#Wall st j

[map-of-usa]

The Wall Street Journal

The Wall Street Journal is one of the most prominent and respected publications in the world, with a rich history dating back to its inception in 1889(A History of the Wall Street Journal - Historic Newspapers, n.d.)

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[dogboyratgirl]

Im so lint core /neg

[http-byler]

everyone who’s gonna meet/take a photo with/get an autograph from Caleb, Charlie, Eduardo, and/or Noah this weekend… how does it feel to live my dream </3

[buckyalpine]

18+ Minors dni. I'm currently obsessed with the thought of Bucky making his pretty girl take it. I'm talking him keeping you caged under him with your legs wrapped around his waist while his arm are wrapped tightly around your body. This type of energy comes out when he's pissed. Stressed. Jealous. He's going to remind you exactly who you belong to and my favourite thing about this is imagine you didn't even know what happened. Maybe he overheard some agents talking about how irresistible you are. So cute and pretty and they'd give anything to-

Nope. The thought alone of anytone touching what's his has him storming off, hauling you over to mark you in the most primal way possible. Remind everyone who you belong to. He plucks you up from whatever you're doing and carries you over his shoulder like a beast; you're naked on his bed seconds later. He plows into you, hips slamming his cock into your very soaked cunt, unapologetically fucking you with the deepest moans. He sounds so feral. He is feral.

"Feels-so-good, such a good girl, letting me put my big dick in you"

Those grunts and groans he lets out show just how selfish he's being because he's focused on how fucking good you're making his dick feel. You're so soft but you make his cock so hard. You're such an angel for him, spreading your legs for him the second he set you down. He'd been torn between wanting to ravish you immediately or taking a second to throw his clothes off. He decides he needs you to fucking smell like him when this is all over, have every bit of his scent covering your skin. He wants to feel every bit of you all over him.

No one else would ever get to have you like this. Feel your naked breasts on their chest. Feel your soft tummy press against theirs. Feel the plushness of your thighs squeezing their waist. Feel your silky walls squeeze and milk their cocks till they're all soft and sensitive.

They'd hear you though.

They'd hear every moan and Bucky would make sure of that.

"Whose cock is making you scream baby, tell me" He growls, your combined arousal making a mess on the bed.

"Y-OURS-" You hiccup, choking back a sob as he snakes his had to wrap around your throat. Damn right. His fucking cock. His dick in your pussy. Not the stupid little boys who think they have a chance to even breathe the same air. His pretty, pink, fat fucking cock destroying you to his heart's content, stretching you open as much as he wants. "J-JAMES"

"That's right, say my name baby, say the name of your man who fucks you this good, let everyone hear" He's already turned off all the sound proofing and maybe he left his door a crack open. Maybe.

"Jaamesss" You sound so gone, cockdrunk over the way the spongy head of his dick kisses that sensitive spot that makes you squirt cream with each of his thrusts. "Don't st-stop, please-fuck-me-Jamie" Your voices slurs and turns into a whine as your eyes roll back. For such a sweet princess, you sound like an absolute slut when he's inside you and he wouldn't have it any other way.

"Mhphhm, sound so pretty, gonna make me blow, let me empty my balls in you" He starts to fuck you faster causing the headboard to shake, the whole bed creaking with his movements. "M'gonna cum angel-oh shittt-"

He nearly whimpers when he feels your doe eyes looking up at him with your ankles locked around his waist; he knows exactly what that means.

"You want it inside you huh, want my cum in you baby, s'that it?"

"Want-it-please, can't hold it" you cling onto him tighter and Bucky can't last any longer.

"Cum with me, together, c'mon angel, cum with me, yes, fuck yes, can feel you-fuck-" He begs, needing those little boys who spoke about you to hear exactly what they're missing out on, "OH GOD, FUCKKK" He doesn't hold back as he gives into his orgasm, your name dripping of his lips while you sob and squeal.

I want him to give you the softest aftercare. Tell you what a good girl you were for him. How much he loves and adores you, how special you are to him.

I want him to have the most smug expression on his face when he goes back down. He's such a little shit. He passes by a cackling Tony and a wheezing Sam. Not one agent dares look him in the eye. Steve may be blushing but he'll give credit where credit is due. His best friend sent a very clear message. Bucky is a possessive, loving, horny little shit and I need it.

Need it now.

[whizzing-fizzbee]

Emergency Contact

Sebastian Sallow x Reader

Rating: Explicit 18+, MDNI (smut, profanity), all characters are adults Words: 5,795 Tags: friends to strangers to lovers, post-Hogwarts, 2nd person POV

Summary: You haven't seen or heard from Sebastian Sallow in three years after a falling out splintered your friendship. But a sudden, urgent owl from St. Mungo's reveals he's been seriously injured, and you're still his emergency contact.

Notes: Just a random little one-shot I wrote in two parts so those who want to skip the smut can do so. Part I is plot. Part II is smut. Characters are post-Hogwarts adults.

Read on AO3 or both parts below the cut.

Part I

The moment your body was through the doorway, your shoulders slumped and your shoes were off.

Work had become particularly exhausting as of late. Most recently, your curse breaking career had led you to Albania, where you’d spent two weeks decoding a cursed chest of scriptures found in a coastal cove.

Now, all you could think about was how badly you wanted to crawl into bed and remain for three days. A quick glance at the clock told you it was nearly midnight, so you decided to forego dinner and get straight to sleep.

A brief hot shower and change of clothes and you nearly cartwheeled into bed, cozying beneath the covers until you sighed contentedly.

But as soon as you squeezed your eyes shut, a rapping against your bedroom window jolted you upright.

“Not now,” you groaned as you spotted a small brown owl hovering outside the glass. You begrudgingly hurled the covers off and pulled yourself out of bed to greet the unfamiliar visitor. 

You assumed it was your next work assignment, though you were supposed to have three days between them. But as you snapped the envelope’s seal, you recognized the official logo and letterhead of St. Mungo’s Hospital.

You quickly scanned the scribbles on the parchment, your ears ringing more with each word. 

The Ministry of Magic has your name listed on file as an emergency contact for Mr. Sebastian R. Sallow. 

We regret to inform you Mr. Sallow was injured while on a Ministry assignment this evening. Please see us at St. Mungo’s Hospital at your quickest and earliest convenience. 

Regards, Melinda J. Meadows, Lead Healer St. Mungo’s Hospital, London

Your eyes processed the letter much faster than your brain. But even after you read it no less than ten times, they lingered on one single line: Sebastian R. Sallow.

You hadn’t seen your former friend in three years. All you knew was he was an Auror. The fallout was still raw and real, a cloud of cruel memories that clung to you like smoke on your clothes. You both said things you didn’t mean. You exchanged unfair accusations and low blows meant to sting. But they inflicted much more than shallow wounds; they sank deep below your surface and rooted there, lingering even after all this time.

You blinked away your disbelief and snapped into action. Something terrible had happened to Sebastian, rendering your past differences meaningless. You needed to get to him immediately.

The air inside St. Mungo’s felt anything but still. The hospital’s corridors seemed to hum with an unsettling aura, as if pulsing the walls with life would balance out the death and dying happening inside them.

You approached the front reception desk with fear and confusion, unsure what you were about to learn. Your former friend was hurt, and you didn’t know how grave it was. You were scared for him, despite not having seen him in years.

You were also bewildered. How could you possibly still be Sebastian Sallow’s emergency contact? He clearly had forgotten to update his information since your falling out, but it surprised you. The ties you severed weren’t frayed; they were a clean cut, made with the sharpest knife of finality and reprehension. As far as you knew, Sebastian had no intentions of ever reentering your life.

“Excuse me,” you said feebly to the witch working the front desk. “I- I’m here to visit Sebastian Sallow.”

“Your relation to the patient?”

“Huh?”

“Are you a spouse or family member?”

“I… Neither. But I’m his emergency contact.”

“Let me check his records.”

You rocked back and forth between your heels and toes as you waited impatiently. You realized the hospital was cold and found yourself wishing you’d brought a jacket or sweater… then you felt foolish and guilty for thinking such a thing when your former friend may be gravely injured.

“Ah, I see. Here you are,” the receptionist said as she handed you a visitor badge. “You can go see him. Room 424.”

“Thank you.”

Your pace matched your rapid heartbeat as you hurried through the hospital and took the lift to the fourth floor. The room numbers climbed higher, and so did your pulse. You were about to see him again for the first time in three years. He surely wouldn’t be prepared to see you, nor were you ready to see him.

But you had to. You were apparently the only person he had.

Room 421, 422, 423… you paused as 424 came into view, lingering outside the room. The door was wide open but curtains surrounded the bed. You could see at least two healers inside, bustling about. 

Oh god, you couldn’t do this. How could you be expected to? You shouldn’t be here. This wasn’t your place, because you no longer had a place in this man’s life.

You closed your eyes and swallowed, willing yourself for a surge of courage. How could you possibly be such a fucking coward right now, when your old friend needed you? You were once a hero. You saved your entire school from a goblin rebellion. You’d freed numerous creatures from vicious poachers. You looked dark magic in the face on countless occasions. But you couldn’t look Sebastian Sallow in the face now.

You heaved a deep breath, your palms sweating as your feet finally shuffled forward toward the room. You lingered in the doorframe, your eyes scanning the room warily until one of the healers noticed your presence.

“Oh!” she said as she waved you to enter the room. “Are you Mrs. Sallow?”

“What? Oh, no. I’m his emergency contact, though.”

“Well, come in. I’m Healer McCartney,” she said with a smile that didn’t meet her eyes. “I should prepare you, though. He’s in rough shape.”

You nodded. “What happened?”

“From what his colleagues said, sounds like he was hit with a combination of aggressive offensive spells – definitely Sectumsempra and Fiendfyre, and something else… some kind of hex that’s left some nasty scars and skin patterns. We don’t know what it was. He’s lost a lot of blood but he’ll survive,” Healer McCartney explained.

You breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn’t dead. He wasn’t going to die. That was all you could ask for right now.

“Can… can I see him?” you finally asked. Healer McCartney nodded silently and reached for the curtain. She offered you a grim smile as she yanked the curtain backward.

Your breath caught in your throat. This wasn’t the same man you’d known three years ago. If it wasn’t for those familiar freckles, you’d wonder if you had the wrong room number.

But it was undeniably him. His brunette hair was shorter now, cut into a more refined style than the tousled mop you previously knew. He’d also bulked up a bit, his arms more muscular and his chest broader. He still had those long legs, though they were less lanky and much sturdier now.

He was unconscious and shirtless. You swallowed at the sight – his shirt had been cut away, discarded in a bloody heap on the floor. Bandages now wrapped his torso which was still smeared with blood. Black streaks snaked across his chest and shoulders like trails of smoke, evidence of the sinister hex that had struck him. 

“Sebastian,” you whispered breathlessly. Tears pooled in your eyes and you steeled yourself. This wasn’t how you wanted to be reunited.

“I’m going to go fetch the lead healer,” Healer McCartney said. “Wait here. She’ll need some information for you.”

