#excerpts from my fic

[captivatedbyurhubris]

Luffy nods and pulls his hat onto his head, holding the brim with both hands tightly. Ace and Sanji, seemingly not sure what to say but wanting to help, crowd him.

‘Give him to me,’ Sabo suddenly says, pointing at the cart he’s in. ‘Give him to me and I’ll hold him, and he won’t get in trouble.’

‘I’m not a baby ,’ Luffy grumbles.

Ace looks up at Sabo sharply and they exchange a look.

‘But Sabo’s all alone in there,’ Ace says, ‘don’t you wanna keep him company?’

Luffy narrows his eyes at him.

‘You’re trying to trick me,’ he tells Ace.

But he also looks at Sabo and wavers.

‘This is unfair,’ Luffy whines, but does end up climbing into the cart.

Sabo makes space for him, spreading his legs to sit Luffy not exactly on his lap, but directly on the wood. Which is probably best, because of the injuries still littering his thighs. 

scenes from my fic that I'm proud of 4/?

< read on AO3 >

[aiyexayen]

For the WIP ask game, "chengxing I guess"; "Jiang Cheng / Wen Xu"; & "wei wuxian / ye baiyi Soup" 👀

:chinhands: i have snippets for all these!

"chengxing i guess" is thus titled because this ship came for me while i was minding my business and i was put out that i had to start an entire new wip about it:

Wen Kexing has heard about Lianhua Wu--Yunmeng youths are not shy about what they like, and what they like are the disciples of Yunmeng Jiang Shi. Strong, principled, determined, free-spirited, charming, playful, etc. Nothing more than banal hero worship of course, although playful does sound promising. Occasionally a sighing, swooning voice will wax poetic about their favourite pretty face. Things like easygoing and warm as a lake on a summer afternoon or untamable and flexible as the river winding through the hills; or impulsive as the rain. And Wen Kexing acknowledges that there's been an attempt. It's merely an attempt that he finds abysmal. Nothing, therefore, could prepare him for the absolute storm of a man who thunders his way through the market, jawline sharper than his sword and eyes even sharper than that. A man with hard-won command in every wire-taut line of his body, deep violet robes flaring out from a waist cinched tight under black leather, and shoulder blades...oh, shoulder blades so distinct. The face of a true beauty, wreathed in venom. Touch, it promises, and you'll definitely get bitten. "Who is that?"  A-Xiang's voice does nothing to pull Wen Kexing's gaze away but he does lean back further in his seat and finish bringing his cup up for a drink, lips lingering on the cool silver as he watches the man cut through the crowd like an arrow. "Silly girl," Wen Kexing says, because if she was paying attention she would have already heard the answer in the conversations around them on the patio, "he's Jiang Wanyin, zongzhu of Yunmeng Jiang Shi. Master of Lianhua Wu."

"Jiang Cheng/Wen Xu" is still in very early stages of sussing out but have a smol glimpse:

Jiang Wanyin knows what it is to be a failure in a father's eyes, upstaged by a brother, found unremarkable by the world. The similarities don't outweigh the differences, but behind the waterfalls of Cloud Recesses, hands buried in lotus-perfumed hair, Wen Xu thinks it's enough.

and of course, "wei wuxian/ye baiyi Soup" which i was prompted ages and ages ago and then just kind of fell off on writing. finished fic WHEN, i lament in the mirror while i honk my own clown nose:

These days Wei Ying hasn't had much reason to cook at all, either a guest at some sect or another or eating at local restaurants and inns or, occasionally, trying not to set whatever he's roasting on fire while he gets lost staring at the stars above his campsite. In fact, Wei Ying hasn't made soup even once since he came back to the world. Huh. That's what makes it particularly notable that he's now sitting here in this questionably-called 'house,' slowly stirring a pot full of water, scrounged vegetation from what might be an attempt at a garden, and hastily hunted game. Nothing fancy, but Wei Ying doesn't think he's gotten rusty. It's hard to get rusty about soup. So he thinks this will eventually become a pretty great meal. Even if it's not his best it will be nourishing and that's actually the most important thing about soup, no matter what anyone else says. Nourishment. Wei Ying mutters the word to himself distractedly as he smudges a line on the talisman keeping his hearth at the right temperature. Few people need a good, nourishing soup right now as much as a guy sitting in a little hut in the chill of mid-autumn watching over a beautiful, barely conscious stranger.

wip ask game

[myokk]

clumsy

pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC

word count: 9,1k

summary: sebastian is clumsy

cw: fluff, mutual pining, idiots in love, two really stubborn idiots in love to be exact, sir cadogan guest appearance, anne and imelda are the gremlin best friends every girl needs, smut (18+ ONLY), oral (f. recieving)

a/n: or: two stubborn brats make things more difficult than they have to be. I've been working on this for a MONTH more or less, ever since I drew the sketch that inspired it🫶 (I'm the world's slowest writer)

The first time Sebastian Sallow interacted with her after the fateful events of their fifth year, he fell for her.

Quite literally.

Maybe fell on her is more aptly put - Sebastian Sallow is not one to mince his words or say what he doesn't mean, after all. But, in the years to come, he always insists that he fell in love in that moment.

It was inexplicable. One moment, he was walking around, perfectly content with his loveless, boring life, and the next, his every waking moment was painful. Nobody had ever told Sebastian that being in love would physically pain or consume him so.

It all started like this: one moment, he's walking (well, striding) to Crossed Wands. Fine, he's running. Running late already, for the first meet-up of his last year. But - he isn't to blame for being late. He needed to check on something in the library - during his Transfiguration lesson, he had a hunch about something Professor Weasley had said in passing, and of course he had to go and check to see if he was right before he could even think about besting Leander in the inaugural duel of the Crossed Wands season but now, with how late he is - how many minutes ago had it started? - oh, Merlin, it's already been ten whole minutes and what if they've started without him (not that he can blame them) and -

Sebastian is abruptly pulled out of his thoughts when he collides with a strange obstruction in his way. He was just checking his father's old pocket watch, had only looked away for a split second and he could have sworn that, unless he was mistaken (which he never is), there wasn't a statue in the middle of the suspension bridge. And yet, he has run headfirst into something or someone, and now they are both flying through the air, books whirling around them in a flurry of pages and Sebastian unconsciously puts his arms out to grab her before they hit the ground and now he's holding her tight against him and they land with a loud, ungraceful thud, but at least she's not hurt.

Sebastian shakes his head to clear it after the impact that - miraculously - doesn't seem to have been as bad as it could have been, all things considered, and -

He freezes.

What has he done?

He's pressed up against the most impossibly lovely person he has ever seen quite possibly in his life, holding her tightly in his arms as she glares up at him in indignation, a faint flush spreading across her cheeks, making her face glow. Is this what the muggles mean when they say that they were struck by Cupid's arrow? Her hands scrabble uselessly at his chest as she tries to extricate herself from his grip. It's useless. Sebastian is completely frozen in place as he stares down at her, and he can feel his own face heating up at his inability to get off her. What's wrong with him?

"Sebastian," she repeats, and this time her voice registers in his brain. He realizes she has been talking to him this whole time, and as he stares at her face without comprehending - he couldn't have a coherent thought right now even if he wanted to - he sees her eyes dart quickly down, looking at where their bodies meet before she brings them back to his face, a deeper blush coming over her. "You -"

Oh, Merlin. It's her. He blinks and it's like the fog has cleared from his mind - almost, but-not-quite - and he realizes who he has unceremoniously crashed to the ground with him. The spines of the textbooks they are lying on top of dig into the arm that's pinned under her body and his other hand...he realizes (to his almost-horror) that to any students or professors walking by, it would seem as if they were caught up in quite the scandalous extra-curricular activity because his other hand is actively caressing her breast. Well, that's how it would look to any passerby, anyways.

Because there is no way he would be caught dead in such a compromising position with her.

The two of them haven't spoken since the events of their fifth year - the Year-That-Shall-Not-Be-Remembered-or-Acknowledged - and he had been perfectly content with his plan to continue this strange sort of ignoring that they had played all last year. Both of them pretending that they hadn't become impossibly close after only knowing each other for a few months - a closeness that he had gone and ruined by not knowing when to quit. All he had known to do back then was push push push because why couldn't she see things the way he had? The betrayal he had felt when she had gone behind his back to find her own way to cure his sister, and that one stupid word uttered in the heat of the moment, had caused an irreparable rift in their relationship and he would not allow himself to think about how much he missed her. Still misses her.

Just like he will not think about the fact that she is pressed beneath him in a compromising position, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she glares up at him in indignation. He continues to stare at her. Maybe his mouth is agape. She's stopped trying to get out of his grip and is resting her hands on his chest, seemingly waiting for an opportunity to push him off of her.

"Sebastian. Your hand," she repeats. "You're -"

Finally his idiot brain decides to wake up and Sebastian realizes with horror just how aroused he is at the moment and how did he never see her like this before? He gets up in a flash, pushing her back against the pile of books they're lying on top of, wondering if he can subtly adjust his robes without her realizing and then he makes the very grave mistake of looking down at her and she's still very much red-faced, propping herself up by her elbows and she looks so disheveled and lovely lying on top of the pile of books.

