#this is way too long for tumblr but whatever

[sloanesallow]

seven minutes in heaven

Sebastian volunteers for a party game. The rules are simple: guess who the other person is. The caveat? You can’t look and you can’t speak but you can touch. Sebastian Sallow x F!MC (Siobhan Sloane) Tags: MDNI, NSFW! Sexual content, anonymous (but not really), Sebastian being the needy, horny boy that he is. Characters are in their 7th year and are 18. 2.8k words [Ao3] | [Wattpad] | [Tumblr Masterlist]

For reasons Sebastian doesn’t understand, a party is being thrown in the Slytherin common room. He knows better than to question it though, because one should never look a gift celebration in the mouth—or something like that. It’s Friday evening, and that is a good enough excuse for music and dancing, for firewhisky and more.

Sebastian leisurely wades through the chaos, choosing to relax and join in on the festivities. Drink in hand, he socializes with acquaintances and strangers alike until a hazy buzz forms at the base of his skull. He forgets how good it feels to be free of inhibition, welcoming whatever experience life wishes to bring his way. Tonight, that comes in the form of a game.

Seven minutes in heaven.

Sebastian blindly volunteers, laughing as he’s blindfolded and told there’s already someone waiting in the nearby storage closet. The rules are simple and thrilling: guess who the other person is. The caveat? You can’t look and you can’t speak but you can touch.

He’s pushed into the closet, quickly realizing how little space there is between him and his companion. It’s a girl, that much he can tell by the subtle scent of her perfume. His pulse quickens, though he isn’t sure if it’s from a sudden burst of nerves or excitement. More likely to be teenage hormones—it isn’t every day he’s trapped in an enclosed space with someone of the opposite sex.

Sebastian tentatively reaches out, biting down on his bottom lip to prevent himself from making a noise that would give away his identity. He barely registers the hushed hitch of her breath as he finds her waist—whoever it is, they are considerably shorter than he is, slender, and just the faintest curve to her hips. That doesn’t narrow it down much, with that description fitting most of the witches at Hogwarts.

Her hands meet his shoulders, one sliding up to briefly tease the hair at the nape of his neck. They slowly move down, smoothing across the front of his button-up, taking a moment to inspect his tie. He puffs out his chest, wondering if she can tell he is a Quidditch player, if she likes the toned muscles beneath her palms.

Emboldened, Sebastian moves his hands a little higher and sweeps his thumbs across her ribs. The blouse she wears is soft, and thin enough that he can feel the heat radiating from her skin, feel the rise and fall of her quickened breaths. He swallows hard, daring to trace the curve of her breasts, causing her to tremble. He brushes his fingers along the column of her neck and up her jawline, envisioning the shape of her face in his mind. She copies his careful actions and he shudders when her thumb ghosts across his lips.

He leans in, close enough to smell the sweet mint on her breath and feel the electric tickle of her mouth so close to his own. There’s something else there too—florals and earth—an aroma so recognizable it seizes his heart.

Sloane?

Sebastian tries to push the thought away, unconvinced that his dear, sweet Siobhan would engage in such a lascivious game. Yet, as her body presses closer, he can’t deny the spark of recognition. She fits against him in an achingly familiar way, stirring up memories of friendly hugs that linger a second too long, of accidental touches and longing stares that have gone unacknowledged for years.

It seems fate is done waiting for action. Sebastian contemplates and damns the repercussions in the time it takes for him to snake his arms around her torso and wedge his thigh between her legs. A shaky whimper slips from her lips and he hopes—no, he knows it’s Sloane.

It has to be.   

He closes the distance, capturing her lips in a kiss he’s craved for longer than he wants to admit. It’s hungry and demanding, his chest aching with every beat of his heart as she yields, mouth molding to his as if this isn’t their first, but thousandth kiss. Her fingers tangle in his hair and she grips his shirt collar, prompting him to hook one of her legs around his waist. He grinds himself against her, and she breaks away with a heady moan.

 “Ohh…”

Sebastian bites back a curse, the sinful sound shattering any facade of anonymity. The voice is more than familiar—it’s ingrained in the deepest parts of his psyche, a sound so often heard in laughter but never like this. It’s Sloane—his Sloane—the one who’s always been off-limits, forbidden. And yet here she is, wanton and responsive, melting under his every touch.

Doubt still dares to cloud his mind. Does she know it’s him? He wants to hear her moan—scream—his name, wants the whole damn castle to know how he makes her feel. But what if…what if she doesn’t want it to be him? What if Sloane wants—

No.

Sebastian refuses to entertain the idea that Sloane could ever want anyone but him. She must know it’s him, or she would’ve never let him kiss or touch her so intimately. It’s the only reality he will accept.