You opened your mouth to tell her you couldn’t provide any information, that you didn’t really know this man anymore, but no words came out. You watched Healer McCartney scurry from the room and returned your gaze to Sebastian. He was breaking your heart all over again.

The end of your friendship damn near destroyed you three years prior. Sebastian lashed out at you over Anne’s treatment. St. Mungo’s was offering a clinical trial on a new experimental potion that might greatly reduce the symptoms of Anne’s curse, but the potential side effects were gruesome.

Anne had been apprehensive about the trial drug, so you sided with her, wanting to respect her wishes. Sebastian became frustrated and insisted there was nothing to lose.

“Nothing but your sister’s dignity,” you’d chided dryly. Sebastian unleashed a barrage of furious and hurtful words your way, and in defense, you hurled them right back. Soon, the argument was no longer about Anne. Years of suppressed declarations and tension erupted from you both, on the topic of everything from your romantic partners to the tragic events of your fifth year at Hogwarts.

The damage was irreversible and you walked out of Sebastian’s life, for what was intended to be for good. This was not supposed to be your reconciliation.

Healer McCartney soon returned with another woman, who introduced herself as Healer Meadows, the person who had owled you.

“Are you a relative?” she asked. You shook your head as you wondered how many times you’d have to tell people you weren’t a spouse or family member.

“I’m… just a friend,” you answered.

“You’re his emergency contact though, yes? You’re the one I owled?”

“Yes.”

“Can you tell me if he has any health conditions we should know about?”

“N- no? I don’t know.”

“Does he take any potions or medications?”

“I don’t know.”

Healer Meadows gazed at you with clear annoyance.

“Do you know his family medical history?”

“No, both his parents died when he was young. And his sister… she died about a year ago.”

“Is there anything you can tell us about him? Anything about his health we should know at all?”

“No,” you sighed. “Look, he and I haven’t been in contact for three years. I really don’t know what his health is like. As far as I know, he’s healthy.”

“But you were his emergency contact,” Healer Meadows repeated.

“Yes, I know. I’m guessing he forgot to update his information when we… dissolved our friendship.”

“I see.” 

“Sorry I can’t be of more help. I just really don’t know.”

“Well, thank you for coming,” Healer Meadows hummed as she turned to examine Sebastian. “We think he’ll make a full recovery. He’s just very weak now.”

“What about the hex?”

“It appears to be neurological,” Healer Meadows explained. “Meaning there may be some nerve damage. We won’t know until he’s awake and moves his appendages.” 

“But overall he’ll… he’ll be okay?”

Healer Meadows offered you a thin smile that was likely more of a grimace. “I don’t know,” she answered. “He’ll survive, yes, but we won’t know the extent of his injuries until he wakes up.”

“And when will that be?”

“We’ve given him a sleeping draught and some pain potion. I expect he’ll sleep through the remainder of the night. If you’d like to go home, I can owl you when he wakes up.”

“I’d like to stay,” you said much more forcefully than you’d intended. “If that’s allowed,” you added gently.

Healer Meadows nodded. “Very well,” she said, eyeing you up and down for a fleeting moment. “I’ll have Healer McCartney fetch you a blanket.”

It was nearly 2:00 in the morning by the time you settled into the bedside chair. It was anything but comfy but you weren’t planning on getting much sleep anyway. Once the healers had all cleared out of the room, you gazed at Sebastian in silence.

The tightness in your chest was painful, a menacing, constricting ache that worried you. You hoped you weren’t suffering from some sort of heart attack at the sight of Sebastian’s state, but you also were too worried about him to care.

A sliver of silver moonlight snuck through the wispy white window curtains, casting shadows over Sebastian’s face. You watched as his bare chest rose and fell with his breaths. It was a sight you once adored more than anything.

Your falling out with Sebastian fissured more than your friendship. It unraveled your heartstrings and stole the piece of your soul that was meant to be shared with another human being. You hadn’t been the same since.

You loved Sebastian, more than just friends or kindred spirits, as you called yourselves. You loved him like home; like a sip of hot cider on a chilly evening, or like the sound of the swaying trees when you sailed above them on your broomstick. You loved him passionately, fiercely and unconditionally, but you knew you had to love yourself more.

Because for all the brilliance and blaze that you saw in Sebastian Sallow, there was also a shell of a man, emptied by the cruel complexities of life. Dead parents by age 10, a dead uncle who had never wanted him to begin with, and a dead sister whose life had been cut short by a treacherous curse. Life drained Sebastian of much hope or happiness. Even his eternal optimism couldn’t surmount life’s lashings.

It made him angry and bitter. His temper was short and his moods were thunderstorms that sometimes lingered for weeks on end. His outlook on life became futile. It dragged you down until you also felt his despair, and when he launched harsh, irrevocable words at you, you decided you had to let him go in order to save yourself.

You didn’t want to give up on him. You had been the only one who supported him through everything. But you couldn’t keep killing yourself for a man who couldn’t even see how much you loved him.

“Oh Sebastian,” you whispered as you continued to watch him sleep. “Please, be okay. I still need you.”

By 4 a.m., you finally fell asleep.

---

You startled the following morning at the sound of Healer Meadows bustling around the room. You straightened in your chair and squeezed your eyes open and shut to pull the room into focus. When everything became clear, you froze.

He was awake. He was awake and he was staring at you.

“Sebastian,” you breathed as you scrambled to your feet.

“You’re here,” he croaked.

“Of course, I am. I mean, you still had me listed as your emergency contact, so…” your voice trailed off, unsure how to continue.

“Oh,” Sebastian managed. “Sorry. I guess I forgot to change that.”

“It’s okay,” you said reassuringly. “How are you feeling?”

“Like hell.”

“You look like it, too.”

“Thanks.”

You couldn’t help but crack the faintest smile. Your guard was up but your nerves were starting to melt. He was awake. He was alive. And he wasn't lashing out at you.

A blanket had been tossed over Sebastian, but you could see his bare shoulder, still covered with the hex’s claw marks.

“Your shoulder,” you whispered “Can you move it? Can you feel anything?”

Sebastian nodded. “I can,” he said slowly. “But it burns. When I move, it feels like there’s fire coursing down my arm.”

“We think our alchemists can concoct a cure,” Healer Meadows chimed in. “It’ll take nearly a week, but we’re hopeful.”

Your tense shoulders relaxed at the news. “That’s brilliant,” you breathed. “Thank Merlin.”

Healer Meadows left the room and you could feel Sebastian’s eyes burning into the side of your head. When you finally turned to meet his gaze, his expression remained unchanged.

“Why did you come here?” he asked quietly.

“Because they sent for me,” you answered. It wasn’t the entire truth, of course. You came because you always would, even when Sebastian didn’t want you there.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know,” you replied softly. “But… I had to make sure you were okay.”

The gates of defense were open now. You were both inviting one another in, with cautious optimism that your past could remain in unspoken territory.

“Well, thank you,” Sebastian said. “I appreciate it.”

But before you crossed that threshold, before you could step back into Sebastian’s life or allow him to do the same, you had to be sure.

“Do you… do you want me to go?” you asked carefully. The answer might kill you.

“No… not unless you want to,” Sebastian said. You could see the familiar traces of vulnerability in his eyes that were once reserved only for you. Everyone else saw Sebastian’s hardened exterior, but you had once peeled back the layers for a glimpse at the softness beneath.

“I can stay,” you said gently. “As long as you want me to.”

And so, you did stay. You stayed as the healers came and went. You stayed as Sebastian’s colleagues came to check on him. You stayed as you shared updates on your lives, swapping stories about your work adventures. You told him about the cursed objects you’d encountered during your travels while he recalled the duel with a cabal of dark wizards that had landed him in that hospital bed.

You stayed with Sebastian, but you had no idea you’d never actually leave again.  

---

Five days after Sebastian’s admittance to St. Mungo’s, you found yourself lounging lazily in that same bedside chair. It was like nothing had ever happened.

The two of you joked and teased, laughed about old memories and dipped your toes into nostalgic moments you’d shared. The sharp words you once swapped were cast away and replaced with new declarations of a renewed friendship. You were so happy, you practically skipped through the halls of St. Mungo’s when you came to visit each morning.

This day was particularly exciting, because the potion to heal Sebastian’s shoulder was set to be complete. They’d keep him for another night to monitor the potion’s progress, and then he’d be sent home.

You learned he didn’t live far away from you, in a flat two neighborhoods over. You also learned he lived alone, no romantic partners or other responsibilities. 

But you also learned that Sebastian had become a recluse since Anne’s death. When his colleagues came to visit, you spent some time catching up with Everett Clopton as Sebastian slept. Everett was also an auror, and he confided that Anne’s death had dragged Sebastian downward to an alarming, dark place. It left him reckless and impulsive, a familiar version of himself you’d seen your fifth year. You didn’t abandon him then, and you decided you wouldn’t do that now. Sebastian needed someone, and you wanted so badly for it to be you.

“I can’t wait to get out of here,” Sebastian groaned as you beat him at another round of chess.

“I don’t think a change of scenery is going to change the result of these chess matches,” you mused. “I’ll still kick your ass.”

“So you’re still going to come around once I’m out of here?”

“Oh.” Your cheeks flushed. You hadn’t discussed the nature of your friendship now. What if Sebastian was merely using you for entertainment while he was stuck in the hospital? He’d used and manipulated you in the past, back before you became close friends. Could he do it again, even in spite of your history together? “Well, only if you still want to hang out,” you said shyly.

Sebastian snorted, his arms folded across his chest. “Of course, I do,” he said. “I’m not going to spoil our second chance.”

Your mouth became dry instantly, unsure of how to respond to such a declaration. It moved you. It made you want to clap and squeal, or fling yourself onto the bed to hug him. You were back in each other’s lives, but more importantly, you were both committed to staying there.

“In all seriousness,” Sebastian said as he eyed you with a soft sincerity. “I can’t begin to tell you how grateful I am for everything you’ve done here… and how sorry I am for everything I did in the past.”

“Sebastian-”

“I mean it,” he continued. “Life’s been miserable without you and I’ve wanted to make amends for years, but I was tired of tainting you with all my darkness.”

“Maybe I just wanted to be the light to that darkness,” you said softly. “Seb, I’m always here for you. Life’s been cruel to you, but you don’t have to face it alone.”

“I know,” he said, swallowing as if he was becoming emotional. “I know that now. And I swear to you, I won’t fuck it up. You’ve always meant the most to me.”

You smiled and reached for his hand, the first time you’d done so since the day Sebastian arrived at the hospital. You squeezed his hand and he held yours until the healers arrived with the potion.

---

There was an extra pep in your step the following morning. The potion had worked, meaning Sebastian would finally be released from St. Mungo’s. You were going to meet him there and accompany him back to his flat to make sure he had everything he needed.

You’d also put a little extra effort into your appearance that morning. Your hair cascaded over your shoulders in soft curls and you put on your favorite dress and perfume. 

It’s not that you’d expected anything to happen with Sebastian. The two of you were merely friends again, and you’d told yourself you were okay with that. Simply having Sebastian back in your life was enough. Still, you wanted to look pretty.