His idiot brain has now woken up completely, and how is it possible for one hormonal, eighteen-year-old wizard to be so embarrassed? He knocked her to the ground, pushed her further back in the books in his desperate attempt to get away from her, and now all he can think about is how to hide his arousal. Shameful, really. Sebastian quickly crouches down to help her pick up all of the books but she shoves him away and glares at him with an annoyance that he's never seen before.

"I can do it myself, thank you very much," she says with a huff, gathering everything they spilled up into her arms. She grabs the book Sebastian is holding out of his hands and he inhales sharply at the touch of her fingers grazing his.

Did someone - Garreth, maybe - spike his pumpkin juice with Amortentia during lunch? It's the only explanation he can think of as he stares blankly down at her. How else would he find her so beautiful, so breathtaking, when the last time they had interacted, Ominis and Anne had had to act as intermediaries for the two of them?

"Well," she says finally, slinging her school bag over her shoulder once all of her books have been unceremoniously shoved inside of it, "it's been...nice seeing you again, Sallow. I hope you had a good summer holiday."

And with that, she quickly turns and walks away in the direction she had been coming from, leaving a very confused Sebastian behind. He watches her as she walks away and her long, swishing braid is the last thing he sees before the door closes behind her at the far end of the bridge.

Eventually, he gathers his wits and wanders away.

He does not go to the first Crossed Wands meeting that afternoon after all.

She has not had a full-night's sleep since he somehow cursed her mind and her thoughts a week ago, and she can feel herself slowly slipping into insanity. A curse is the only answer that makes sense, the only thing that gives a conceivable answer to all the wicked dreams she has been having since that moment, dreams that cause her to wake up sweaty and breathless and needing him in the middle of the night in a way she has never felt before. She has been an absolute mess, a disastrous version of her normally quite put-together self, and she is not happy about it.

He's sitting next to her now - they were partnered up by the evil Professor Onai in their first NEWT Divination class of the year - and she's holding herself rigidly, arms tight across her chest, in an attempt to not accidentally touch him. Lately, every single time they make fleeting eye contact across the table during breakfast, or when they pass each other in the hallways, a shiver runs down her spine at the unfamiliar look in his eyes and she has to avert her eyes before it's too much.

Divination has never been a favorite subject of hers - too impermeable for her tastes. She is only taking it at the NEWT level because, during her career counseling with Professor Ronen at the end of her fifth year, he had said that if she wanted to be an Unspeakable she couldn't just work with logic (a preposterous thought, but as a sixteen-year-old she hadn't seen any recourse in arguing with the Ministry's requirements). She supposedly needs to get comfortable with the intangible as well. It doesn't mean she has to enjoy it, though: she doesn't, and never will. The Divination classroom is dark and stuffy, tucked away in one of the highest towers of the castle, and the nauseating smell of incense always coats her nasal cavities long after the class has finished. She finds her thoughts getting muddled in the haze of candle smoke and swirling orbs on the shelves around her - magic somehow always feels thicker up here - and the presence of a certain someone whose knees keep brushing hers under the tiny table they're sharing, a certain someone who has - improbably, inconceivably, impossibly - hit a growth spurt that summer and now towers over her and had encompassed her completely when he knocked her to the ground, isn't helping her concentration at -

"This week, we are going to review everything we learned together last year," Professor Onai says, after the class had rearranged itself based on her instructions. Sebastian shoots a look at her as she shakes her head in an attempt to clear it and sits up straighter. She hopes that Onai's lecture will help her concentrate and clear her mind a bit. If she has something to focus on, to try and think of and remember, it will be better than him. Anything would be better than Sebastian. Onai gives an appraising look to each table before continuing her speech. "As your NEWTs are at the end of the year, we need to make sure you are as prepared as possible. Open your books to page two-hundred and thirty. Today we're going to review the art of palmistry. I should hope that you do not need the aid of your textbook to help interpret the lines in your partner's palm but in the case that you do -"

She chances a glance at Sebastian before getting out her copy of Divining the Undivinable from her bag and wishes she hadn't. He looks uncomfortably big sitting on the tiny tea chair across from her, barely any hints of the boy who had completely swept her away two years ago visible on the sharper planes of his face. When had he - had they - grown up?

Sebastian Sallow was - is - charming, and that had been her downfall. She had successfully avoided his charms the year before, and she wasn't going to let that happen this year, no matter how much her body rebelled against her mind and resolve. Because, as she reminds herself, Sebastian Sallow is also manipulative, and cold-hearted, and selfish.

"Well," she says archly, opening her book. She will not look at him. "I suppose I am still quite ignorant of the practice of Divination, so do forgive me if I have to double-check my readings in the textbook."

He says her name as she opens the book, and she ignores him. He says her name again. She continues to ignore him. He grabs the book from her hands and puts it the correct way for her. She was looking at it upside-down. Her cheeks heat up and she continues flipping through the pages, as if nothing has happened. She finds page two-hundred and thirty. She pretends to be interested in what she sees.

(Divination is unfortunately not interesting.)

Oh, fine.

"Do you want to start, or should I?"

These are the first words she has voluntarily spoken to him - not including the events of last week, which do not count as they were most decidedly not voluntary - since he called her ignorant a year and a half ago. He somehow looks surprised to see that she has addressed him, and for some reason this fills her with rage and a strange sort of confidence. Why shouldn't she be able to talk to him?

"Here," she says, putting her hand out towards him, palm up, ignoring the strange fluttering feeling in her chest when he gently grabs it with one of his. Sebastian looks up at her, waiting for her to continue speaking, and were she not looking at him so intently she would have easily missed the bob of his throat as he swallows nervously. "Show me how it's done."

Her breath catches in her throat at the small, mischievous smirk he shoots to her before he bends over her hand and gently starts tracing the lines on her palm with the fingers of the hand that's not holding hers in place. His touch is feather-light and somehow soft, despite the roughness of his fingers as they drag over her palm. Every nerve in her body seems to have moved to wherever he touches and all of the bravado and anger she had just felt is quickly melting away. When she finally finds her voice, she hates how soft and breathy it sounds. She can't look away from the sight of his larger hands caressing hers.

"Well? What do you see? Do you remember the different lines? Because I -"

She falters. The murmurs of their classmates blend together in the background and the dim lights of the candles...the hazy, thick atmosphere and his proximity and the barely there touches of his rough fingertips on her sensitive palm are altogether too overwhelming and she needs to get out of there. She's supposed to be angry with him. Furious, even. Holding this grudge has been the only way she has been able to have any sort of power over him this past year, and yet...all she can think about at the moment are the sinful dreams she's been having lately where he presses her against a wall, desperately kissing her lips, her neck - even she knows that there has to be more to it - but what?

Sebastian blinks as she snatches her hand away like it's been burned and - oh, Merlin - she shoves the textbook back into her schoolbag and almost knocks the candle on the table over and wouldn't it be awful if she had started a fire? But she can't think about any of that now in her haste to just get out of the claustrophobic Divination tower.

Vaguely, she can hear Professor Onai asking her if everything is fine and she's not sure but she thinks she mumbles something about needing to go to the Hospital Wing - that's a good enough excuse to leave, isn't it? - but then she hears his voice, deep and cutting through the fog in her mind -

"Don't worry, I'll take her and make sure she gets there fine." A muffled response from their professor and then his voice, just as clear as before. "No, I don't know what happened..."

She hears him calling her name as she flees down the spiral staircase, almost tripping over her feet in her rush to get away from him, but he catches up quickly, reaching out to grab her arm in an attempt to slow her down. She stops running immediately - she supposes her traitorous body wants to see what he has to say, or maybe it just wants to bask in his intoxicating proximity. He crowds her space, and she sees that unfamiliar look in his eyes again. So very different from the cold disdain she had seen the last time she had been this close to him, during the argument that had ended their friendship.

"Let go of me," she whispers, but there's no conviction in her voice as she gazes into his deep, brown eyes. He can tell she doesn't mean it and doesn't make any move to listen to her. Why can't she hold on to the rage? A muggle quote about anger floats through her mind: Holding on to anger is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die. What a sweet poison her anger at Sebastian had been, while it lasted. She tries telling herself that he must still feel the same as the evening he had called her ignorant (ignoring the small voice in her head that reminded her of the letters of apology he had sent (that she had burned without reading), the times he had tried to get Anne or Ominis involved and apologize for him) - because why couldn't he just tell her himself? Maybe she had shut down any and all attempts he had made to repair the rift that he had caused in the first place, but she had been right to be so angry with him.

But oh, Merlin, he's getting closer to her, and she can now clearly see the freckles dusting his cheeks and nose and forehead and then before she knows it, his hand is sliding up her arm, leaving goosebumps everywhere he touches and then he's caressing her jaw with his rough thumb and he pauses. Her eyelids flutter closed as her head tilts towards him - she couldn't stop herself even if she wanted to (what does she want?). She can feel his warm breath ghosting over her lips and she has the improbable, ridiculous thought - how is he remembering to breathe? - before he speaks. His lips brush against hers with every soft word and a deep shiver runs through her body.

"I," she hears him say, his voice so, so low, "haven't been able to think since last week."

That's all she needs to hear, the brush of his bottom lip against hers all she needs to feel, to push her into closing what minuscule distance there is between them and then his lips are on hers and it's better than anything she's been imagining. His mouth is soft against hers, insistent, and her hands go up to grip the collar of his plaid jacket to make sure he doesn't go away or disappear on her.