He trails his lips down her neck, coaxing out a dreamy sigh that makes his spine tingle. He slides his hand beneath her already bunched-up skirt, feeling the delicate fabric of her stockings, playfully plucking at the garter clip before stroking his fingers along her inner thigh. She tugs his head back and there’s a second of panic before her mouth clumsily crashes into his again. An amused chuckle morphs into a groan when her leg tightens around him, pushing his clothed arousal against her sex.   

More, he needs more.

Sebastian can hear his own racing heartbeat as he dares to inch his fingers higher, moaning into the kiss when they brush against the front of her underwear. She gasps but doesn’t stop him, her thigh twitching as he slides the fabric aside, just enough to feel her. His composure falters at finding her so wet, slipping two fingers through her slick heat and up to circle the tiny nerve bundling he’s read so much about.  

“Mmm—ah!”

She wobbles and he steadies her, his voice a husky whisper. “Shh, I’ve got you.”

She clings to him, whimpering between ragged breaths as she rocks herself against his hand, adding more to the already burning friction. His hips jerk forward of their own volition and Sebastian doesn’t feel in control of his own body, so lost in the moment and the sensation of her writhing against him and the heat of her that he thinks he must be dreaming, that he must be dead and gone to—

Fuck.

How long is seven minutes, anyway? 

The closet door bursts open and all Sebastian can hear is surprised laughter and drunken cheers as reality comes crashing down. He reluctantly pulls away, choking back a whine at the loss. He’s panting, heart pounding so fiercely against his ribcage it hurts.

“Took them long enough.”

Sebastian is too worried about Sloane to be embarrassed and yanks off the blindfold, blinking hard to adjust his vision. He turns to find her fleeing, pushing herself through the crowd to escape.  

“Sloane, wait!” he shouts, franticly following after her as she rushes down the first quiet corridor she can find. “Sloane!”

She slows just enough that he can catch up, gently grasping her arm to turn her around. When she doesn’t look at him he softly tilts her chin up, the ache in his chest worsening at the sight of her distressed expression. Her stormcloud eyes are glazed over with unshed tears, her bottom lip quivering as she sucks in a breath. They are swollen from kisses, a similar shade of the pink that tints her cheeks.  

“Sloane,” he repeats, caressing her cheek with an affectionate sweep before tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Only then does he notice the tremble in his fingers, his gut churning with the fear that she really didn’t want him, that all she feels for him is regret. “That was…” he gulps, unsuccessful in calming his frenzied pulse. “I—I just knew it was you.”

He searches her face for a sign of what she’s thinking or feeling. Sloane is typically quiet and reserved but right now, Sebastian will do anything to hear her say anything. Their friendship has always had this underlying tension, a thin line he’s struggled to navigate and held back from crossing, until now. He steps closer, still cradling her face while his other hand squeezes her wrist.

“Please, Siobhan,” he whispers. It takes every last thread of restraint he has not to kiss her, not when he knows how sweet she’d be on his tongue. “Tell me you felt it too, that it meant something. Because…fuck,” he doesn’t want to imagine a world where they pretend tonight didn’t happen. “I don’t think I can go back to being just friends after that.”

“No, we can’t,” she finally says in a raspy, quiet voice. She lifts her free hand to rest on his arm, and he holds his breath. Sloane’s eyes dart to his lips and then back up. “Tell me, Sebastian. Tell me what you want.”

“I want…” Sebastian remembers to exhale, even as nervous anticipation takes hold. He takes a moment to look at her, this close, in the light. “I want you.”

There’s no use in adding more, sweet words to try and convince her, to take pity on his desperate soul. Sloane leans into his touch, her eyes slowly closing as she sighs against his lips. “Then have me.”

Sebastian moans into her mouth, a mix of relief and reignited passion as he registers the desire in her words. This isn’t a dream or a game, and he’d sooner be trapped in a storage closet, alone for the rest of his life, than allow this to be a one-off. He can’t help but scoop her up into his arms, grinning as she lets out a little surprised yelp. Sloane holds onto him and he has a hard time focusing on getting them someplace private when all he wants is to kiss her breath away.

“Your room?” she asks as he balances her to open the door. He nods, kicking it closed with his foot as soon as they cross the threshold. The dormitory he shares with Ominis and a few other seventh years is empty and likely to stay that way if the party continues as long as the last one did. Sebastian wants to take his time, without interruptions.

 He sets Sloane down on the edge of his bed, stepping back to admire the sight of her sitting amongst his belongings, looking up at him wide-eyed and expectant. “I’ve dreamt of this, you know,” he murmurs, rubbing at his jaw in disbelief. “Of you, in my bed.”

Sebastian loosens the ties around his neck before casting it aside, watching the subtle changes in her expression as he slowly unbuttons his shirt. Sloane drags her teeth across her bottom lip, eyes following his movements as he sheds his clothes one item at a time until he is bare. He isn’t one to be bashful, but his skin heats under her gaze and the way her body shifts, hinting at her arousal.