Your shoes clacked against the marble floors of St. Mungo’s as you made a beeline for room 424. You’d been there so many times that week, you could walk that route with your eyes closed. But when you reached the door, you stopped dead in your tracks.

The room was empty and the bed was vacant, its linens stripped completely. You caught Healer Meadows in the corridor from the corner of your eye and hustled after her.

“Healer Meadows, where’s Sebastian?”

She turned to look at you in confusion. “He was released first thing this morning,” she said. “Surely you knew that.”

“I only knew he’d be released today,” you replied. “I… I thought I was supposed to meet him here.”

“He was awfully eager to get home,” Healer Meadows said with a shrug. “Perhaps try there.”

But you didn’t go there after you left the hospital. Your insecurity reared its ugly head, suffocating all of your logic and reasoning. 

What if Sebastian lied? Maybe he didn’t actually intend on maintaining your friendship. Maybe he changed his mind and decided you weren’t worth the time and effort. Maybe you simply didn’t mean that much to him.

So you headed home, walking instead of apparating to clear your head. But by the time you reached the front door to your townhome, tears had stained your cheeks. They blurred your vision so much, you didn’t notice the figure sitting on your front steps.

“Sebastian?” you whispered as you stopped. “You’re here.”

Sebastian scrambled to his feet. “I couldn’t wait to see you,” he admitted. “They released me from the hospital first thing, but I didn’t want to wait around for you to arrive. I was hoping you’d still be here by the time I arrived.”

“Oh,” you said stupidly. “I just left the hospital.”

“I figured,” he said as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry for making you make the trip.”

“It’s fine,” you said as you breathed a soft laugh. “Do you want to come inside?”

“I’d love that.”

Sebastian followed you quietly as you unlocked and entered your townhome. You could hear his footsteps behind you as you led him into the living room, and you smiled to yourself as you realized his tread sounded the same as it had years ago.

“Nice place,” he mused as his gaze drifted around your home.

“Thank you.”

You were met with a mutual silence that made you avert your own gaze. Finally, you cleared your throat as you kicked off your shoes. “Can… can I get you something to eat or drink?”

“Oh. Er, sure,” Sebastian answered. 

“Tea?”

“That’d be nice.”

He followed you to the kitchen, where you put on a tea kettle. 

“So would you like me to come over later?” you asked casually as you gathered a pair of tea mugs from a cabinet. “I can help you get settled back into your flat.”

“I was only out a week,” Sebastian chuckled.

“I know. But it’s been a hell of a week.”

“Too true. But I’m not too worried about it. I’m in no rush to get back there… unless you want to get rid of me, of course.”

“Not yet,” you quipped. “But ask me again later.”

Sebastian smiled at you, and there was something about the way his eyes seemed to call to you that made your stomach flip.

“Well, I’d like to stick around as long as you’ll let me,” Sebastian continued.

“Seb, you just spent an entire week with me. Aren’t you sick of me?”

“On the contrary, it’s not been enough.”

Sebastian took a step toward you. His eyes seemed to cling to every one of your features, and you were certain he could hear your heart hammering in your chest. “Oh,” you said blankly, begging your face to stop flushing.

Everything unfolded in slow motion, yet all at once. Sebastian reached for you, a hand cupping the side of your face. You held your breath as he leaned in, slowly, slowly, much too slowly, until his lips were pressed against yours. It was soft and sweet, but you didn’t want it to remain that way.

You answered with eight years of desperate desire. You clutched the front of his shirt and pulled him harder against your lips until he had to hold your waist to steady you both.

Your lips moved in sync until your tongues battled. It was a perfect duel that left you both panting for air.

Sebastian smirked. “Sick of me yet?”

“Oh, shut up.”

You yanked him into another kiss that set your new status in motion. You were no longer friends. Now, you were exactly who you were meant to be. 

Part II (Smut warning)

You don’t know how long you stood there in your kitchen with your arms draped around Sebastian’s neck as you kissed him, but soon, you found yourself sitting on the ledge of the counter with your legs draped around his torso.

Your brain surged with dopamine while your core surged with arousal. Sebastian’s lips attacked your neck, his hands skimming over the tops of your thighs, as your head dipped backward against a cabinet.

Your eyes clung to Sebastian as you watched him slip his sweater over his head. He was quick to notice the way your gaze shifted from lust to concern. You couldn’t help it. The hex had left streaks across his shoulder, angry and red. They looked painful, though Sebastian had insisted he didn’t feel a thing. 

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly as he watched you study the imperfections across his skin, his eyes wide with concern. “Does it bother you?”

“What?” you breathed. “Sebastian, no. It doesn’t bother me. It just-” Your voice cracked. “It just stirs up a lot of emotion. I’m sorry. I just… seeing you like that in that hospital bed, thinking you might not recover – that we might not recover – it just makes me emotional.”

Sebastian smiled kindly and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “But we’re here now,” he said softly. “And we will recover. You understand that, right? You and I… it’s different this time because we aren’t holding anything back.”

You nodded silently in response and he leaned in to kiss you again. You could feel his lips forming a smile against yours. It reassured you more than words ever could.

Sebastian’s hands drifted to the small of your back, pulling you closer to the counter’s ledge, closer to him. Your thighs instinctively squeezed tighter around his waist until he was lifting you away from the counter.

He whisked you from the kitchen toward the corridor, where he paused to kiss you. “Where to?” he murmured.

“Last door on the left.”

He couldn’t walk fast enough. By the time he ventured into your bedroom and dropped you gently onto the bed, your skin was hot and your brain was buzzing. A mere week ago, you were returning home to this bed set to fall asleep alone. Sebastian hadn’t been in your life and you thought you were content with ignoring his existence.

Now, after everything that transpired, you couldn’t let him go again if you wanted. 

Sebastian crawled on top of you, his legs flanking your waist as he placed sweet, gentle kisses along your neck. His hand roamed downward over the curve of your waistline and beneath the hem of your dress. You could feel it skimming your skin until it reached your hip.

“Help me take this off,” you whispered. He helped you shimmy out of your dress and you watched him toss it aside to the floor. Sebastian stilled as he gazed downward at you, his eyes drinking in your bare chest. You, too, had scars and scrapes, battle wounds from all the dark wizards and goblins of your past.

“You’re so beautiful,” Sebastian breathed.

You reached a hand for his shoulder, your thumb tracing gently over the red trails that snaked across his flesh. “So are you.”

Sebastian smiled in understanding and returned his lips to your neck, planting a path of kisses to your shoulders before he found your breasts. You sucked in a sharp breath at the warmth of his tongue over your nipple while his hand squeezed the bump of your hip bone.

As your impatience mounted, you fiddled with the belt of Sebastian’s trousers until it clanked open. You immediately missed the warmth of his body as he fidgeted to kick them off with his briefs, leaving you to face his erection.

You tried to temper your breathing, scared the rise and fall of your chest was exposing your nerves. But as Sebastian leaned in to kiss you again, you became too turned on to care.

You shifted beneath him as the ache in your core demanded attention. Sebastian felt the way your hips rocked and smirked. You watched him with heavy eyelids as he peeled your panties down past your ankles, exposing every inch of your flesh to him.

“Fucking hell,” he hissed as he stared. He positioned himself between your knees until your legs were draped over his shoulders and his tongue was swiping over your slit. You whimpered at his touch.

Your eyes nearly rolled back into your head as his tongue flattened against your clit, nudging at it until your high-pitched whines became breathy moans. Sebastian’s hands explored your body while your own fingers became tangled in his hair. You squirmed beneath him, each panting breath signaling your impending climax.

More, more, more. That’s what you wanted to scream, but your brain remained unable to form words. Instead, your body responded for you, your hips jutting upward until Sebastian’s tongue met you with more force.

You cried out as your legs went rigid, arching your back off the mattress as the force inside you crumbled, sending pulses through your cunt. Sebastian’s tongue continued its assault on your entrance until you whined in protest, your legs slackening and your clit too sensitive for more.

But still, you wanted more. Your pulse raced as you watched Sebastian crawl toward you, his erection bobbing between your thighs. You were still panting in recovery from your climax, but as the tip of Sebastian’s cock pressed against your soaked entrance, you held your breath.

You could swear you felt every ridge as it sank slowly inside you, parting your walls as they stretched around him. Sebastian smiled at you as your chest heaved.

“Relax,” he murmured. “I’ll take care of you.”

You willed the tension to leave your shoulders as you allowed Sebastian to enter you fully. The delicious pressure enveloped your entire body, sending your nerve endings into overdrive. You couldn’t help but squeeze your cunt tighter around him, drawing a groan from Sebastian.

He rocked his hips forward and you moaned. Heaven couldn’t feel this good and hell couldn’t feel this hot. You squeezed your eyes shut as you focused on the friction within your core as Sebastian’s shaft dragged across your walls and his tip pressed into the deepest part of you.

Your fingers sank into his shoulder, leaving tiny crescent nail divots among his scars. If he felt them, he said nothing. Instead, he grit his teeth at your tight heat, his cock nudging you closer to the edge with each snap of his hips.

Sebastian was torn. The sight of your folds swallowing his cock was beyond anything he’d imagined, a vision he wanted burned into his mind forever. But he also felt a desperate longing to be close to you. He wanted to shower your face and lips with kisses while he whispered passionate prose in your ear.

“Seb, please,” you breathed, your eyes still closed tight. “Please.”

The way you begged, the way your flushed face strained in desperation and the way your slickness coated his cock, sent Sebastian into a determined frenzy set on feeling you fall apart for him.

His fingers sank hard into your hips as he drove himself into you, pulling your body toward him with each thrust, leaving the bedsheets clinging to the corners for dear life. You unleashed a series of moans, his cock driving you closer and closer to your peak. 

You were desperate to lose control around him, and as you could feel the heat mounting, you waited. The timing had to be right. Finally, as Sebastian’s cock prodded your sweet spot, you forced an exhale until your body relaxed. It sent searing spasms across through your muscles and nerve endings, causing your thighs to quake. Your hips rose upward and you wailed as your walls convulsed hard, surging your climax around Sebastian’s cock. 

He swore at the sensation and tumbled over the edge after you, his own back arching as he slammed inside you for the final time, grunting your name as he spilled himself.

He collapsed next to you, sharing the heat from his body with your skin. You rested your head against his chest, your eyes closing as you caught your breath and let your hazy head recover. The room was quiet. You liked it that way; not because you didn’t want to hear Sebastian speak, but because you wanted to relax into the peaceful scene and commit it to memory.

“One thing,” Sebastian finally said as he lazily played with your hair. “Do you want me to remove you as my emergency contact with the Ministry? I will if you want me to.”

Your tired eyes cracked open with a smile. “Whatever for?” you asked. “I can’t imagine anyone else is going to give you this kind of treatment.”

[aziraphales-library]

Hiiiii, i hope you're all having an amazing day on whichever day this gets seen, i owe you my life for running this incredible blog 💛💛💛

Would you happen to know of any meet cute human au fics in which Crowley is a cat dad? (preferably M or E rated, but im not that picky) There's just something very endearing to me about Crowley owning a cat that i can't explain...