She knows she's behaving wantonly, snogging Sebastian Sallow in the middle of the hallway where anyone could come across them, but third period has only just started and besides, she has had a week of restless nights being tortured by thoughts of him. A week of a few hours of sleep found here and there. Just one kiss should be enough to help her get over these strange feelings, right? She only feels like this because having him lie on top of her after he crashed into her - that satisfying weight of him - the friction of his thumb brushing against her nipple - had made her realize just how stupid she had been, holding this grudge against him for -

She whimpers in protest but it quickly turns into a moan as his mouth moves away from hers and down to her neck. He pulls at her tight collar desperately - she hears some seams ripping - to give him better access to it, and she finds herself arching her back and pushing her body closer to his as he nuzzles her neck with his nose before giving it open, sloppy kisses. When he hears her, he moves back to kissing her, greedily capturing every breathy moan that comes out of her mouth, but the noises coming from him are matching hers, and at the sound she feels an unfamiliar clenching deep in her stomach. Her fingers come up to his hair, going through the silky curls over and over - how are they as soft as his lips? - and he slowly pushes her back until she's sandwiched between his warm body and the cold stone of the wall behind her.

He lets out a low, frantic growl as a hand goes to grip the back of her head, holding her in place as he slants his mouth over hers. He tastes like cinnamon and...like something forbidden. What has gotten into her? She hates him, and yet...

They have abandoned any pretense of propriety - had they ever even been trying? - by this point. His tongue swipes across her lips and then she is completely lost to him, to every sensation of his mouth, and tongue, on hers. His large hands - the wicked hands that had been caressing her palm and had caused this whole mess in the first place - have moved to her waist and are pulling her even closer to him. When he pulls away briefly, she whines in protest, opening her eyes to glare at him. The sight of him, flushed and breathless, his eyes wide and pupils dilated - must match her own appearance because she sees the same hunger she feels in his eyes. She has never seen Sebastian Sallow so disheveled, but she finds she quite likes it and tugs on his curls with a whine. He obliges eagerly, bringing his mouth back to hers.

She's pressed as tightly against him as she can possibly be, and yet it still isn't enough. Her back arches once again, trying to find something, and then he slots one of his knees between her legs. She moans at the friction caused by his movements, can feel an unfamiliar slickness forming at the juncture between her legs, and this seems to spur him on further as his kisses get more desperate and sloppy. She moves against his leg, trying to relieve some of her discomfort, gasping into his mouth, when -

They freeze. Even if they are fully, completely, absorbed by...whatever this is, they can't ignore the strange, metallic clanking sound coming from their left. Sebastian pulls his head back from her slowly, reluctantly, breathing heavily, and looks over to see what the noise is. She wants to, but all of a sudden the horrifying reality of what they've been doing sinks in and oh god what if the noise is a person? Someone who has now seen her in what might possibly be the most mortifying moment of her life - desperately snogging Sebastian Sallow - and she finds she can't look over. She tucks her head into his neck to hide her face as she listens.

"I demand that you get away from her at once, you knave! Cease your attack!"

The voice sounds vaguely familiar, but she's certain that it doesn't belong to any of her classmates. He almost sounds...medieval, but -

"I made haste when I heard sounds of distress coming from down the hallway," the voice continues, "and it appears I have arrived not a moment too soon!"

She brings her head away from Sebastian's shoulder but still refuses to look over at whoever is speaking, instead choosing to stare at Sebastian's face. He's still deliciously flushed from their snogging, still breathing heavily, but now he looks terribly confused. His brows are furrowed, mouth opening and closing as he tries to come up with a response to the outrage currently being directed at him.

The unknown man is continuing his diatribe, almost not even stopping to breathe as he gets more and more worked up, and she hears some more clanking as he reaches a particularly exciting moment in his rant. Sebastian looks increasingly confused, but still shields her with his body, not moving away from her at all despite the accusations.

Her curiosity gets the better of her and she peeks over to see who it is.

The man who has been reprimanding Sebastian so boldly is none other than Sir Cadogan. Although she's never interacted with him directly, she often hears him yelling at his pony as she passes his portrait on her way to Divination. The knight is standing between two witches having tea, who are glaring at him quite angrily as he gesticulates wildly - every movement of his sword comes dangerously close to their display of cakes and sandwiches and it looks like he has already broken some plates. His armor is ill-fitting and loose on him, which explains the terrible noise.

"You rascally knave! I assure you that you do not want to find out what will happen to you if you do not unhand the fair maiden."

He brandishes his sword again, and the woman closest to him quickly snatches her tea cup away to save it from being broken as well. "Come now, Sir Cadogan," she says, exasperated. "Can't you see that these two are in love?"

The other woman joins her protests, nodding vigorously. "Yes, exactly that. Leave them be!"

"Nonsense," he exclaims. "I too have succumbed to my baser instincts on occasion and I can assure you that this is decidedly not what is occurring."

As Sir Cadogan continues to alternate between lecturing her and Sebastian, and directing his two attention to the ladies who are defending them, she looks back to the boy in question. Sebastian is looking down at her, a bemused smile on his lips and she feels a twinge in her chest. His face is still so close to hers that if she wants to, they could be snogging again with barely any effort and her eyes briefly flicker down to his tempting mouth before going back to his eyes, but...

What had gotten into her? What is she doing?

He had somehow managed to manipulate her again, because there is no way that this situation could have happened otherwise. All of a sudden, the anger she's been feeling for the past year and a half - that had left for a brief, blissful moment - surges again, and she pushes Sebastian away from her with as much force as she can muster. She almost feels bad as the happiness in his face turns to confusion, then frustration as he realizes she's getting away from him.

"Stay away from me," she hisses, picking up her discarded schoolbag from its spot on the ground. As she stalks down the hall, she can hear Sir Cadogan cheering on her bravery over the ringing in her ears.

She has a lot of thinking to do.

Sebastian Sallow's List of Priorities (in no particular order):

Figure out what the hell I'm going to do when I graduate;

Figure out how the hell I'm going to finish this bloody Charms essay before tomorrow; and

Figure out what the hell is going on between us

Sebastian sits in an undisturbed corner of the library - nobody ever comes to this table because it's tucked away between shelves of incredibly dense magical theory books - and is twirling his quill in his fingers, watching the ink splatter on the list he spent his precious time writing instead of the Charms essay he should be working on. He's far away from the first-years who like to congregate by the windows and watch the leaves fall softly to the ground rather than study for their classes. He's made especially sure that he is far, far away from her.

It's not his choice, mind you, but he needs to be a gentleman about these things. If she needs some time and space to figure out that she's as crazy for him as he is her, fine. But even Sebastian Sallow's patience runs thin, and he's not sure how much longer he can give her to come to her senses before he snaps and takes matters into his own hands. If things were up to him, the two of them would be sitting far too close together now in this secluded corner, and maybe he would need to put a hand over her mouth to ensure her complete silence as he runs a hand up her thigh.

Now that he knows what delicious sounds can come out of her mouth - sounds that he caused - he's been having a hard time concentrating on, well, anything. Sebastian surreptitiously glances across the library to where she's sitting and studying with his sister and Imelda. Ever since the events after their Divination class, Sir Cadogan has taken it upon himself to follow Sebastian around the halls of the castle, tripping through frames and disrupting their inhabitants as he lectures Sebastian on love. The tea party women had managed to convince the knight that he had disrupted an amorous exchange, and Sebastian fervently wishes they hadn't.

The whole school is abuzz with rumors about who it could be. Nobody has even come close so far with their guesses, but Anne and Imelda are having too much fun teasing him about it. Somehow, she has managed to avoid suspicion - he wonders how this is even possible, since she's never been able to hide what she's thinking. He makes eye contact with her - has she been staring at him this whole time? - and she flushes before looking over to Imelda, who's laughing too loudly at something Anne's just said. Sebastian can't tear his eyes away from her profile, his eyes following the curve of her eyebrow, the slight upturn of her lips as she smiles at her friends, her eyes as they dart back to him, her cheeks as she turns an even darker shade of red as she realizes he's still watching her. She tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, and rests her chin on her hand as she tries to look absorbed in what Anne is saying to her.

Sebastian wonders if she's thought about him as much as he's thought about her. Judging by how she had snogged him back, he's positive that she feels the same way, but then he remembers how she had looked at him before she fled, and he's not so sure. He sighs as he looks back to his list, bringing his quill back to the third item and ripping the paper as he crosses it out again. His mind has been going in circles since that moment and he doesn't know what to think. He slowly puts everything into his schoolbag before heading out of the library for yet another freezing cold shower that hopefully tempers his now-permanent state of arousal whenever she's around.

He doesn't notice her eyes following him as he walks out of the library.

He doesn't hear her hurried excuse to Anne and Imelda as she shoves her things into her bag and rushes to follow him.

He doesn't hear her light footsteps as she gets closer to him.

When she puts a hand out to touch his arm as he waits for the moving staircase to stop, with a soft, "Sebastian" accompanying it, he nearly jumps out of his skin. He was so absorbed with thoughts of her, that to see her standing at his side, closer than she had been since they kissed was almost his snapping point.

"Can we talk?" she asks, looking almost embarrassed as she avoids his eyes. She instead looks determinedly at his collar. He thinks she probably notices that he swallows nervously before acquiescing, but she says nothing as she turns and starts hurrying away from him without waiting to see if he follows her.