“Here,” he says, taking her hands as she stands, guiding them to his chest. “Touch as much as you’d like.”

Sloane hums in quiet agreement, her palms sliding tentatively across his skin. She traces the lines of his muscles, fingers dancing across his shoulders and arms as she counts the dustings of freckles she finds. Sebastian’s resolve nearly buckles from the sensation, the ache to tear her clothes away and bury himself inside her heat unbearable.

He forces himself not to rush, keeping his focus on her face as he untucks her blouse, pulling free the buttons until he can push it from her shoulders. Her skirt and chemise are next, fluttering to the ground with the rest of their clothes. Sebastian is fiddling with the clasps of her garter when her hand finds his cock and he bucks against her with a strangled moan.

“Is this alright?” she asks in a sweet voice that threatens to undo him before they’ve properly started. Sebastian nods, resting his head against the crook of her shoulder as she gives a few experimental strokes.

“Fuck, yes,” he hisses, kissing her neck and tracing the line of her collarbone with his tongue. He cups her bare breasts in his hands, rolling them in his palm as she sighs a delightful little sound, her grip tightening a fraction. Sebastian pulls her hand away and guides her back to the edge of the bed, encouraging her to lie down as he peels her stockings and underwear off. “But I need to be inside of you, love.”

“Oh,” Sloane’s naked body is flushed and more beautiful than he could’ve ever imagined. The quick rise and fall of her chest, the way her skin prickles with gooseflesh, and how her eyes darken with lust.

Sebastian eases himself onto the bed, using his knee to carefully spread her legs apart. He lowers his body to hers, weight propped up on one arm as his free hand tickles down her belly to the junction of her thighs. “Is that what you want, Siobhan?” he whispers, craving not just her consent but a confession too. “Do you want me?”

Sloane whimpers, her eyes fluttering closed as his fingers slide through her sex, parting her to tease at the spot he knows will make her sing. Her back arches and she rolls her hips against him, her hands snapping up to clutch his shoulders. Sebastian marvels at her reactions, the shape of her mouth as she moans and the little crease between her brow as pleasure takes hold. He sinks a finger into her, then another, continuing to study the way her expression shifts.

“Tell me,” he rasps against her ear, nibbling softly on the lobe as she clenches around his fingers. “Do you need me?”

“Y—yes,” Sloane’s reply is a broken moan as she eagerly nods. “I need you, Sebastian.”

Their lips crash together again, deep and desperate as he positions himself, replacing his fingers with his cock. Sebastian breaks the kiss to look into her eyes, his hand squeezing her hip as he eases into her, savoring the moment so he can etch it into his mind and never forget. It’s almost overwhelming, the heat and tight grip surrounding him, even more so when he’s fully sheathed inside. After a moment, he moves, rocking his hips against hers in a steady, tender rhythm.

Sloane’s hands slide along his back as he thrusts, her nails occasionally biting into his skin when he fills her completely. He drops his head to her shoulder, nuzzling against her neck as he listens to her sounds of pleasure, his ego flaring with the knowledge he is the cause. She hooks her legs around his waist and Sebastian follows the silent cue, pressing himself closer, cradling her body as he quickens his pace.

“Just like that,” he groans, feeling the way she flutters around him with each stroke. His lips slide across her throat, ragged breaths swirling around her ear. “Say you’ll come for me, sweetheart, say you’ll come for me.”

“Yes!” Sloane arches beneath him, her inner walls squeezing around his cock, ensuring he won’t last much longer. He thinks for a moment that she might be the death of him. “Please…”

He hikes her legs higher around his waist, changing the angle of his thrusts as he chases their mutual release. She moves with him, clinging to him until her entire body trembles, her head tossed back in a silent cry. Sebastian can only admire the spectacle of her release for a few seconds before he too finds himself falling over the edge, a strangled growl muffled against her skin as he ruts into her before collapsing, breathless.

It takes all the strength Sebastian has to keep his weight from crushing her, his limbs shaking and heavy as he carefully rolls to her side, one arm still tucked tightly around her waist. His eyes droop with exhaustion and he slowly blinks at Sloane’s profile, her expression a similar state of bliss. Sensing him she turns her face to him, lips turned up in a lazy smile, eyes shining with what he hopes is love.

“How do you feel?” he asks, hesitant to have too serious a conversation so soon. It can wait at least until the morning, until after he’s had her a few more times.

Sloane softly giggles, the blush on her cheeks endearing. “Heavenly.”

Sebastian laughs, tugging her into a tighter embrace so he can kiss her cheeks and her nose, their continued laughter muffled between lazy kisses. He feels the same.