Thank you in advance for your help!! 💛

Hello! Here are some fics in which Crowley has a cat...

with the help of a cat, or two by whicorzoo (G)

In which the cat in the window of the flat right across from Crowley's is unfairly perfect, so on a particularly whimsical night, he decides to put up a sign in his window to tell his neighbor as much. By morning, he's forgotten about it, until he sees it in his window and regrets the decision entirely. He expects to have his cool, intimidating facade never taken seriously again. He does not expect a response.

Pass the Star by mageofthepeople (E)

An Ineffable Wives roller derby AU Azalea Fell meets Antoinette Crowley at her first roller derby bout with a new league. After an incident leads to a trip to A&E, the two are drawn to one another but Crowley is reluctant to potentially ruin a great friendship for something more.

But, soft! by On1OccasionFork (M)

With love's light wings did I o'erperch these walls, For stony limits cannot hold love out; And what love can do, that dares love attempt. Therefore thy kinsmen are no stop to me. -Romeo and Juliet, Act II, Scene ii Crowley's life is going well. He's got his shop, his friends, and a new flat with a balcony perfect for a few plants. That's when things start to get complicated.

love like yours (will surely come my way) by CCs_World (T)

Dr Zira Fell is a new professor of theology at St Beryl's University. His first day there he meets the mysterious and enchanting Dr AJ Crowley, an art history professor and a painter. They almost immediately become friends, and spend most of their time getting lunch together, talking, drinking wine, making art, and falling slowly in love with one another. Featuring cameos of everyone's favorite (and least favorite) characters, gratuitous descriptions of paintings, long text messaging conversations, and one cranky cat.

Or Be Nice by charlottemadison (E)

Crowley and Aziraphale are neighbours. And...it does not go at all well, until it does. A human AU in which Aziraphale is a bookseller, Crowley is a drummer, and they are both petty disasters in the worst/best way. +++ “So what’s your deal?” “My-my-my deal?” Aziraphale stammered. “I’m a bookseller, is my deal.” “Oh,” Crowley replied, sounding as uninterested as it was possible to sound. “It’s just, I couldn’t help overhearing, and --” Aziraphale swallowed hard. “You really are an accomplished musician. But I thought -- for after 11PM -- perhaps we could reach some arrangement?” “Arrangement?” Aziraphale felt his his smile turning forced. “Such as, perhaps, playing the drums *before* eleven? Instead of after?” Crowley stared blankly at him. In fact he stared for so long that Aziraphale briefly wondered if he'd lapsed into ancient Greek again, which he was known to do in bad dreams or during panic attacks.

Whickber Street by Caedmon (E)

Anthony J. Crowley doesn’t think he’s ever been so happy. He’s finally quit his old job and is opening his childhood dream: a comic book shop. All of the neighbors are great, but the bookseller seems to hate him… Aziraphale Eastgate grew up in his great grandfather’s shop. Now he runs it and lives above it. He loves everything about his life on Whickber Street…. but the new proprietor down the street has him terribly, terribly vexed. Sparks fly when these two meet, and Aziraphale vows to hate him forever. Fergus, meanwhile, sets a timer. Looks like Cupid has come to Soho.

- Mod D

[radiodormouse]

Tries to Cook and Eat Girl (old art based on this passage from American Psycho)

Dawn. Sometime in November. Unable to sleep, writhing on my futon, still in a suit, my head feeling like someone has lit a bonfire on it, in it, a constant searing pain that keeps both eyes open, utterly helpless. There are no drugs, no food, no liquor that can appease the forcefulness of this greedy pain; all my muscles are stiff, all my nerves burning, on fire. I'm taking Sontinex by the hour since I've run out of Dalmane, but nothing really helps and soon even the box of Sominex is empty. Things are lying in the corner of my bedroom: a pair of girl's shoes from Edward Susan Bennis Allen, a hand with the thumb and forefinger missing, the new issue of Vanity Fair splashed with someone's blood, a cummerbund drenched with gore, and from the kitchen wafting into the bedroom is the fresh smell of blood cooking, and when I stumble up out of bed into the living room, the walls are breathing, the stench of decay smothers everything. I light a cigar, hoping the smoke will mask at least some of it.

Her br**sts have been chopped off and they look blue and deflated, the ni**les a disconcerting shade of brown. Surrounded by dried black blood, they lie, rather delicately, on a china plate I bought at the Pottery Barn on top of the Wurlitzer jukebox in the corner, though I don't remember doing this. I have also shaved all the skin and most of the muscle off her face so that it resembles a skull with a long, flowing mane of blond hair falling from it, which is connected to a full, cold corpse; its eyes are open, the actual eyeballs hanging out of their sockets by their stalks. Most of her chest is indistinguishable from her neck, which looks like ground-up meat, her stomach resembles the eggplant and goat cheese lasagna at Il Marlibro or some other kind of dog food, the dominant colors red and white and brown. A few of her intestines are smeared across one wall and others are mashed up into balls that lie strewn across the glasstop coffee table like long blue snakes, mutant worms. The patches of skin left on her body are blue-gray, the color of tinfoil. Her vagina has discharged a brownish syrupy fluid that smells like a sick animal, as if that rat had been forced back up in there, had been digested or something.

I spend the next fifteen minutes beside myself, pulling out a bluish rope of intestine, most of it still connected to the body, and shoving it into my mouth, choking on it, and it feels moist in my mouth and it's filled with some kind of paste which smells bad. After an hour of digging, I detach her spinal cord and decide to Federal Express the thing without cleaning it, wrapped in tissue, under a different name, to Leona Helmsley. I want to drink this girl's blood as if it were champagne and I plunge my face deep into what's left of her stomach, scratching my chomping jaw on a broken rib. The huge new television set is on in one of the rooms, first blaring out The Patty Winters Show, whose topic today is Human Dairies, then a game show, Wheel of Fortune, and the applause coming from the studio audience sounds like static each time a new letter is turned. I'm loosening the tie I'm still wearing with a blood-soaked hand, breathing in deeply. This is my reality. Everything outside of this is like some movie I once saw.

In the kitchen I try to make meat loaf out of the girl but it becomes too frustrating a task and instead I spend the afternoon smearing her meat all over the walls, chewing on strips of skin I ripped from her body, then I rest by watching a tape of last week's new CBS sitcom, Murphy Brown. After that and a large glass of J&B I'm back in the kitchen. The head in the microwave is now completely black and hairless and I place it in a tin pot on the stove in an attempt to boil any remaining flesh I forgot to shave off. Heaving the rest of her body into a garbage bag - my muscles, slathered with Ben-Gay, easily handling the dead weight - I decide to use whatever is left of her for a sausage of some kind.

A Richard Marx CD plays on the stereo, a bag from Zabar's loaded with sourdough onion bagels and spices sits on the kitchen table while I grind bone and fat and flesh into patties, and though it does sporadically penetrate how unacceptable some of what I'm doing actually is, I just remind myself that this thing, this girl, this meat, is nothing, is shit, and along with a Xanax (which I am now taking half-hourly) this thought momentarily calms me and then I'm humming, humming the theme to a show I watched often as a child - The Jetsons? The Banana Splits? Scooby Doo? Sigmund and the Sea Monsters? I'm remembering the song, the melody, even the key it was sung in, but not the show. Was it Lidsville? Was it H. R. Pufnstuf? These questions are punctuated by other questions, as diverse as "Will I ever do time?" and "Did this girl have a trusting heart?" The smell of meat and blood clouds up the condo until I don't notice it anymore. And later my macabre joy sours and I'm weeping for myself, unable to find solace in any of this, crying out, sobbing "I just want to be loved," cursing the earth and everything I have been taught: principles, distinctions, choices, morals, compromises, knowledge, unity, prayer - all of it was wrong, without any final purpose. All it came down to was: die or adapt. I imagine my own vacant face, the disembodied voice coming from its mouth: These are terrible times. Maggots already writhe across the human sausage, the drool pouring from my lips dribbles over them, and still I can't tell if I'm cooking any of this correctly, because I'm crying too hard and I have never really cooked anything before.

[vintagelasvegas]

Boulder Club in 1945 marked the beginning of the big neon spectaculars in Las Vegas.

It featured a scene in action on the front of the marquee, the movement of water flowing at Boulder Dam. The effect was created with a series of masks rotating on drums between the light and the hand-painted scene on translucent plastic. Young Electric Sign Co. (YESCO) created the sign, and opened their first shop in Las Vegas to oversee its full-time maintenance.

Prosper J. Goumond and partners opened Boulder Club 7/27/29 in their new 2-story building at 118 Fremont St. They had one of the first neon signs in Las Vegas. In the early 30s they upgraded their sign, the new one being the first major sign by YESCO in Las Vegas. Boulder Club later expanded into 120 Fremont St, doubling their frontage to 50-feet.

Thomas Young Sr., founder of YESCO, came to Las Vegas in 1945 to sell the new sign to the Boulder Club. His son Thomas Young Jr. says, "Dad sketched out the sign on butcher paper on a wall at El Cortez Hotel."

The marquee with the slogan “Enjoy the Old West” covered the 50 feet of 118-120 Fremont and extended 12 feet over the sidewalk. The top of the sign was 42 feet from the bottom to top, or as big as the building itself. The sign is constructed with an internal steel structure, welded, without the use of bolts, and supported by cantilever. Construction began in July and was completed in Fall.

Boulder Club announces completion of Nevada's Most Spectacular Giant Fluron-Neon Sign and New York Type Markee. See Boulder Dam in Action. Designed, Built, Originated: Young Electric Sign Co., plants at Salt Lake City and Las Vegas. - Review Journal, 10/20/45.

Sources: 2-Story Club to Be Built Soon. Las Vegas Age, 5/23/29 p1; New Sign for Boulder Club. Review-Journal, 7/13/45 p13; Boulder Club Sign A Dilly. Review-Journal, 7/17/45 p9; Thomas Young Jr. oral history interview (OH-03255), UNLV Special Collections & Archives.

16mm color film, circa '47/48: Prelinger Archives, Jamison Collection.

Below: (1) Young Electric Sign Co. (YESCO) installs the second Boulder Club sign, July 1945. Young Electric Sign Company (YESCO) Corporate Records (MS-00403), UNLV Special Collections. (2) Postcard, circa early 50s. The section reading, "Boulder Club: Bets from a Dime Up," was added circa '52, and removed in '55.

[yallthemwitches]

Chapter 5: Fifth Year

“What are you doing,” Lily sputters. Something about being out here with him feels raw , like they’ve entered some sort of in-between realm. His lip twitches and he tilts his face to follow the moon. “Working.”  “Oh yeah? On what?”  “On leaving you alone.”

Read on AO3 or under the cut!

In something that resembles irony, James and Severus’ apologies are practically interchangeable. 

I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t know. I would never. You must understand…

Like opposite sides of the same coin, they are relentless and just as equally, she refuses to forgive them. They move on eventually, but at night she replays the events by the lake in her head on an endless loop, sometimes exchanging their roles like actors in a play: James now being hoisted into the air, Severus asking her out, James’ mouth foaming with bubbles, Severus’ sneers of delight…

Even in her dreams James never says the word, but Severus does. Over and over and over.