She must know that he would follow her anywhere at this point.

They weave through hallways - Sebastian vaguely wonders where exactly they're going - before reaching a little alcove, hidden by a suit of armor. She looks around before pulling him into it. It's almost curfew and the halls are never that busy when the weather is as beautiful as it has been these days - the end of September seems to be clinging on to the summer for as long as possible.

Her lips are on his before he can even ask her what she needed to talk with him about, hungry and desperate. Sebastian is too stunned to pull away - not that he would actually want to. Her arms wrap around his neck, keeping Sebastian close, slender fingers sliding through his hair.

"What," she says breathlessly between kisses - almost not even moving her mouth away from his enough to be able to enunciate properly, "are you doing to me? I haven't been able to think for the last month."

Sebastian smiles into her mouth, wondering if she knows that she's repeating the very thing he told her two weeks ago. Maybe she has been thinking of him all this time - he almost hopes that she's been suffering as much as he has. Instead of responding, he moves a hand to cup her jaw, deepening the kiss. His other hand moves to her waist, gripping it tightly, pulling her flush against his body and she gasps into his mouth. He slowly moves her closer to the window alcove behind them, snogging her senseless the whole time. She moans into his mouth which just spurs him on further - her skirt rides up to her hips as Sebastian trails a hand up her stockinged thigh and they both gasp when his hand reaches skin. Her skin is so, so soft and her breathing gets faster as he continues to caress her inner thigh, closer to the bend between her thigh and her center. Sebastian wonders if she's ever been touched there before by someone else and jealousy flares up inside of him at the thought.

In one swift move, he scoops her up and places her so that she's sitting on the window-ledge, the dusky light of the sunset illuminating her from behind and making her wispy flyaway hairs a golden halo around her. Sebastian's breath catches in his throat - has he ever seen anything so beautiful as her in that moment? - she's staring up at him, her fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck, her breathing shallow and anticipation in her eyes. "You're," he starts saying and his throat goes dry. He brings a hand up to tuck the errant lock of hair - the one she had tucked earlier in the library - behind her ear and she leans her head into his touch, closing her eyes briefly before looking up at him again with wide eyes. "You're perfect."

She smiles faintly and pulls his head back down towards hers and now she's brushing her lips against his, teasing him, before it's too much and he grips the back of her head, holding her in place as he crushes his mouth against hers in a bruising kiss. Her knees are on either side of his waist, and she desperately grinds her core against his throbbing erection and they both groan at the friction. Sebastian moves his hands down to her thighs again as he kisses her, slowly caressing his way up and pushing her skirt up further until it's completely bunched around her waist. She gasps into his mouth at his first tentative touch after he pushes aside her undergarments. Sebastian swipes a finger up her slit, through the slick that coats it, and then he starts circling her clit with slow, even strokes. She shivers against him - at his touch - clinging tightly to his shoulders and gasping into his mouth as he continues.

Every little noise coming out of her mouth, feeling how wet she is, how the slickness keeps growing growing growing makes Sebastian hungry for more - it isn't enough -

Slowly - so slowly - he wants to savor this moment - he lowers himself until he's kneeling between her legs and he looks up at her. Her face is deliciously flushed, all swollen lips and hair in a wild cloud around her face and all she can do is stare down at him. Her chest is heaving and she tries to close her legs - hide what is exposed to him - but he holds her thighs firmly in place on either side of his head. He turns his head and kisses her inner thigh, maintaining eye contact as he swipes his tongue across where he's just kissed, moving closer towards her slick center.

"Oh," she breathes, not-quite-a-word, not-quite-a-gasp, when his mouth reaches her center and hovers over it, lips slowly teasing her the way she had just teased him. Sebastian tentatively runs his tongue up her slit; the loud moan she lets out when he reaches her clit makes him stay there, applying light and not-so-light pressure in equal measure.

Her hands are scrabbling at his hair, digging into his scalp, ruining his earlier attempts to make it look presentable, hopefully attractive, for her these days. She's pushing his head deeper into the space between her legs, starting to rock herself slightly on his mouth, and Sebastian is happy to oblige. He eagerly laps up her slit, and the obscene wet noises as he continues combined with her whimpers and barely-spoken profanities "oh-yes-fuck-yes-there-please-" are making him hard beyond belief. He's straining against his trousers, begging to be let free. Without moving his face from her, he unbuttons his trousers and starts palming himself, using the slickness weeping out of the tip as lubrication.

She's abandoned all control at this point, grinding herself into his face as he laps her up, and it's driving him wild - knowing that he's doing this to her - causing her to be so undone. Normally she's so poised and aloof, never letting any real emotion flicker across her face, so to see her so desperate and needy and wanting him so -

Sebastian's gasping into her, tongue deep inside of her, "ohmygod" he hears her whisper, her hips driving into his face when she shudders and goes still, pulsing around the tongue that's deep inside of it. He slows down, smiling as he continues to run his tongue up her slit until she's responsive again. He kisses her inner thigh and hears her moan before getting up, caressing a finger down her love-struck face and leaning his head down to kiss her deeply. With his other hand he's still touching himself - the thought that she can taste herself on his tongue driving him crazy - and he starts rubbing its blunt head against her swollen clit. She takes it out of his hand- he groans at the feeling of her soft hands (the hands he had held a week ago in Divination and pictured doing this exact thing) tentatively caressing his length before she begins to slide it up and down her slit, coating it in her wetness.

Sebastian has surrendered all control to her - resting his hands on either side of her hips on the windowsill, tucking his head into the crook of her neck and thrusting with her movements as he loses himself in the sensation of sliding through her slick folds. He can feel his release building building building, and when he finally comes, all over her perfect, pink center, it feels like a finally.

Sebastian feels so, so heavy as he pulls his head away from her shoulder, as if he could fall into a blissful sleep right there, in the little window alcove where they've hidden themselves away. The sun has now set completely and they're in shadow as they stare at each other, the sound of their ragged breathing filling the tiny space.

"Sebastian, I..."

She's staring at him with an unfathomable expression on her face, still holding him in her hand, her other hand playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. They look down and he feels his face heat up even more at the mess he's made - he quickly pulls out his wand and cleans her up, before looking back at her, giving her a wry smile as he buttons up his pants and helps her off the ledge. "What did you want to talk to me about, again?"

She gives a slight shake of her head and looks away, but she can't hide the small smile that's growing on her face just like she can't help her eyes that keep wandering over to his. He knows the growing smile on his face matches hers - did that really just happen? She reaches over to lace her fingers through his as they walk around the suit of armor. "I - it's not important."

"Come on," he says, not being able to resist the opportunity to tease her - he's somehow managed to break through the barriers she's set up around her, and he's not about to let the opportunity slide. "Surely that's not what you had in mind when you..."

Sebastian trails off as he sees the expression in her face turn to one of horror - he didn't think his teasing was that bad, was it? - but she's also pulling her hand out of his like she's been burned and -

He follows her gaze, to where it's fixed at the end of the hallway and he knows that once again his face mimics hers. He will never live this down.

Standing at the end of the hallway and looking like two cats who've just found a huge dish of milk, are his sister and Imelda.

Misery.

Complete and utter misery are what she's feeling, if she has to put it into words, which she does. Writing things down always helps her out, helps her organize her thoughts into some sort of order. Except...this time around, it's not really helping. She can't seem to make any sense of her feelings for Sebastian.

She looks over the muddled mess of words she's written down - stream of consciousness, incomprehensible babble - and sighs. She's been dreaming of falling in love since she was a young girl - Jane Austen will do that to you - and can't believe that now that she's had her opportunity, it has to go and be with Sebastian Sallow. Because it has to be love, hasn't it?

There can be no other explanation for the painful way her stomach twists itself up whenever she catches a glimpse of him these days, the way he's consuming her every thought - even when she's dreaming she can't escape him. She can't get the sight of his tousled curls between her legs, his mischievous, warm brown eyes looking up at her as she had the most mind-numbing, toe-curling orgasm of her life - none of the times she's touched herself have ever come close to the sensations he managed to evoke.

Every time she's walking through the hallways between classes and hears his loud voice as he jokes with Garreth, or Ominis, about quidditch or Merlin-knows-what her eyes snap to his face as if he were the sun, and she a sunflower searching for its warmth. And he is most decidedly not the sun. He has the tendency to snort when he laughs, and he laughs too much, especially at his own jokes. Sometimes he talks while he eats. He always twirls his quill between his long fingers in the most annoying way, splattering ink onto any parchment unfortunate to be caught underneath. But he also...

He also always goes out of his way to prepare Ominis's Potions ingredients (why Ominis decided to take and was accepted into NEWT level is a mystery to everyone), occasionally stops to play a round of gobstones with Zenobia when he has the time. Sebastian can often be found in his favorite armchair in the Slytherin common room, resting his face on his hand as he idly flips through the pages of some book, looking altogether too handsome as he does so. And when he stretches and yawns at the end of every Arithmancy lesson - like he is now - his shirt lifts up a bit and she can see a tan sliver of his stomach and -

Snapping in front of her: she blinks and looks over: when she sees it's Imelda her face immediately turns beet red and she grabs the paper she's been doodling on and rips it to shreds as fast as she can.

