

He doesn't plan on losing you like he did with her.

Either way, if you provide Jon a sense of belonging, his personal emotions may make him push aside his duties to feel your comfort.

He's only human, after all.

Jon's yandere type is overprotective, possessive, and isolating.

You're a guilty pleasure to him, one he has to keep secret most of the time.

His Stark blood makes him overprotective of those he views as family, especially after what he's gone through.

Think about it, far as he knows his family is gone.

His father was executed, his eldest brother and mother were assassinated, he has no idea where his sisters or younger brothers are...

He yearns for company in some way.

With you, he gets that.

He knows he doesn't deserve that, that it's forbidden...

But Jon would still find himself clinging to you, nuzzling into your furred coat as he takes in the cold scent you give off.

He craves warmth... He needs someone to love, to be his family.

He's chosen you for such a role.

Jon's possessive behavior comes from both his Stark and Targaryen blood.

Jon as a yandere can be as possessive and needy as a wolf or dragon... The trauma he's gone through certainly doesn't help.

He was forced to mature at a young age, he's lost many close to him...

When he sees you, Jon can't help but feel the need to draw you in close.

He wants to pounce on you... To cage you in his arms and never let go.

Like a beast he wants to dig his claws into you, to show you you're meant to be his.

He doesn't care about duty at this point!

He's a man of desire, a man who craves connection!

Even if it has to be secret... Jon plans to court you.

He'll make you his even if blood has to spill.

Wouldn't be the first time....

Jon, with his need for secrecy, would want to hide you away all for himself.

He keeps you hidden away wherever he sleeps, covering you in warm furs as he holds you close.

Jon feels safe and comforted when he cuddles you I feel.

You're warm... He uses the excuse that it's winter and it's cold...

But with how he holds you, arms tight around your waist and you squished against his chest...

It's obviously more than that.

I feel due to him being a Stark and his relationship with his wolf... How could I not bring up Ghost?

The albino wolf follows you around almost as much as Jon does.

He even curls up beside you and Jon when you sleep.

This is because Jon is probably subconsciously influencing Ghost's behavior towards you.

Starks are spiritually bonded with their wolf, after all.

So even if Jon isn't around you... He'll probably still watch you through Ghost.

At first a secret relationship with Jon is probably not that bad.

He's caring and loving, giving you soft kisses and holds when he can.

He puts off anything further than that as long as he can... but he'll probably give in once or twice with you.

He just can't get enough of you.

It's a mostly normal and sweet relationship.

His cuddles are appreciated... His loving words and neck kisses are intoxicating....

Yet you may start to get concerned when you notice his more possessive behavior start to show.

Normally you just see Jon's protective behavior.

When others question what's going on between you... Jon's defensive, often hiding you behind himself.

If anyone threatens to make an issue out of your secret bond and trysts... Jon would probably threaten them with something.

If he was Lord Snow, then Jon would probably silence anyone who opposed the relationship.

Be that sending them off... or getting them on something he could execute them for.

Jon, in this story, is a man who is desperate for love.

In this, it's to the point where he pushes aside his morals to keep you.

He doesn't need anyone but you.

In his eyes, he has no one but you now.

You'll probably see him kill a couple men for nearly finding out about what's between you or trying to stop it.

You may even catch Ghost attacking a few poor souls that got too close to you.

You've seen blood spilled by him... more than you should have.

The crimson red liquid covers the snow... It reminds you that this isn't the Jon you once knew.

You can try to leave... But Jon would prevent you.

He'd grip your arm or waist, Ghost running in front of you with a growl.

"Where are you going, my winter rose?"

His voice is chilling, bordering on a possessive growl.

He doesn't plan to let you leave.

Not when he's lost so much.

Even just cuddles are intense with him, his grip tight.

Even as he sleeps, Ghost watches you closely, as though Jon never has his eyes off you.

He's no longer the shy man who would watch you longingly from afar.

He's no longer the caring man who wouldn't trade you for the world.

He's a beast willing to kill, to taste blood just for an ounce of affection.

He'd rather kill than let you go.

Honestly, you probably wouldn't even be able to escape him once he's betrayed and killed.

In the books, it's implied he wargs into Ghost.

Which means even if you escape and run away, Jon would stalk you as Ghost.

When you rest in the cold snow, Ghost comes up to you to provide warmth.

You probably think Ghost is abandoned after his master died, so you don't mind the white wolf following you.

Little do you know, your possessive lover is still with you even now.

As Ghost he cuddles you, licking your face as he tries to warm you.

If you encounter a Bolton or some other throat, Ghost aims for their arm or throat to protect you.

For the most part, you'll be fine with Jon as Ghost...

Until Jon gets resurrected, possibly by Melisandre...

In that case, who knows what feral beast he will become?

Or, if you want a resurrection like the show... Then nothing really changes.

Sure, you'll escape for a bit...

But then you may be captured by Stannis, Melisandre, or Jon again.

It appears not even in death Jon will let you go.

He's a determined man who will do anything to keep you to himself.

Why must you be so scared of him?

The world made him this way.

Soon he'll get rid of his enemies, he'll help make a world where you can be happy and safe.

Jon plans to make a family with you... to feel he belongs...

He's used to making sacrifices... At this point, spilling blood doesn't matter anymore.

You're his love... his partner...

Even if death took you from him, he'd probably just bring you back.

You're bound together in his eyes...

Delusions or not... he's going to follow his heart... which means you'll always be his....

"My love... I'm sorry it took so long to find you again... Please, embrace me... You must be so cold...."