A new normal begins to set and the moments she would have normally spent with Severus are left cold and vacant. She starts to drink at the quidditch parties—not getting pissed, but enough to where the world looks like a numb, warm interpretation of itself. She also starts to entertain boys’ advances, their faces like black clouds rolling in and out of her life, lingering long enough to ease the solitude but not enough to make it any less hollow.

Even with a bloke’s mouth hungry and hard and real on hers, it pales to the way boggart James had kissed her likeness.

“Did you like it? The idea of me snogging you?”   

She hates that the answer is yes. 

“You're being self destructive—it’s not cute,” Marlene says one night. She leans her hands on the armrests of the sofa and looms close to Lily’s face, demanding an explanation.

“I think that’s a matter of opinion.” 

“Lily. You got detention—I didn’t even know that was possible for prefects.”

Here it comes: the shame. It creeps around her, cutting at her skin while the dull chanting which has taken up permanent residence in her thoughts now pushes to the forefront. 

Mudblood Mudblood Mudblood Mudblood

Thankfully, the fire in the common room pops like a warning shot and snaps her back.

“Don’t be dramatic–Remus gets them all the time.”

Lily might as well have become poisonous by the way Marlene rears back. Eyeing her with incredulity.

“Do you even hear yourself? Who are you?”  

It’s a good question. Probably the biggest wanker of all. 

When she does get to sleep, her dreams creep in like a noxious gas, suffocating her until she gasps awake. They always start simple: flashes by the lake, blood flowing from James’ cheek, the word mudblood pulsing through the ground like a tremor. Then, things get weird: James’ blood becomes a wet, pasty brown; a plastic medical tube rises from Snape’s mouth. Each dream ends when her wand arm is replaced with a sickly, pock-marked one which James eyes with a sadness she knows too well.

“Have you tried muggle psychology?” Pandora hums while subbing for Remus on their patrols. If she questions his absences as much as she does, they never address it.

“Muggles are quite brilliant, actually. Xeny is adamant that their dream interpretation is just as good as any seer’s—”

The ever present chant of mudblood softens to let her sister’s voice enter. “You’re both just freaks who deserve to rot in a mental hospital,” she had said while her and Severus bent over a potions book at the kitchen table. She wonders if St. Mungos also has padded rooms where nutters bang at the walls. 

“You should try talking to them,” Pandora sighs.

“Who?”

“The dreams—they might talk back.”

But talking to dream James sounds just as horrifying as speaking to the real one. Once he stopped trying to apologize he kept his distance, only interacting with her when it was absolutely necessary. Sometimes she would catch his eyes on her before flitting off in some other direction. She hated that too— how her loneliness made her want his gaze to linger just a bit longer.

“Alright Evans?”

Unlike the various other times she has found him out after curfew over the year, he doesn’t even attempt to hide, calling out to her when she steps into the dark corridor. Something silken shimmers from his back pocket, then disappears.

“Y’know, I thought you were smarter than showing yourself to a prefect after hours.” 

His lips twitch, but a smile doesn’t appear.

“So you still think I’m smart, then.”

Her blood pressure rises so fast she becomes dizzy but she can’t make the same mistake of letting her anger surge again.

“Detention, Potter. Next week.”

She wishes he would whine like a child, maybe get on his knees and beg for forgiveness— something so she can know that he feels the pain that has taken up every square meter of her soul. Instead, he just turns, heading back into the darkness.

“As you wish, Evans.”

* * * *

That night she doesn’t dream of the lake incident at all, but of an ornate oak bed surrounded by a vast forest. James sits at the foot, smiling at her with the same broad, cracking grin she’s known since first year. His arms are outstretched and open for her and without hesitation she goes.

The trees sway overhead, casting trickles of light onto the bed spread. He takes her head in both hands and starts to kiss her, every press of his lips slipping her farther and farther away from the scene until, just like with the boggart, she is a spectator again to her own pleasure.

Now, dream Lily’s hands sweep into his hair, grabbing at the roots and tugging until something sprouts from the top of his head. They shoot through his thick curls like sturdy trunks: antlers. As they grow and twist, her hands latch onto them and bring him back for another kiss—then another and another until he pulls back and looks straight into real Lily’s eyes, irises a brilliant shining gold. 

Suddenly, it’s her in his arms again and she can feel the heat of his skin, the press of his lips, the tug of his fingers. The racks curl around her body like a protective cage and he holds her so close his breath rolls onto her cheek. She doesn’t even need to ask, he speaks on his own:

“Don’t worry, I’m still waiting.”

* * * *

She imagined detention being bad, but not torture.

“...Evans?”

Fucking hell. 

The color drains out of her face and the unmistakable clench of devil’s snare shoots up to curl around her heart. James stands in front of her at the treeline of the Forbidden Forest, a giant metal bucket swinging idly in his hand. 

“Hagrid got called away but he says we need to collect Flobberworms for the potion’s classroom reserve.”

She waits for his signature lazy half grin or at the very least an amused glint in his eye but neither come. Instead, he just blinks at her with disinterest, the bucket clanking on his thigh.

“Right. Well, let's get this over with then.”

She can’t help but feel hurt by his tone—like the idea of standing in a dangerous forest at night–with her– couldn’t be any more boring. Turning on his heel, he bounds into the thicket of trees and quickly becomes indistinguishable, the faint outline of his body growing smaller by the second.

“Potter—wait.”

She runs after him, her own bucket clanking at her side. James doesn’t stop, one hand shoved deep in his pocket while the other swings his pail like a child from a fairy tale. It would be almost cute if the circumstances weren’t so mortifying on multiple levels. 

“Potter! Jesus Christ— slow down!”

He doesn’t. Surely he hasn’t had enough detentions to know the forest this well. He twists his way through the brush, knowing where every thorn bush or poisonous vine lies waiting in their path. He’s light and quick on his feet too, able to find careful footing even in the most treacherous terrain. If she didn’t know any better, she would call it instinctual.

“They must be out there with him somehow,” Severus had said during one of the many conspiracy tirades about Remus over the years. “They are up to something—probably think they are so smart too, but I���m gonna sort it out.”

“James—for Merlin’s sake…”

He stops abruptly and his body stiffens. She stops too, eyes darting around the thick expanse of the wood. 

“What is it? Did you see somethi—?”

“You called me James,” he interrupts, voice sharp.

It's the first time he has looked at her all evening and she is thankful for the darkness. Her cheeks are on fire.

“What?”

“You called me James—just now. You never do that.”

Some moonlight breaches the edge of a cloud and the light trickles through the treeline to dance against their silhouettes, littering patterns on the forest floor.

Wait, where have I seen this?

“Well, you weren’t slowing down,” she says, dismissive. The weight of his stare pierces her and she shifts uncomfortably. His glasses refract the moonlight like beams. 

“Right.”

When he begins moving again, his steps are noticeably slower. They make it to a clearing that is cut by a small creek and the trees thin out enough to see the Scottish mountains looming in the distance. The speckled lights from Hogsmeade twinkle like fallen, collected stars.

With a groan, James throws his pail down and lays next to the creek, propping himself on his elbows. He tilts his head up to the sky and closes his eyes, letting the moonlight wash over him. It’s the calmest he’s ever been around her. 

“What are you doing,” Lily sputters. Something about being out here with him feels raw , like they’ve entered some sort of in-between realm. His lip twitches and he tilts his face to follow the moon.

“Working.” 

“Oh yeah? On what?” 

“On leaving you alone.”

It shoots a zap through her spine, cold and dark through her bones.

“Well, we are supposed to be collecting flobberworms,” she bites, “We’re serving detention, remember?”

His jaw twitches. “Don’t worry we will—but the night is young, Evans. Might as well enjoy it.” 

A long silence falls. She shifts her weight, turning her head every so often in the direction of a rustle in the distance. It’s the longest she has ever seen James go without making a sound—the quiet somehow more irritating than the endless nonsense he is prone to spewing on a daily basis. For once—maybe ever—she wishes he would say something. 

“So–what did you do?”

Perhaps he’s a mind reader.

“I thought you were leaving me alone,” she spits. She crosses her arms over her chest and her bucket thunks against her stomach. It gets a smile out of him—a measly curve of the lip. 

“I said I was working on it—c’mon Evans. It’s a beautiful night and we have hours to kill. Regale me with your tales of debauchery.”

She takes a long heaving sigh. It would be shocking that he hadn’t already heard what happened from the insatiable cycle of Hogwarts gossip but that’s not the point.

He wants to hear it from you.

“I hexed someone.”

His lips twitch, a grin threatening to make an appearance.

“Lucky bloke—how’d he get such an honor?”

“ She— Narcissa Black if we are going to be specific.”

It makes James bolt upward, a hand taking a sharp pass through his hair. Maybe he didn’t know.

“No shit,” he whistles. His unbridled appreciation makes her flush, “If you weren’t my dream girl before— wow.” 

It comes out before he even realizes it. She can feel her face burning again and the devil’s snare on her heart gives a violent squeeze. 

Embarrassed, he turns away and clears his throat, absently brushing the bottom of his trousers.

“I mean–what did she do?”

Again, the dull chanting rises. Mudblood mudblood mudblood mudblood mudblood.

“Nothing my ex-best friend hasn’t already done.”

All the joy that had lifted onto James’ face sinks in an instant. 

“Well—you’d think they’d learn to be more creative at this rate, eh.”

They sit in silence again and she’s sure he can feel it too—the topic neither of them want to broach looming like a hippogriff. The thought of rehashing it again and with him brings bile to her throat. Some Gryffindor you are.

“And you? Blow up any good toilets?” She deflects. 

James turns to her, confused. “Me? Evans, you gave this detention.”

Goddammit, I did. 

He stands and the way the moonlight twists around the lines in his features creates a whole other type of twisting inside her stomach. 

“As much as I hate to say it, I think it’s time to do our penance Miss Evans.”

For the first time that night, his tone is lighter, almost normal. He picks up his bucket and gives it a hearty clank against hers, causing some birds to startle. Humming under his breath, he lopes his way to the other side of the clearing, crossing the rushing creek with ease. 

“There’s loads of the buggers over this way. I think someone tried to plant a sort of garden back here at some point with no luck—sorry bastards.”

She catches up, trying to follow the pattern his feet took to cross the jagged rocks of the creek. 

“And how do you know all this? Do you come out here a lot?” 

He doesn’t turn around, but his shoulders stiffen. “Nah...just some stuff I’ve picked up—ah, here we go!”

He leads them into another small clearing where curling leaves litter the ground in small round clumps. What is left of the cabbage patch is infested with flobberworms—dozens writhing on every leaf to chew tiny holes into the lettuce. James gets to work, carefully ripping off pieces of leaves and shaking the insects into his bucket. They drop making a soft, satisfying thump as they start filling up. 