"Are you fantasizing about a certain annoying someone?" Imelda asks with a wicked grin, dramatically looking over her shoulder at the certain someone in question. He's still stretching, blinking sleepily; when he notices the two girls watching him he flushes deeply. Her stomach twinges again at the sight of him noticing her - has he thought about her since that moment as much as she has? What would she do if he had? Or...if he hadn't? - and she focuses instead on the paper she is currently destroying.

"Imelda," she hisses, glaring at her best friend, "stop."

Imelda does not stop.

Imelda doesn't stop during their walk to Herbology, and she does not stop as they set up their planting stations, and she most certainly does not stop as they mutter charms over their plants.

Ever since she experienced the most wonderful moment in her whole life, followed by the most mortifying, Anne and Imelda have not stopped pestering her about it. They've finally solved the 'Sir Cadogan Puzzle' - I knew it was you all along, claims Anne - but if they truly knew what had happened between her and Sebastian, she's afraid the two of them would simply combust. She loves them dearly, but they never know when to stop, and they've been pushing and poking and prodding her for more information the whole week. She has managed to remain tight-lipped and, she hopes, mysterious about the whole thing, but she's getting tired of the teasing.

"Really," Anne says, wiping her forehead and leaving a trail of dirt behind, "if you would only talk to him, I would stop bothering you. Promise."

"Yes," chimes in Imelda, on her other side, wrestling the leaves of her own plant into submission. "You know, after we saw the two of you holding hands and looking at each other with stars in your eyes, I'm really starting to doubt that you hate him as much as you claim."

"Were the two of you snogging in secret all of last year too? Because, I'm starting to get annoyed thinking of all the times I had to talk to my brother for you because of your stubborn pride."

Does she still hate him? She certainly thinks she should, but then her thoughts get terribly confusing as she continues to think about him, and she realizes all of her old hatred has long since faded. Anne has forgiven her brother, Ominis has forgiven him, and all that remains is her.

They should talk, but she doesn't know what to say.

She's afraid that maybe the man she's been inventing in her mind this past month is simply a figment of her imagination - a fictitious being created by an accumulation of stolen glances when he doesn't know she's watching, someone who all of their classmates seem to like, someone who is very different from the fifteen-year-old boy she had that terrible argument with all that time ago. Maybe he doesn't actually exist.

She would be crushed if he's hiding the fact that he still holds on to that desperate darkness that had driven him to save Anne by any means necessary.

And so she keeps her space. She watches him from afar, feeling the hatred slowly melt off of her, falling more in love every day, but too cowardly to make the next move.

Anne and Imelda continue bantering on either side of her, not noticing - or, more likely, not caring - that she isn't participating.

Sebastian's hands are sweating. He wipes them on the inside of his robes as he glances at the girl next to him. She's holding herself rigidly, but she did this to herself, sitting next to him at dinner as she had.

Well, sitting next to him hadn't been completely her idea if he's being honest. He'd been having dinner with Anne, and the two of them were dying of laughter as she recounted seeing Duncan Hobhouse get tormented by Peeves earlier that day. One moment, Anne had been demonstrating what she had seen using her potatoes and green beans as props, and the next, a particularly evil grin had lit up her face as she pushed her plate away with gusto and jumped to her feet, calling her over.

"It would be such a shame for these potatoes to go to waste, seeing as I have a very important meeting to attend," Anne had said, after pushing her friend into the very tight space at Sebastian's side. "Never mind the mess, I can assure you I didn't actually eat the food..."

And with that, Anne had flounced away, Imelda on her arm, the two girls cackling to each other as they snuck wicked glances over their shoulders at the couple.

A couple who is now steadfastly avoiding each other and trying their hardest not to even brush elbows. Sebastian is altogether too aware of her presence, has been for the better part of a month, and his patience is dangerously close to snapping. He keeps getting maddeningly close to finally getting her to open up to him - had actually achieved it for a few blissful moments - just to have it be taken away again. It's almost embarrassing how many times he's thought about their encounter. She had been everything he'd been dreaming about and more - soft, responsive, just as desperate as him - so why has she been avoiding him so thoroughly?

Yes, he's caught her staring at him more times than he can count, with that same unfathomable expression she had before, almost dreamy - wistful - could it be love? But he knows that it's preposterous, wishful thinking on his part. If it were love - if she felt the same crazy, tumultuous emotions that he was feeling constantly - she wouldn't be so cold towards him. Even if she was staring at him more than ever before.

He doesn't notice as she slips a folded paper into the book sitting next to his plate, but he does notice that she sits next to him for barely five minutes, not even touching the food that Anne has so graciously left her, before she gets up and slips away without so much as speaking a single word to him, or even looking in his direction at all.

Sebastian's sitting in a nearly empty common room after curfew, flipping through his book as he normally does this time of day, when she sees him pause.

Although she's been waiting for this moment, watching him from the corner she's tucked herself away in, she feels ready to pass out from nerves. Her heart's ready to burst out of her chest as she watches him curiously pick up the letter she slipped in his book earlier, brow furrowed. She wrings her hands nervously as she watches him read the letter and flip over the page to see if there's more, and then he goes back to read it again from the beginning.

She wasn't expecting him to read it a second time, let alone a third time, still with an inscrutable expression on his face. Maybe she should have positioned herself closer so she could see every emotion flickering through his face as he reads - she's too far away to see anything and she curses her lack of foresight. If she moves now, he'll see her, and she doesn't even know what she was thinking when she wrote the letter, when she managed to convince Anne to help her get close to Sebastian earlier that night during supper, when she moved herself to sit in this corner just so she could watch him find and read the -

"Hello."

She nearly jumps out of her skin with a muffled shriek at the sound of his voice so close to her. Why does she feel almost guilty when she looks up at him? She's so, so afraid.

Emotions have never come easily to her. Showing them is something she's not sure will ever come naturally - Anne and Imelda can laugh and shout without a care in the world, but she always holds herself back. Hides a small part of herself away, that only she knows about. Baring herself completely to Sebastian in the letter she feverishly wrote the day before was like ripping out a part of her soul and giving it to him to keep. Once the words were written down, there was no way to take them back, not that she wants to.

But what if he rejects her?

Her eyes get hot and tears cloud her vision as she stares up at him, still wringing her hands together over and over, feeling like she's positively going to burst with the force of the emotions roiling around inside of her. Why did she think this would be a good idea?

Now he's kneeling in front of her, holding her hands in his bigger, rougher ones - reminiscent of that fateful day so long ago in Divination when he had flustered her so - and a thumb is gently wiping away the big, fat tears she didn't even realize were rolling down her cheeks and she lifts her face from watching their intertwined hands and gazes tremulously into his eyes.

They are so, so gentle and warm and full of love, but the emotions are still too much for her and she can't stop crying for some unfathomable reason, so the kiss they share is wet and lovely and full of incredulous laughter.

"I love you too," he whispers between kisses, over and over again, until the words almost lose meaning - but these words could never lose their meaning when they come from him.

  In the years to come, they always bicker about who was the first to say it. Sebastian says that writing doesn't count - that his words are the ones that decide who is the victor in this small argument - but she always just smiles at his insistence, knowing that he's kept her letter tucked inside whatever book he's reading since it first fell onto his lap.

[starchaserdreams]

Sirius: you know, it's kinda flattering for me that you're dating my brother

James: how so?

Sirius: one of me as a best friend wasn't enough, you had to go and find a me to date too

[vechter]

batman (1940) #590 // get out before the drop, shipyrds // another part of honesty, shipyrds // grayson (2014) annual #1 // art by anna-laura // titans (2008) #5 // secret origins (1986) #13 // beat journalism, dustorange // teen titans spotlight (1986) #14 // robin & batman (2022) #1 // declensions, dustorange // robin & batman (2022) #1 // nightwing (2011) #30 // sputnik sweetheart, haruki murakami // justice league (2011) #25 // secret origins (1986) #13 // wayfinding, shipyrds // the long and short of it, richard siken // batman: black and white (2021) #5 // pearl (2022) // batman (1940) #684 // unknown // nightwing (2016) #50 // soft clocks, dustorange // nightwing (2016) #50 // nightwing (2016) #1 // wayfinding, shipyrds // nightwing (2016) #1 // francheska, hey fran hey

dick grayson + an exploration of identity, personhood & belonging

[dss1101]

"Jason is smart, okay? Though that may not exactly be the first word that comes to mind when most people think of the Red Hood. Words like brute, violent, and crazy, sure, those are words he expects. It’s not like they’re untrue, and he worked hard to cultivate that image of himself, thank you very much. But being Robin’s a tough gig, you don’t survive being Robin if you aren’t smart. 

Huh, maybe he’s not as smart as he thinks."