While he works, she can’t help but watch him—the moonlight flowing through the strands of untidy hair until they form a glowing disc that reminds her of a renaissance painting. It feels impossible to meld the image in front of her with the boy who has tormented her for years. His head whips up and the gold in his eyes flickers in her direction— another flash of deja vu. 

“Now don’t tell me you are going to make me do all the work—not that I don’t deserve it,” James calls. 

Heaving a sigh, she goes to the other side of the row and begins shaking flobberworms into her bucket, trying to control the urge to watch him again.

“This must be the dream for you Evans.”

She looks up to catch his gaze. This time he’d been watching her. 

“Why do you say that?”

“Don’t you remember? I found you absolutely covered in these things’ guts back in third.”

Of course she remembers. It was maybe one of the most embarrassing moments of her life. 

“Those were slug bits—and it wasn’t intentional. I was….”

Pathetic. An idiot. Absolutely obsessed with you. 

“ —upset.”

Just like that everything shifts again—all the bad blood between them that has been culminating since third year pouring out onto the cold earth.

His eyes drag across her face, an intensity darkening his irises.

“What do you want from me, Evans?” 

Nothing. Everything.

“Potter...” she begins, but he cuts her off, voice sharp.

“No–I’m serious. Tell me what to do and I’ll do it. I’ve tried apologising and you won’t listen—hell, I’ve tried spilling my heart to you and you won’t listen either. I’m not expecting you to be all chummy with me, but I need something.”

She rears back, fingers trembling against the handle of her bucket. Spilled his heart? When?

He must be mistaken. All of the times they have ever talked he has only been arrogant and entitled. Sure, he had asked her out (twice!) but neither instances could have been serious…could they? 

No, both times he was just caught up. Once with the rumor, then with the boggart. He doesn’t actually care about you. 

But he is still waiting—and, by the looks of it, is willing to wait forever.

"Eat one.”

She points down at the writhing expanse of flobberworms in the garden, trying to keep her voice steady. And you thought he was immature.

He rears back, from shock or disgust or amusement, she can’t really tell. 

“Excuse me?”

“Go on, eat a flobberworm. Then I’ll accept your stupid apology.”

He looks down into the bucket where at least a hundred writhe on top of each other like a mass of black muck. When he looks back up, his eyes glitter in amusement.

She hates how it still makes her heart swoop.

“But—these are living creatures, Evans,” he whines, “Fruit of the earth! My dad’s potions business would be nothing without these little dudes—I’m practically obligated to show them respect.” 

She’s smiling too, she can’t help it—it's just so dumb but so perfect. If he wants to act like a child all the time, then let punishment fit the crime. 

“Don’t care. Eat the flobberworm Potter or I’ll die angry with you.”

A real smile now, a dastardly, confident one. 

“Well, when you put it like that.”

He reaches into the bucket and pulls one out, the slime of its two mouths leaving a line of mucus trailing out of the pail. He shoots her a challenging smirk and tilts his head back, opening his mouth wide while the worm dangles dramatically high in the air. 

Her heart speeds up—not from the dare, but how impossibly good he looks despite it all. The arch of his eyebrow, the glint in his eye, the moonlight in his hair…everything together along with that disgusting flobberworm makes it a confusing image she simply isn’t ready to unpack. 

His hand twitches to let it drop and Lily lurches forward, making a sound that is neither shriek nor laugh. Satisfaction surges across his face.

“No, Christ Potter. Don’t do it, I take it back.”

He brings his hand down with a laugh—a bright, beautiful one that rips right through time and brings her back to every moment she’s ever heard it. 

Giving her a triumphant grin, he leans in towards his palm and coos to the worm.

“Well little guy, we are both very lucky Evans is forgiving.”

A laugh bubbles up and she lets herself go, clenching her stomach for air. It feels freeing—something she was certain she wasn’t going to feel until she got back home in the summer, maybe not even then. She can feel James staring and looks up to find his gaze soft and glassy. 

“You were really going to do that to stop me being upset with you,”she says, laughter still tingling in her voice.

“Er, yes?” Even in the moonlight, his blush is unmistakable.

“It means that much to you?”

What she really means goes unsaid: Do I mean that much to you?

“I told you I would do anything,” he says simply, dropping the worm back into the bucket. He is all smiles again, his eyes eager and full. 

But he doesn’t care about you, remember?

“So, are we good?”

Are they?

But he doesn’t wait for a response, taking a step towards her until he is in arm's length. It’s the closest he’s been since the lake—since maybe the day in third where he rounded her up against the wall. Even after all these years, the flutter of wings awaken in her stomach.

“Well, if we are, I want to propose something to you, but I need you to give me the floor—and before you say I talk too much already, I’ll try to keep it short and to the point.”

All she can do is blink at him, his closeness mixed with the words coming out of his mouth making her brain feel like jelly. 

“I want us to start over—you know–a blank slate.”

“Blank…slate?”

“Yeah, Blank slate. Tabula Rasa, new beginnings, a fresh start—whatever you want to call it, Evans. I want that. ”

She tries to hold back a blush, but it’s impossible. She should tell him to bugger off—to take his smile and eagerness and especially the moonlight in his hair somewhere far away from her. 

But she won’t.

“I never pegged you as a French philosophy sort of bloke,” is all she says, the attempt at humor betrayed by a tremble in her voice. 

“What can I say, I’m full of surprises.”

Something shifts between them and the air suddenly becomes warm, the wind even blowing humid against her face. How much closer would they need to be to embrace like the boggart version of themselves? Centimeters? 

“And what does this blank slate entail then, hm?”

Instead of responding, he moves abruptly and she has to steady herself not to stumble forward, unaware she had begun leaning towards him. He walks a few meters away and taking a big breath, he turns back to face her. His smile is as bright as any star. 

“Hello there. I’m James Fleamont Potter.”

He approaches her, arm outstretched for a handshake. Her heart thuds against her ribcage and she eyes his hand warily, arching an eyebrow. 

“Fleamont?”

Impossibly, he smiles wider. “We’ve just met and you are insulting my middle name? If you weren’t so beautiful and charming I would be offended.”

“Potter.” 

He just laughs and gives his outstretched hand a little shake, urging her to grasp it. 

“C’mon Evans, humor me."

She should hate him for it—how bloody chuffed he is to play this charade. Hesitant, she grasps his hand and his fingers curl around hers like a protective cage. 

Like a vision, dream James’ voice rings sharp into her memory.

Don’t worry, I’m still waiting.

“I’m Lily Marie Evans.”

His eyes blaze, gold and green twisting even in the darkness.

“A pleasure meeting you here amongst the flobberworms.”

After they shake, she feels James hesitation. His eyes glued to their hands. 

“There—blank slate."

But it's not is it? It's a truce.

The beating of wings start to take up her insides. Dropping her hand, he starts to busy himself with his bucket, taking one last batch of flobberworms from a lettuce leaf and shaking them into the pail. When he comes back to her, she can tell he has been blushing. 

“We should get back—Hagrid probably thinks we got mauled out here.”

Again, he is so close—closer, she realizes, than she has ever wanted any of those blokes she wasted her time with to be to her. His eyes keep flickering down to her hand then back up to her face and a small part of her thinks they are thinking the same thing. 

“Hey James—”

At the sound of his first name, he flushes. A grin spreading so quick it's infectious. It’s a white flag. An acceptance of friendship.

“Yeah Lily?” 

“It’s a beautiful night, can we just sit here for a while longer?”

Not a grin, but something bigger. Something so joyful, she’s sure he is the only one capable of it.

“That’s very forward for you to ask seeing we just met,” he teases, slamming his bucket down on the forest floor.

“But I guess I’ll permit it—since you asked nicely.

[frumfrumfroo]

Imagine making a film series like Star Wars and framing the triumphant romantic kiss as 'goodbye'... I still can't believe they made that film. Obvs that's probably how Daisy Ridley interprets it, not necessarily how it was framed (which was lacking narrative altogether), but it's still miserable. It's not even Romeo & Juliet vaunted romantic tragedy. It just sucks.

I do pity the poor anons who are waiting for some sort of different outcome with a new ST film. Studio executives will never look at the critical failure of TROS (it was a commercial success though) and think the takeaway was 'maybe we shouldn't have fractured the SW myth', it's 'oh, okay, let's never deviate ever again, damn that blasted TLJ' - just look at how JJ and co. tried to retroject TROS' failures onto the previous film. Course correction, course correction. Rey Film, if it gets made, will be DO YOU REMEMBER THIS? self-flagellating apology. Ben Solo will never return.

Yeah, anyone trying to come up with any positive spin on it, including desperate attempts to see it as effective tragedy, are doomed to failure. Only by completely ignoring the context and taking the moment by itself carried only on the actors' performances as continuity from TLJ without any of the terrible fucking tros script in the way can the kiss actually mean something.

As soon as you try to make tros into any kind of story or draw any kind of sincere message from it, you immediately run into the brick wall of what a soulless, nonsensical piece of trash it is.

I had a whole rant about how it's not Romeo and Juliet and I am still so annoyed how often people draw the comparison, both utterly missing the point of R&J and giving tros credit which it does not deserve by imagining it assigns any meaning to Ben's death whatsoever.

Yep. We've seen them do nothing but triple down. They have no idea why the movie was such an embarrassing wet fart. Rey the sexless eternal child will never be challenged again, she'll go on a worship tour of references, places, and objects to do reverence as the Brand Avatar. She's not a character any more and she's never going to be again.

[raatart]

a complete boycott list in alphabetical order

a complete list of companies / brands / franchises to boycott in support of palestine that i have been working on putting together for a while now.

remember to support your local businesses

stand with palestine against genocide

(Food & Beverages)

A

Activia

Acqua Panna

Akmina

Absolute Vodka

Algida

A&W

Aquafina

Alpro

Actimel

B

Burger King

Baskin Robbins

Ben & Jerry's

Bugles

Betty Crocker

Badoit

Becel

C

Coca Cola

Costa Coffee

Cadbury

Cheerios

Cheetos

Campbells

Calve

Cappy

Chiquita

D

Dominos

Dasani

Dunkin' Donuts

Doritos

Dr Pepper

Danone

Dolcela

Damla

Dogadan

E

Evian

Eden

F

Fanta

Frito-lay

Fruit by the Foot Roll Ups

Falim

Fresca

G

Gatorade

Greggs

H

Hardees

Haagen Dazs

Heinz Ketchup

Hershey's

Hard Rock Cafe

Heinz

I

Innocent

Israeli Fruits & Vegetables

J

Jacob's

Jaffa

K

KitKat

KFC

Kbueno

Kraft Mac & Cheese

Kellogg's

Kraft

L

Lipton

Lays

M

McDonald's

Mars

Marks & Spencers

Maggi

Marila

Monster

Mountain Dew

Mehadrin

Minute Maid

Milk Bar

M&M's

Magnum Ice Cream

Milka Chocolates

N

Nestle

Nestle Cereals

Nescafe

Nesquik

Nespresso

Nido

Nutella

Nature Valley

Nestle Milo

Nestle Carnation

Nestle Coffee Mate

Nestle Nestum

Nimbooz

Nestea

O

Orea

Original Shredded Wheat

P

Papa John's

Pepsi

Pringles

Pizza Hut

Perrier

Pillsbury

Popeyes

Pretty a Manager

Pure Life

Powerade

Popup Bagels

Q

Quality Street

Quaker

R

Redbull

Ruffles

S

Starbucks

Subway

Smartwater

Sweetgreen

Snickers

Sprite

Sabra

Sunkist

Strauss

Smarties

S.pellegrino

Schweppes

Sana

Sirma

Sara Lee

T

Toblerone

Tang

Twix

Tesco

Tropicana

U

V

Vittle

Volvic

W

Wall's

Walmart

Walkers

Wrigley's

X

Y

Z

7Up

(Clothing)

A

America Eagle

Adidas

Alo

Adina Eden Jewelry

B

C

Converse

Calvin Klein

Cat

Castro

D

Drew

Diesel

E

F

G

Good American

GAP

H

H&M

I

J

K

Kamili

L

Levi's

Lumberjack

M

Mango

N

Nike

O

Oasis

P

Puma

Q

R

River Island

S

Skims

Skinny Dip

St. Mark

Style Nadia

T

Timberland

U

V

Victoria's Secret

Vakko

W

We Wore That

Wyeth

X

Y

Z

Zara

(Beauty)

A

Aveda

Amika

Avon

Aussie

Aveeno

Always

Aesop

Ahava

B

Bobbi Brown

Blistex

Bath & Body Works

Britney Spears Fragrance

Becca

Biotherm

Beauty Blender

C

Clinique

Covergirl

Colgate

Calgon

Camay

CeraVe

Christina Aguilera Perfumes

Clean & Clear

Crest

CND

Cacharel

D

Dr. Jart+

Dove

Dettol

Darphin Paris

Dark & Lovely

E

Essie

Elidor

F

Fenty Beauty

Fair & Lovely

G

Garnier

Gillette

Glam Glow

H

Honest Beauty

Haci Sakir

Herbal Essences

Head & Shoulders

Hugo Boss

I

J

Jo Malone

Johnson & Johnsom

K

Kerastase

Kiehl's

Kylie Cosmetics

Kylie Skin

Kotex

L

L'Oreal

Lacome

La Roche-Posey

Lifebuoy

Lux

Lubiderm

M

Maybelline

MAC

Moroccan Oil

Maui

Matrix

Max Factor

N

Nyx

Neutrogena

Nivea

Nature's Beauty

Niely

O

Olay

Origins

Orkid

Oral-B

Oax

P

Pepsodent

Pantene

Q

R

Revlon

Rimmel

Rexona

Rhode

S

Summer Fridays

Schick

Smashbox

Sephora

Sensodyne

Skinceuticals

Skin Better Science

T

The Body Shop

Too Faced Cosmetics

The Ordinary

Tom Ford Beauty

Tampax

Takami

U

Urban Decay

Ulta Beauty

V

Vichy

Vaseline

Veet

W

X

Y

Yes to

Yuesai

Z

(Luxury)

A

B

C

Chanel

D

E

Estee Lauder

F

G

Georgio Armani

H

I

J

K

L

LVMH

Louis Vuitton

La Mer

Lavs

Le Labo

M

Mugler

Maison Margiela

N

O

P

Prada

Q

R

Raplh Lauren

S

T

Tiffany & Co.

Tom Ford

Tommy Hilfiger

U

V

Valentino

W

X

Y

Yves Saint Laurent

Z

(Tech & Entertainment)

A

Aol

Amazon

AirBnB

Apple

B

BBC

Buxton

Barbie

Booking.com

C

CNN

D

Disney+

Dell

E

Energizer

F

Ford

Fiverr

G

Galaxy

H

HP

Hyundai

Hulu

I

IBM

Intel

J

K

L

Lego

M

Motorola

Movenpick

Mattel

Microsoft

N

National Geographic

Nokia

Netflix

O

Oracle

Oxi

P

Philips

Q

R

Rolls Royce

S

Siemens

Sodastream

T

Toys R Us

U

V

Volvo

Valvoline

W

Wix

X

Y

Z

(Other)

A

Axa

Ariel

Aero

Ambi Pur

Airwick

Aroma

AVC

Amway

Ace Hardware

Andrex

American Express

B

Bounty

Black & Decker

Bonux

Bref

Braun

Benadryl

Band-aid

Barclays

Blue Cross Blue Shield

Better Help

C

Caltex

Chevron

Culligan

Citi Bank

Chicco

Cravola

Clearblue

Capital One

D

Dash

Drynites

Dosmestos

Doona

E

Expedia

F

Finish

Febreeze

Fixodent

Fairy

G

Goop

Gerber

Gys

H

HSBC

Huggies

Hayat

I

Imodium

J

JCB

K

Kimberly-Clark

Kleenex

L

Lion

Little Swimmers

Lenor

M

Mr Muscle

Minidou

Monsanto

N

Nicorette

O

Omo

P

Pampers

Purina Felix

Payoneer

Palmolive

Protex

Pull-ups

P&G

Prima

Pril

Paramount Pictures

Q

R

Rejoice

Rinso

Rogaine

S

Signal

Sensus

Sudafed

T

Tide

U

Unilever

Us Cellular

V

Vim

Vanish

Vicks

W

X

Y

Yumus

Z

(Places)

A

B

C

D

Disney

E

F

G

H

I

J

K

L

M

N

O

P

Q

R

S

T

U

V

W

X

Y

Z

(People)

A

Ashley Tisdale

Amy Schumer

Andy Beshear

B

Bono

Ben Savage

Bella Thorne

Beyonce

C

Chris Evans

Claire Holt

Ciara

Chris Rock

Chris Pine

D

Demi Lovato

Dwayne Johnson

DJ Khaled

E

Eva Longoria

F

G

Gal Gadot

H

I

Ian Somerhalder

J

Jamie Lee Curtis

James Maslow

Justin Bieber

Jennifer Aniston

Jaclyn Hill

Jack Harlow

Jordan Peele

Joseph Quinn

Jack Black

K

Kylie Jenner

Kim Kardashian

Kris Jenner

Kerry Washington

Katie Perry

Karlie Kloss

Khloe Kardashian

Kat Graham

Kendall Jenner

Kourtney Kardashian

L

Lebron James

Lana Condor

Lana Del Rey

M

Millie Bobby Brown

Malala

Mindy Kaling

Mark Hamill

Madonna

N

NFL

Nina Dobrev

Natalie Portman

Nabela

Nicole Richie

Noah Schnapp

O

Octovia Spencer

P

Perez Hilton

Paul Wesley

Phoebe Tonkin

Pia Mia

P!nk

Q

R

Ronaldinho

Rihanna

S

Sofia Richie

Shaquir O'neal

Selena Gomez

T

Tara Strong

Taika Waititi

Taylor Swift

Tyler Perry

U

Usher

U2

V

Vanessa Hudgens

Viola Davis

W

X

Y

Z

[anghraine]

Best friend update:

While waiting for a movie to start, he and I made some kind of murder joke for some reason I no longer recall. A younger friend of ours was having a long day and went O_O, so I just added, "I mean, murdering me might cause problems, my corpse wouldn't fit in the trunk…" and J (my bff) immediately got it and replied, "Not with that attitude!" She broke down laughing, and J and I were like, "our 25-year friendship is founded on being totally cool and normal people."

On a different occasion, while reassuring her that identifying with angry marginalized villains rather than Good Representation(TM) is entirely common and normal and in fact an ancient venerable tradition, J used himself as an example: the most relatable Shakespeare character for him is Shylock and as a former theatre kid, there's no one he would rather perform on the stage. She didn't know who Shylock is, which was kind of great because J got to breathlessly explain how Shylock did nothing wrong and dramatically perform the "If you prick us, do we not bleed?" speech in the middle of a crowded diner.

(Note: J follows in the other ancient and venerable tradition of Jewish atheism.)

Speaking of J's atheism, he often jokes that his strongest religious devotion is to Star Trek (he basically relates to it the same way I do to P&P). We've been watching TOS together, which I had virtually no memory of outside the films, and mostly having a huge blast with it. We were recently discussing the romantic inclinations of all the captains we care about, and my fandom osmosis understanding of Janeway/Chakotay (Janeway was his hero as a child), and he admitted that he liked it a lot as a kid, but the Star Trek ship he really truly loves the most is .......... Sisko/Jadzia Dax. As he was very earnestly explaining the greatness of his ship, I was charmed anew, lol—the first time I went over to his house when we were 13, I was deeply impressed by his geek creds via the Enterprise blueprints he had on his wall, and some things don't much change.

(He's not in online fandom at all because he hates social media, but if he wrote fanfic for anything, it would be ST.)

But he's also the person who properly introduced me to Star Wars when we were in high school and got me into it back then, and we've happily spent hours dissecting things we both love and/or are frustrated by. Though I prefer SW and he prefers ST, ours is a household of Star Peace <3

[chlobliviate]

Wolfstar Microfic- Father Christmas

Words: 834

@wolfstarmicrofic

🌙✨🎄✨🌙

“Who is this guy?” Sirius said as they walked through the shopping centre. “He’s everywhere!”

“That’s Santa.” Remus stared at him. “Santa Claus? Father Christmas? St Nicholas?”

“Father Christmas?” Sirius screwed up his face. “Is there a Mother Christmas?”

“Well, he’s often depicted as having a wife, but she tends to be called Mrs Claus.” Remus reasoned. “But then there’s Mother Nature but no Father Nature.”

“Maybe Father Christmas and Mother Nature are together,” Sirius said. “What’s Mother Nature?”

“Oh, that’s a whole other thing. Not related to Christmas at all” Remus laughed, “Let's just focus on getting Christmas presents, and hot chocolate and then go home.”

While Fleamont, Euphemia and James had pre-booked plans to visit family in Goa during the Christmas break, Hope and Lyall Lupin had invited Sirius to stay at their home with Remus. He would have been happy to remain at Hogwarts, but Remus promised him all the muggle Christmas delights he could ask for if he came home with him, so who was he to say no. Plus, spending time with Remus, just with Remus was something he found himself craving more and more. But he tried very hard not to think about what that could possibly mean.

So here they were, walking through the German Christmas Market, hands brushing occasionally, sending shivers up Remus’ spine, and down Sirius’.

“So, Father Christmas.” Sirius started. “Whose father is he? Is this to do with that chap Jesus? Is he Jesus' dad?”

“It’s not… He's not Jesus' dad, no. It’s a lie that muggle parents tell their kids. That Father Christmas or Santa brings them presents on Christmas Day, but really, the parents buy them. They say that Santa lives at The North Pole and magically can fit all the presents into a sleigh and deliver them all over the world in one night.”

“Well, he could be using an extension charm and apparating. It’s not so far-fetched.”

Remus sighed, “Yes, but muggles don’t know about those things. They just go ‘oooooh it’s magic’ and get on with it, not asking any questions.”

They walked up to the Hot Chocolate Stall and Remus got them each a hot chocolate with the commemorative mugs. It would be nice to take them back to school and have matching mugs in the dormitory. An image of the two of them curled up in bed together on a cold morning, clutching matching steaming mugs made him choke on his hot chocolate.