I love writing Jason because he's an overflowing container of a backstory worthy of dark humor. Ugh he's the best

[newoozi]

your new friend vernon is walking you home one night, telling you all about the date his mom is setting him up on in an attempt to “get out there more”. he admits it’s been a while since he’s taken somebody on a date, and he’s sort of nervous and half dreading it. he doesn’t even have any idea what he’s going to wear.

the two of you reach the front of your apartment building, and you face to look at him. placing your hands on his shoulders you teasingly say, “wear that navy blue polo shirt of yours. it almost makes you look nice.”

he huffs out a small laugh in response, but the truth is he’s sort of spiraling. you notice what he’s wearing beyond an aesthetic sense? do you pay attention to how the shirt fits him perfectly, how it hugs at his chest and shows off his arms? of course, vernon knows he’s attractive — people swoon over him on the daily, and many times he can get away with not paying for ramen at the convenience store if the girl at the counter is young. but, it never crossed his mind that you thought about him in that way. it was different with you, wasn’t it?

he thinks about that, and you, on the way back to his dorm.

you text him to ask about his date the next night, the curiosity getting the better of you.

how was ur date? did she appreciate the polo?

he admits he didn’t wear the polo, but doesn’t offer any explanation as to why. he adds that the date was going fine until they were saying goodbye and she went in for a kiss on the cheek and he held out his hand. he probably won’t see her again.

you laugh out loud at his message.

when it’s your birthday a week later, he wears the polo to the casual dinner you host at your place with your closest friends. he notices when your eyes linger on his lean figure, and the way you blush when you know you’ve been caught. you’re almost sure he’s worn it on purpose.

[faynthearted]

"I haven’t seen Zheng Xi like that since the first year of high school. I don’t have a fucking clue how to touch that. We’re better off giving him some space.”

He Tian smiled thinly. “I didn’t know he was capable of that much emotion.”

“He isn’t," said Guan Shan, frowning. "The guilt’s gonna eat him alive if the stress doesn’t get to him first.” He thought for a moment before venturing, “Are you pissed?”

He Tian raised a brow. “At him?” He replaced the mug on the table. “No, not really.”

“I… kinda find that hard to believe with how you responded.”

He shrugged. “I was taken aback, obviously, but I’m in no position to judge. He needed someone to blame. I'm the most relevant option."

Guan Shan nodded. He supposed He Tian’s sympathy should be enough, but he still added, “Don’t hold it against him. You know that’s not how he normally is. He’ll apologize, and he’ll mean it. He just needs some time.”

He Tian considered this, then huffed with amusement. “I can only pray for the day Mo Guan Shan valiantly comes to my defense like this.” He looked over at him before a scowl could properly form on Guan Shan’s face, giving him a knowing look. “I’m kidding. He’s earned your trust more than I have, clearly.”

Guan Shan didn’t tell him he was wrong because he wasn’t — but he still got the notion He Tian hoped he would, quietly and deludedly sanguine in his expectation for things to play in his favor; to cater to his wants and expectations. Guan Shan had always known this about him, but he got another taste of it the morning they’d argued in the bathroom. He Tian functioned on the principle of all or nothing. He didn’t live in halves.

He wondered what it meant, then, that He Tian was enduring this liminal space between them. It was different from the tension they’d had when they were younger but he couldn’t say exactly how. He thought it might change things when they already knew the taste of each other’s mouths and the tremble of goose-bumped skin and the metallic scent of their blood.

Perhaps it was cruel of him to have stayed the night, to have reached for him. He could excuse the first time — he could, and did, claim concern for He Tian’s wellbeing.

Anything after that had been selfishly supplementary.

[misscalming]

(Spock got completely fucking wiped out while in a small tinny boat and is living his best “castaway” (2001) life rn ) (( edit: excerpt from my fic ))

[immortalbutterflycos]

“The name, The Infirius… What does that mean, exactly?” James asks, lightheartedly, staying as quiet as he can as he breaks the silence between them. Or at least, whatever silence there ever is when surrounded by the constant crashing of waves all around them.

Regulus huffs a bitter, near-silent laugh followed by such a long silence that James is starting to get the idea that his question won’t be answered at all.

“It comes from an old legend.” Regulus finally murmurs, “An Infirius is essentially a reanimated corpse. They feel no pain. They can’t be cut by a blade, they’re fast, and they have incredible strength.” 

James frowns but doesn’t interrupt.

“Only there’s another part of that legend that everyone else chooses to ignore.” Regulus turns his head to meet his eyes and James sees something sad within them. Sad and sharp with anger.

“Inferi have no free will.” He whispers, “They can’t even think for themselves. They can’t feel, can’t breathe, can’t take their lives back. All they can do is follow the orders of their Master. If he says kill? You kill. If he says die? You die. Not even half of a life. Just a puppet on a string that can’t be cut.”

“Regulus, you are not a corpse,” James murmurs firmly with sincerity in his eyes; in the very line of his brow.

“You are alive. You have air in your lungs and fire in the depths of your eyes–I can see it. Yeah, just there...” He points to a spot in Regulus’ eye, his lips curling up into a small smile. “Your will is as free as you are desperate to take it back from those who stole it from you in the first place. Regulus Black, you are not an Inferius. You are a human being. Your will are your sheers. If you want something cut, pick them up and do it. It is your will. Not theirs.”

[marauders-brain-rot]

Wrote this for the fic I'm writing but I literally have no clue when it's going to happen, thought it was perfect to post for today though, might write another one exclusively for Tumblr as a microfic rather than an excerpt but we shall see, I'm determined to be able to update my ao3 fic today:

Regulus was laying with his head in James’s lap and James was running his fingers soothingly across the other boy’s scalp, humming absentmindedly as he thought. Regulus’s eyes had fluttered shut long ago but James knew he wasn’t sleeping because every now and then he would adjust himself or his eyelids would flutter briefly before settling again. James liked that things were easy with Regulus, he didn’t have to pretend around him, he could be the imperfect version of James Potter and Regulus would still choose him anyways. 

“I was doing some research last night,” James said absentmindedly after a while, fingers still running soothing tracks through Regulus’s hair. 

“I knew this was too good to be true, tell me Jamie, how long before I go into the light?” Regulus popped one eye open and the mischievous smirk that spread across his face sent James’s stomach into flips. 

“Hush now, you, or I won’t tell you what I found.” James replied with a light flick to the tip of Regulus’s nose, which only caused him to scrunch it so adorably that James couldn’t resist planting a delicate kiss to the space between his brows. 

“Okay, okay, what did you find?” The smile on Regulus’s lips made James want to kiss him until they both forgot what they’d been talking about. 

“Did you know that Regulus is the brightest star in the Leo constellation?” James started as he twisted strands of Regulus’s hair between his fingers. 

“Believe it or not Potter, Sirius and I were taught all about our stars growing up.” He answered with one of his famous dramatic eye rolls that rivalled Sirius’s.

“That isn’t the point I’m trying to make. The Leo constellation is the lion constellation, the actual name for Regulus is Alpha Leonis which means ‘heart of the lion’. Reg, we were written in the stars, you were meant to be in my heart.” James was beaming with pride at his discovery but Regulus just groaned. 

“James Fleamont Potter, that is absolutely the cheesiest thing I have ever heard.” Regulus was shaking his head but the smile on his face and the red in his cheeks told James that he didn’t really care all that much. 

“You love it,” James responded, hovering his face above Regulus’s. Regulus’s eyes locked with James’s, allowing him to see every bit of emotion that he usually kept locked deep inside. 

“No, I love you.” The intensity in his eyes was unlike anything James had ever seen before and it took his breath away. Before he’d known him, he’d always thought that Regulus had gotten cold, grey eyes where Sirius’s had a more lively tinge of blue. It wasn’t until Regulus had really started letting James in that he realised that every time he’d looked at Regulus and seen cold, grey, lifeless eyes, he had been staring directly into carefully crafted occlumency walls. In reality, Regulus’s eyes were the most stunning grey-blue that reminded James so much of the ocean when they were filled with emotion.

“I love you too, Reg.” James watched as his reply caused the widest smile he’d ever seen spread across Regulus’s face before the emotions of the moment overtook him and he kissed him as passionately as he could given their awkward angle. ‘This is my happy place,’ James thought, ‘this is where I belong.’

[captivatedbyurhubris]

‘What’s the D in your name stand for?’ Ace asks, looking thoughtfully at Luffy.

‘Dumb!’ Sabo volunteers.

Ace glares at him, unimpressed. Luffy blows a raspberry.

‘Dunno!’ the little boy says, ‘maybe donuts!’

‘Dunno works as well,’ Sabo mumbles.

That startles a laugh out of Ace, that he seems to be surprised by himself. Sabo looks up to Ace beaming at him. Sabo gives him a shy smile in return. 

scenes from my fic that I'm proud of 6/?

< read on AO3 >

[lycanthropiclesbians]

“When I’m upset I like to cry about it. That way all the bad thoughts fall out your eyes and they aren’t in your head no more!” “…Zim does not cry.” “Not ever? Not even a little bit?” “No, GIR, not even… not…” He knows that’s not true. As much as he wants to deny it, the records state otherwise. Zim has cried before, a long, LONG time ago. So fuck it. He spends the next however long it takes sitting on the floor with GIR curled up in his lap, tears streaming down his face.

This scene in Creative_Clawmarks' fic De-program was so incredibly vivid in my mind, I just had to draw it. I loved this story!!

[myokk]

Her kisses were all-consuming and he felt his heart surrendering to her with every gentle nip, losing himself in the feeling of her. Her soft body pressing tightly against him, her breathy moans, the soft hair at the nape of her neck, her taste.

When Eloise finally pulled away from him, breathing heavily as their foreheads pressed together and their eyes locked, Sebastian was dazed and content and...happy. Merlin, he was so happy. Her cheeks were bright pink, and her lips were swollen and red and smiling up at him. His breath caught in his throat - he didn't think he had ever seen anything so beautiful as Eloise in that moment. Sebastian knew that he was grinning like a fool but he didn't care.

Happiness was bubbling up in his body and he was leaning down to kiss her again because it would never be enough and -

She started coughing.

Eloise abruptly pulled away from him, covering her mouth with her sleeve as she doubled over. A terrible, horrible, familiar wracking cough that Sebastian never thought he would hear again.

When she pulled her sleeve away from her mouth, there were little flecks of blood.

They both looked at each other in horror.

"Eloise..." he started, his voice cracking. The balloon of happiness that had filled him burst and he felt himself crashing back to the grim reality that had been his life for too long. Arms hanging limply at his sides. When his voice came out again, it was a whisper. He could barely choke the words out.

"...what did you do?"

their first kiss😇😇😇

[flipppyflopp]

Twisted Neverland

Departure: Ace Trappola, Deuce Spade

Deuce was running late. The bright moon overhead seemed to be mocking his tardiness. For once in his life, he wanted things to go right, for a day just to be good. Unfortunately, today couldn’t have been worse.

It all started when he overslept this morning. His mom came and woke him up, but he fell back asleep. He stayed out late the night before trying to fix up his bike that he wrecked last week, so he was exhausted. His mom had just assumed he was getting ready, so she didn’t bother checking on him till he was supposed to get on the bus. Deuce panicked and started getting ready in record time. He already had nine tardies for the school year, one more and he’d get suspended again.

Out of frustration, Deuce yelled at his mom that she should have woken him up. He yelled at her. She didn’t deserve that. Deuce knew that. She deserved so much better. She worked two jobs in order to provide for Deuce and herself after dad left them. During the day when Deuce was in school, she worked full-time at the local car garage and then she worked part-time in the evenings as a delivery driver for White Rabbit Deliveries. She worked hard to provide a good life for herself and Deuce, and here he was just screwing it up like usual. He wanted to do better, be better, but every time he tried to stick to the right path, he just screwed it up. Just like this morning. What good kid yells at his own mother? It was his fault that he stayed out. It was his fault that he fell back asleep. It was his fault that he was a bad kid.

His mom, his gracious and forgiving mom, took it in stride and simply handed him his book bag and a lunch she packed herself. She told him to have a great birthday and that when he came home, she would have something for him.

Oh yeah. To top it all off, today was his birthday.

Deuce grabbed his book bag and lunch, and ran to the front door. Just like every other morning, Deuce’s mom told him to promise to do his best, and Deuce hurriedly replied that he promised. A promise he broke each and every day.

Deuce ended up being late to school by three minutes. He tried to plead with the principal, but he refused, citing each day that Deuce was late this school year. He said that if Deuce really cared about his attendance, he wouldn’t already have nine tardies. The principal then grabbed the phone and began to dial his mother’s number to tell her that starting tomorrow he would be suspended for the rest of the week.

Deuce didn’t know what else to do, so he left. He grabbed his book bag and ran right out of the office. He didn’t want to hear the principal talk with his mom. He didn’t want to feel the shame and guilt overwhelm him when hearing his mom’s shock. He couldn’t bear it.

So he ran out of the school and into the nearest alleyway. He took turn after turn to make sure to lose anyone who came after him. Once he himself wasn’t sure where he ended up, he slid down the wall and sat on the ground. He brought up his knees to his chest and rested his head on his knees.

Deuce didn’t know when he started crying, but he knew he cried for quite awhile. It started out quiet, but then his sobs grew louder as the day’s events washed over him. Why couldn’t things go right for once? Why couldn’t he get his act together? Why couldn’t he be a good kid? He asked himself these questions over and over, but he couldn’t come up with an answer for any of them.

As his thoughts began to overwhelm him, Deuce cried louder and louder. Eventually, his cries drew the attention of others.

“Look at what we have here boys. A little baby who can’t find his way home.”

A hand grabs Deuce’s hair and yanks his head up. Deuce immediately registers that it’s some member of the Black Bunnies gang, recognizable by the gray letterman jacket with a black rabbit patch on it.

Once the guy gets a look at Deuce’s face, he calls out, “Hey, wait a minute. Isn’t he the Cauldron Duke?”

Three more members of the Black Bunnies emerge from the shadows of the alleyway. Deuce feels his stomach drop. He should’ve just run back home.

One guy with short, blonde hair says, “It really is! What’s he doing out here crying?”

Another guy with long, black hair retorts, “Maybe he’s not all what the rumors say he is. Maybe he’s nothing more than a snot nosed brat.”

The one holding Deuce’s hair, a guy with pink hair, asks, “Got anything to say for yourself, Cauldron Duke?”

Deuce steels his nerves and doesn’t respond at all. He narrows his gaze, trying to look somewhat intimidating. He knows it isn’t successful when he sees a frown cross the guy’s face in front of him.

“You think you’re above us? Answer me when I’m talking to you!”

Suddenly, Deuce is sent reeling backwards. A punch sends him flying into the brick wall behind him. He falls to the ground and tries to catch his breath.

The pink haired guy grabs Deuce’s face again and yanks it up so that Deuce is looking him in the eyes.

“Does the baby not know how to talk?”

The guy punches Deuce in the chest with his free hand while his lackeys walk up behind him.

“Need someone to hold your hand?”

This time a kick to the gut from the lackey with blonde hair.

“Come on boys! Don’t let me hog all the fun!”

Deuce just wants it all to stop.

“No way this is the Cauldron Duke!”

He wishes for it to end.

“Wish you had some friends, don’t you!”

He wants someone to come flying to his rescue, but no one does. No one ever does.

“Let’s get him good! He’s all alone now!”

He’s always been alone.

“I bet you want your mommy!”

Mom. He’s always had her. If no one else, he’s had her. She’s waiting for him. He needs to get back to her.

“How about one more boys-“

The pink haired leader gets sent flying into the nearby garbage dump. The other three lackeys stare dumbfounded at Deuce who managed such a feat with a single punch.

Deuce shakily rises to his feet and wipes the blood slowly dripping down the corner of his cheek. He’s going home. He’s not going to let anyone stop him.

Deuce doesn’t like to fight, he knows that it’s wrong and that his mom would be disappointed in him, but he does like the feeling. He lets his mind shut down, letting his body go on autopilot. All those thoughts weighing him down just disappear when he prepares to fight. Step. Punch. Step. Duck. Repeat.

He takes care of the lackeys quickly. They end up turning tail and leaving before the fighting gets too intense. After the last one runs out the alleyway, Deuce lets out a breath that he didn’t even realize he was holding in. He begins to assess himself, seeing what damage was done. Other than some nasty bruises, he seems to be ok. A bit sore, but ok.

Deuce stretches his arms above his head, closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath. As he releases his breath, he opens his eyes and takes in the scarlet sky that’s beginning to give way to a deep blue with stars just dancing on its edges.

Wait. Stars?

Deuce curses to himself and mutters, “I’m so late! Mom said she had something she wanted to show me after school. But those guys jumped me and-“

Deuce immediately takes off running in what he believes to be the direction of his home. How did it get so late so quickly!? He was supposed to be home by now.

The day just continues to get worse and worse. As Deuce didn’t pay much attention when he ran out his school earlier, he got lost trying to find his way back home. By the time Deuce finally manages to get back home, the sky is full of stars while he is out of breath. He quietly approaches the door and pulls out his key. He tries to think of something to say to his mom, but his mind is empty. What could he possibly say to her at this point? His mom is probably already asleep anyway, so he can just ask her about whatever she wanted to show him tomorrow morning. It might be better if he just slips into his bedroom and goes straight to bed, putting this awful day behind him as quickly as possible.

As Deuce makes up his mind, he turns the key and quietly steps inside, making sure to lock the door behind him. He tiptoes towards the kitchen to put his book bag away, but he pauses when he notices that a light is on down the hallway. It’s the light in his mom’s room. Why’s his mom still awake at this hour? She usually goes to bed early during the week because she has to get up to get ready for work. Deuce quietly walks down the hallway and listens to see if he can hear if his mom’s still up. Maybe she accidentally fell asleep with the light on? If he doesn’t hear anything, he’ll just quickly open the door to shut the lights off.

As he reaches the door, he begins to hear noise from inside the room. Crying. It’s muffled, but it’s definitely the sound of his mother crying. Did something happen at work? Did someone mess with his mom? While Deuce debates entering the room or slipping away and pretending he never heard anything, he hears his mom speak.

“Mom, I just don’t know what to do. The principal called and said Deuce skipped school again.”

Oh. It’s because of him.

“I just don’t know what to do! I love him so much, but it must not be enough if he’s doing all this.”

He’s screwed up again.

“Maybe I can’t do this on my own…maybe Deuce needs a real family. I just want him to be happy, mom, but he keeps getting into trouble.”

Deuce bites his lip and balls his hands into fists.

“Am I doing something wrong? Am I not a good mother?”

He turns on his heel and walks towards the kitchen.

His thoughts fly as he makes his way back down the hall.

‘No. Mom…she feels like this? I’m…I’m a terrible son, making her go through all of this.’

Deuce grabs the handle and quietly turns it as a tear slides down his face.