“Hey, easy!” Sirius chuckled as he rubbed Remus’ back gently.

They sat down on the stone wall that surrounded the fountain nicknamed by locals as ‘The Floozy in the Jacuzzi’ and Remus took another sip of the hot chocolate. It was incredible. He hummed in contentment, not missing the look Sirius gave him as he did so.

“I can’t believe your family never did Christmas,” Remus said softly. “I mean, I could rant for the whole of December about consumerism and capitalism ruining muggle Christmas, but it’s such a wonderful time of year. I used to love writing my letter to Father Christmas. Circling things in the Argos catalogue.”

“In the what?” Sirius asked, “Argoscatalogue?”

“Oh, there’s a shop called— Never mind. It was like a big book with everything you could ever want in it. Jewellery, tools, clothes, toys, musical instruments, furniture. And there was a new one every year, and a lot of muggle parents, like my mom, would bring home one of these books and get kids to look through for ideas of what they’d like Santa to bring them.”

“So you just wrote this man a letter saying ‘please give me these items’?” Sirius blinked at him. “And this is a genuine muggle tradition, not just a strange Lupin one?”

“Well, yes I guess that’s the long and short of it.” Remus nodded, “But it’s also a bribery thing. Santa only brings toys to good kids, and there’s a song about it that literally says ‘he sees you when you’re sleeping, he knows when you’re awake, he knows if you’ve been bad or good, so be good for goodness sake.’.”

“That is… the most terrifying thing I've ever heard. ‘Hey kids, this old man is watching you sleep, but it's ok because he’s going to bring you presents’?”

“Well when you word it like that, Padfoot...” Remus laughed, exasperated. “I think it’s just one of those things that is so ingrained into muggle culture. Well, some muggle culture. Not everyone celebrates Christmas but that is most definitely a conversation for another day. I’m not getting into muggle religion with you in the middle of town.”

“So how do people know what he looks like?” Sirius asked as they got up, put the mugs in Remus’ bag and walked towards the shops. “Because everyone has him looking the same. Wearing the same thing even. Are you sure he’s not real? Maybe he’s a wizard, and just doesn’t want people to know he’s real.”

“Yeah… maybe you're right,” Remus said wearily.

[nausikaaa]

Six Sentence Sunday

thanks for tagging me @run-for-chamo-miles @that-disabled-princess and @orange-peony!

classicstober 2024's prompts have been announced and i'm super excited because it's historical figures! my obsession with Roman non-fiction and biographies has finally paid off!

i thought it would be a good opportunity to jumpstart my writing brain by writing lots of short and snappy things. and so today, i've written 1000 or so words for Regina of South Shields, who i've had the pleasure of visiting!

i'm about to ramble, so i'm putting it under a cut. also warning, i've included photos of a tombstone and a human skeleton. if you just want to read the six sentences and not see them, scroll fast right to the bottom.

so, this is Regina. or rather, her tombstone, discovered by builders in 1878, and a reconstruction of how it might have looked when it was erected. if you haven't heard of her, which is understandable, she was a British woman from modern day St Albans (near London) during the Roman occupation of Britain. she was sold as a slave (did her family need money? was she born a slave? we don't know) and bought by a man named Barates, from Palmyra, a city in modern day Syria, who was either a soldier or at least travelling with the Roman army. they moved to a garrison close to Hadrian's Wall in what is now South Shields in the north east, and Barates fell in love with Regina. he freed her and they got married.

her tombstone is mostly important because it tells us that a Syrian man was in Britain during this time, and since her tombstone has Palmyrene script on it, and the chances he engraved his own wife's tombstone are slim, there was likely at least one other Syrian person who could engrave headstones around. which suggests that there was a whole group! the name of the Roman fort in South Shields was Arbeia, which could even mean "the place of the arabs."

it's estimated that a third of people in Britain during the Roman occupation were long distance migrants, and most were not slaves, as is often assumed. Ivory Bangle Lady, who I have also visited in York Museum and who lived around the same time, is believed to have come from Africa. and she was a wealthy free woman!

but what about Regina? well, we know she was from the Catuvellauni tribe, and that she died aged 30. we can assume she spun wool as she's depicted doing so on the tombstone, which was a respectable pastime for Roman women, and she's shown wearing lots of jewellery, so she probably led a comfortable life.

but we don't know how she felt about her marriage, as her tombstone is in Barates' words. did she love him back, or was she under duress to marry him to improve her own prospects? did they have children? did she have friends in Arbeia? did she have to learn Aramaic or Latin to communicate with Barates, or did he know Celtic? we simply don't know. so much of her personality has been lost to time.

so my challenge was to write something that pieces together various possibilities to create what could be an approximation of who Regina was. to give her some life, a voice, and at least a bit of agency.

okay. enough preamble. here's six lines:

I had grown and reached my twentieth year, and as the dark circles beneath my eyes disappeared and the warmer months led me to abandon my woollen cloak, I noticed men's behaviour towards me change. I am not the type to play at being coy- I knew they found me attractive. With my white skin, red hair, and pale blue eyes, I was exotic to them. I stood out.

I noticed Barates' behaviour change too. I realised I had a choice to make.

if you want to know more about Regina, my main source is this podcast by Mary Beard, but i also took inspiration from the book Roman Woman by Lindsay Allason-Jones.

tags: @forabeatofadrum @j-nipper-95 @artsyunderstudy @prettygoododds @confused-bi-queer @imagineacoolusername @ic3-que3n @aristocratic-otter @larkral @hushed-chorus @ivelovedhimthroughworse @shemakesmeforget @fatalfangirl @ebbpettier @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @cutestkilla @youarenevertooold @alexalexinii @shrekgogurt @bookish-bogwitch @thewholelemon @supercutedinosaurs @shutup-andletme-go @theearlgreymage @ileadacharmedlife @alleycat0306 @carryonsimoncarryonbaz @comesitintheclover @noblecorgi @roomwithanopenfire and @blackberrysummerblog

[solarwoniii]

fantasizing - yang jungwon

THIS FANFIC CONTAINS SMUT !! PROCEED READING AT YOUR OWN RISK

contains - fem!reader, both reader and jw are subby and inexperienced ehe, lots of fantasizing dirty stuff ab each other, first time sex, established relationship, fluffy smut, penetration (let me know if i missed anything!)

word count - 1k

"a-ah, y/n." he gasped out your name as he fully bottomed out. his sweaty palm found your shaky hand, encasing it in his as he pecked soft kisses down your jaw, "i-i love you."

"j-jungwon, you're so big." you whispered, feeling your cheeks go pink from bashfulness as he looked down between the both of you to see where his thick length was buried deep inside of you.

"am i? does it hurt?"

you shook your head and bit your bottom lip, "it feels r-really good."

"wh-what am i meant to do now?" he asked shyly.

"i think you're supposed to thru-st."

jungwon tightened his hold on your hand as he pulled himself out a little, slamming himself back in sloppily.

sloppily, but perfectly. the both of you threw your heads back in bliss.

"god, y/n, you feel s-so good."

it was so dirty. the other members were just in the next room, merely a wall away, and what were the two of you doing? the door didn't even have a lock on it. anyone could walk in on this at any moment.

you still didn't even know how this had begun. you had just been laying beside each other when jungwon kissed you.

he always kissed you. there was nothing strange about that.

but this time was different. this time there was a strange feeling to the kiss. it felt desperate and heated and...

amazing.

before you even knew it he was kissing your neck and taking off your clothes.

the both of you had talked about sex before. once. back in high school, before you'd even had your first kiss, before you'd even started crushing on him. it was a short, uncomfortable, awkward conversation. what the both of you got out of that was that you were both virgins. two sweet, innocent, extremely sexually challenged virgins.

since then neither of you had ever even gotten close to the point of doing such a thing with each other. he was your sweet, innocent boyfriend who turned into a tomato just from kissing with tongue. and you were his sweet, innocent girlfriend who got crazy flustered from prolonged eye contact.

but here you were. two sweet, innocent, extremely sexually challenged virgins, fucking each other.

it'd be a lie to say that you hadn't thought about jungwon in this way. you had always been attracted to him. in a lot more ways than just one.

sometimes you craved for him more than you even knew you could. sometimes you would feel a strange sensation between your legs and rub yourself against couch cushions at the thought of him to relieve the ache. sometimes you would be two fingers deep inside of yourself and think about how much nicer it would feel if it was instead his slender digits making you feel good. sometimes you would be so close to climax at the thought of him, and before even thinking you would whimper out his name as you came undone all over yourself.

and you felt so perverted every time you did it.

but nothing was more perverse than what was happening in the present.

you gasped as jungwon slammed himself even harder into you. you felt your entrance clench around his member. his long, thick member which you'd fantasized about whilst touching yourself. his million dollar member which you'd seen bulge up before and immediately get wet at the sight of.

but nothing compared to the feeling. the feeling was perfect. he stretched you out and filled you up just right.

"you don't understand-" he cut himself off with a shudder as he thrusted himself inside of you again, "h-how long i've wanted this."

and he was right. because he'd been just as needy for you as you had been for him.

sometimes he yearned for you more than he even knew he could. sometimes he woke up in the middle of the night horny and humped his pillow to your angelic sleeping face. sometimes he would be so desperate for you that he would pull up pictures of you on his phone and touch himself, imagining how beautiful you'd look if his right hand was your hole instead. sometimes he would get hard in public and go to the bathroom to relieve his cock, wishing that you were in there to help him.

and he felt so perverted every time he did it.

but nothing was more perverse than what was happening in the present.

he felt the knot in his stomach tighten as he fucked himself into you at a more fluent pace now, finally getting the hang of it.

jungwon moaned softly as he looked down at your core, watching your pretty little clit twitch as your pussy clenched around his cock again. your wet, tight pussy which he'd stayed up entire nights imagining. your million dollar pussy which he was sure felt better than anything else on earth.

he didn't know what came over him today. he'd been able to control his dirty fantasies of you all this time. maybe it was his hard-on and the adorable pyjama set you were wearing that made him lose his mind.

whatever it was, he was glad for it. he felt so good at this very moment, he was sure he'd explode before he even got to cum.

and you were the same. you were squirming under him and babbling small moans of his name as you tried your hardest to accommodate his perfect thrusts into your messy hole.

"f-fuck, baby i think i'm gonna cum." he whimpered into your ear, "i'm so close, you f-feel so good."

your hand which was in his never remained forgotten. he took it and kissed your knuckles as he chased his and your orgasm.

"w-wonnie." you moaned the sweet nickname you'd made for him all those years ago. it somehow sounded so much sweeter when you were like this. and that made no sense to jungwon, because this had to be the dirtiest possible thing you could be doing while you called him 'wonnie'. but he digressed, "b-baby, i love you s' much."

he smiled as an uneven breath escaped his lips. "i love y-you too."

the both of you came undone as those words left him.

jungwon held you close to him as he kissed you everywhere he could reach.

one thing was for sure.

the both of you weren't sweet, innocent, extremely sexually challenged virgins anymore.

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