‘She’s the one who deserves better! She’d be better off without me screwing up her life! I should just-‘

The state of kitchen sends his racing thoughts crashing into an abrupt halt. The kitchen is decorated in streamers and banners of varying shades of blue. Balloons sit in each corner of the room along with some shiny tinsel. In the center of the room sits a cake topped with sixteen unlit candles. A banner boldly declares in a bright and cheery font, “Happy Birthday Deuce!”

That’s right. Today’s his birthday. How could he have forgotten?

This is what his mom wanted to show him. What she had planned. She went through all this trouble for him, yet all he does for her is cause trouble. Why? Why would she go to such lengths for him? He only ever brings her grief and she did something so kind for him.

Deuce feels his heart drop. He wishes he could simply disappear.

He drops his bag by the closet before walking towards the cake in the center of the kitchen. Deuce takes small steps, making sure that his footsteps are muffled. He peers at the cake and reads the words written in blue icing on the cake, “Happy 16th Birthday, Deuce!” Deuce bites his lip while grabbing one of the candles from on top of the cake. He turns on his heel and quickly speeds out of the kitchen towards the stairs. He tries to be as silent as possible, but he’s not sure how much noise he’s made. His heart seems to be knocking loudly on his chest. He’s convinced his mom can hear his guilt.

Deuce closes his bedroom door and cries out, “I wish I could be a son Mom could be proud of!”

“It’s not too late. You could still become a fine son.”

Deuce’s head whips up at the sound of another voice in his room. A boy stands in front of his window that he was positive was closed before he went to school this morning. The boy is small, Deuce would’ve mistaken him for a middle schooler based on his looks; however, his voice was cold and dignified, making Deuce think he was actually older than he appeared. The boy had red hair hidden beneath a red pirate hat with a large black feather in it. The hat matched the rest of the boy’s ensemble of a bright, long red jacket with black and gold accents.

Deuce knew he should immediately start throwing fists at this person who broke into his room. He had no clue who this person was, or what he might do. Even though his body was ready to move forward and start swinging, Deuce’s mind was exhausted from the day’s events. He didn’t think he had it in him to do much more than lay on the floor and cry.

Not to mention, the boy had said something that echoed in Deuce’s mind. He said that Deuce could still become, “a fine son.” The way the boy said it sounded like he was reciting a fact. That he knew Deuce could become good. Deuce had never met this person before and yet they sounded like they knew him in such a familiar way. It was strange. His body wanted to fight. His mind wanted to hear more. For once, he went with his head.

Deuce declares to the stranger, “Tell me how!”

The red headed boy scoffs and says, “Not even going to ask my name, or how I arrived here? You are quite reckless. I shall take you aboard my vessel, the Queen’s Court, where I will turn you from a fickle youth into a fine gentleman worthy of everyone’s praise.”

The boy turns towards the window and adds, “That is, if you’re willing to change.“

Change. That’s all Deuce has wanted to do, but it didn’t seem possible. At least, not on his own. When he tried to change, he just screwed it up. Trouble found him in different ways and Deuce ended up right back where he started. It was like he was stuck on an endless loop, all alone wallowing in his guilt. Maybe what he needed was the help of someone else. An outsider. A friend.

Deuce balls his hands into fists and says, “I’ll do anything!”

The boy turns back with a smile on his face as he responds, “Then welcome aboard, Deuce Spade. Come along, we depart now.”

The boy begins walking back towards the window and Deuce quickly says, “Wait! Don’t I need to pack? I-“

The boy cuts him off, “Everything you need will be on board.”

Deuce takes a step to follow the boy, but he hesitates before making another move. He turns back towards his bedroom door. Could he really just leave?

“Your mother will be fine without you. She won’t even know you’re gone.”

Deuce whips his head back towards the window and says, “You promise?”

Deuce isn’t sure if he imagined it, but it seemed like sadness briefly appeared in the red headed boy’s eyes. Deuce couldn’t be sure though because as quickly as he saw it, it disappeared and was replaced with a determined gaze.

“Of course. I promise on my name Riddle Rosehearts.”

Deuce takes one last glance at the door and raises his fist. He opens it revealing the candle he took from his birthday cake in the kitchen. He would become someone his mom could be proud of. Someone she could brag about to all the neighbors. No longer would she have to apologize on his behalf. He would become someone worthy of her love.

He quickly slips the candle into his pocket and turns to follow Riddle. Then he realizes he’s not sure where he’s following Riddle to besides his window. Would they leave by climbing out and leaping into the alleyway below?

Just as his mind begins to think of other places Riddle might be leading him towards, he notices what lurks just outside his window. A large ship has laid down a plank leading up to his window. Deuce blinks several times before finally believing his eyes. There’s a floating ship right outside his house. A ship that apparently can turn him into a good kid according to Riddle. What a strange day it’s been.

Deuce quietly follows Riddle onto the ship where people are milling about pulling on various ropes and moving crates around the ship. Everyone seems to know their task and is getting it done without a moment to waste. He notices that some of the boys begin to whisper to one another after realizing Riddle has come onboard the ship. Their whispering ends just as quickly as it began, the boys quickly resume their work with even more vigor in their steps. Riddle walks up to a boy with orange hair who is carrying a box with various pieces of clothes inside.

The orange haired boy smiles and says, “It’s totes good to see you again, Captain! You sure know how to get the job done quickly!”

Riddle pays no mind to the boy’s praise and says, “Cater, would you please take Deuce to the sleeping quarters?”

Cater winks and retorts, “Do you even have to ask? Cay-Cay would be more than happy to show the way-way!”

Deuce inwardly cringes at Cater’s wordplay, but he’s probably just trying to make Deuce feel more at ease. After all, Cater understands everything that’s going on onboard this ship, while Deuce is completely in the dark.

Riddle pays Cater’s silliness no mind and says, “Thank you. I’ll be off to make sure the preparations are complete for our return to Neverland.”

Riddle turns to Deuce and continues, “I’ll leave you in Cater’s capable hands. If you have any questions, I’m sure he will be able to fill you in. I’ll see you in the morning, Deuce.”

With a swish of his red jacket, Riddle makes his way up a flight of stairs towards some unknown part of the ship. Deuce watches Riddle until he fades from view before taking in Cater. Cater has orange hair that is partially clipped back with some pieces falling down to frame his face. Underneath one of his green eyes, Cater has a red diamond painted on. His outfit consists of the same outfit as the other boys milling about, a simple blue striped shirt with jeans that are covered in a variety of patches. One accessory sets Cater apart from the other boys and that would be a camera attached to a strap hanging around Cater’s neck.

Deuce isn’t sure what to say or do, but luckily Cater quickly begins to strike up conversation saying, “Welcome aboard Deucey! My name is Cater Diamond, expert coordinator on board the Queen’s Court. Any questions I can go ahead and answer for you?”

Deuce has a million questions sitting on the top of his tongue. What is this place? What’s Neverland? Why is Cater here? How was Deuce chosen for this experience? How was the ship floating? Why was everyone acting so calm? Did his mom hate him? Was he making the right choice by being here? Despite all these questions, Deuce can’t bring himself to ask a single one. He’s tired. He’s had a long day. If he received any answer to any of his many questions, he’d probably end up forgetting it right away. That, or it’d probably be the last straw and Deuce would just collapse into a sobbing mess.

Cater seems to notice Deuce’s overwhelmed state and gives a small smile as he says, “I’m sure this is a lot for you to take in, so how about we head on down to barracks so you can go ahead and crash?”

Deuce returns the gesture with a smile of his own and says, “Yes, please.”

“Right this way.”

They head through a nearby door and down a flight of stairs. Deuce can’t help but wonder what he’s gotten himself into. Perhaps this is the first step in his journey to become a better son; however, it’s just as likely this could be him sealing his fate into some crazy adventure. Regardless, Deuce felt a strange sense of peace. No matter what lay ahead of him, he knew that he would not be the same person as he was at the start. Change was all around him and he was sure that it was bound to become a part of him. All he needed to do was continue to walk forward on this new path he embarked upon.

[nico-di-genova]

Tagged by @belles1011 to share a line in the middle of a WIP :)

So, Southern Palex excerpt anyone?

James’ expression changes, sympathy creeping its way into the teasing smirk he had been wearing. Alex hates it, the pathetic way that James handles him like a kicked dog sometimes. Like he’s still wearing the kiddie gloves he’d had when they met in high school – Alex a freshman, James a junior. Alex had been lanky back then, a gangly kid with fading bruising under his eyes and a crooked nose from the fresh break he’d gotten running his 4-wheeler into the barbed wire of the pasture. He’d gone tumbling ass over head off the front of the thing, ended up with a mouthful of dirt and blood when he connected solidly with the ground. It had been the first serious accident since his mom’s death and his dad hadn’t known all the information needed for the in-take form at the emergency room. Alex had sat in a chair with its crinkling plastic vinyl, a dishtowel pressed to his nose, his head tipped back because neither of them knew that wasn’t the way to staunch the bleeding, while Pieter asked him about his medical history. His speech had come out garbled when he spoke, choked by the crimson that coated the back of his throat, nausea building within him. He’d ended up vomiting across the linoleum before they brought him back and checked him for a concussion.              But James hadn’t seen that, only the faint tracing of a scar and the crooked set of his nose when they met for the first time at tryouts.

Tagging: @alexanderossis @stockcarbaby24 @scrollonso and anyone else who'd like to join! :)