[animentality]

special announcement time

alright everyone.

at long last, i have finished polishing my latest writing project, a horror romcom fantasy novel (94k words), and am looking for beta readers to tell me what they think of it.

but not only that...

i am also interested in beta swapping.

sooooooooo.

if you got an ongoing fanfic, if you've got a novel of your own...or any other kind of big writing project, or web comic even, that you want eyes on...dm me or send me an ask (or reply to this post, I'll reach out).

i have turned on dms and replies for this purpose.

it can be pretty much any length and any genre, about anything. i don't mind any experience level either, whether you've never written anything at all, or have been doing it for years. i can help aspiring authors (trad or indie), fanfic authors who want to participate in fan events/post to AO3, people who don't want to share their work with the public...

i'll read sci fi, fantasy, horror, historical, contemporary, romance. porn. any genre, with any audience (YA, MG, adult, whatever).

but also, you know. we don't have to swap. if you just wanna read it, that's perfectly alright too. summary here, so you can see if you'd be interested.

Warnings: Graphic violence, child death (death of an infant), self-harm (because their powers are blood-based, and they need to self harm in order to use them), implied sexual assault/incest (not graphic), animal death (a lot of it), and oh yeah, sex scenes. this is an adult romantasy. adult.

anyway.

here:

In a world ravaged by war between the old gods and the new, demigods sow chaos and discord wherever they go, destined to be either legendary heroes or fearsome villains. But Marrow is not like other demigods. They are the child of the god of blood and slaughter, born with only one purpose: to kill in their savage father’s name, and bleed the entire world dry. The one problem? 

The only living creature they want to kill is their father.

But Marrow has been imprisoned within their temple for their entire life, unable to realize that dream…until now. A deal with a devil allows them to escape, making their way into a hostile world they know little about- and matters are not helped by the fact that their father can use their eyes to see what they're seeing at any time. To keep him from seeing their location, Marrow must remained blindfolded. But Marrow, an eternal optimist, won’t let their lack of vision stop them from fulfilling their lifelong dream. 

The demigod hunter might, however. Arlo Ren is a member of the Razor Watch, a religious order dedicated to the goddess of the hunt. He is clever, but impulsive, eager to prove himself to his goddess by capturing powerful prey. Soon after meeting Marrow by chance, and discovering what they are, he sees his opportunity and refuses to let it go. Literally. The demigod hunter handcuffs the demigod to his side, and swears to sacrifice them in his god’s name. Luckily for him, Marrow is an inexperienced, blind pacifist, who needs him to guide them through a dangerous, unknown world. They fully intend to escape him eventually. But perhaps a demigod and a demigod hunter have more in common than they might think. Perhaps they might even need each other...but they will, at the very least, need to learn how to live, work, and fight together as they are relentlessly chased by Marrow’s powerful demigod siblings, all hoping to kill their youngest sibling and please the god they abandoned. 

So yeaaaah. DM or replied or whatever if interested. We can chat some more in discord or on Tumblr (but I'm faster on discord).

[lotus-lamps]

tysm the weekly light for giving me motivation to draw LMAO

a lil messy but thats ok. it was a lot of fun so thats all that matters haha (I LOVE RENDERING AND DO THE LIGHTING AND ALL THAT SHIT ITS SO FUN) rip mothy gilbert also had too much fun ig lmao

[sassafrassrex]

oh my God i just tried out the tumblr mobile website on my phone's internet browser and holyshityouguys were you hiding this from me??

i just deleted the app fr

[arklay]

RESIDENT EVIL → THE WESKER FAMILY

To the public, little is known of the families behind some of the world’s most renowned bioterrorists, but the question remains: did they play a role in causing their children to walk down the path that they did? Or are these individuals simply ambitious criminals with delusions of grandeur?

For Diana Wesker (née Afanasyeva), her introduction into the bioweapons black market trade was upon discovering her employers were using her research into limb regeneration with salamanders to further their experiments in creating enhanced soldiers, instead of developing human therapies with which she was recruited for. Although the prospect of using biological weapons in the military did not appeal to her, the concept remained fascinating for her own selfish endeavours. Born on the 27th of October, 1963 in Sydney, Australia to Russian immigrant parents, Diana had harsh expectations placed upon her at a young age, ones that no matter how hard she tried she could never live up to. Her mother, Tatyana, was an unfeeling woman, absent for long stretches of time with little regard to how it affected her daughters, much more concerned with her craft as an accomplished opera singer. Viktor was no better. A strict man whose role as father and ballet master blurred, he pushed his girls to one day follow in his footsteps. Whilst Sofia enjoyed ballet, and went on to become a professional ballet dancer, Diana’s heart was set on going into the field of biology. She wished to make a name for herself, separate from her family – to which she succeeded.

Diana was married to former U.S. Marine, Dave Monroe, for only a year until he was declared dead in 1992 after succumbing to injuries sustained in a horrific car accident. Foul play was ruled out while Diana played the role of the grief-stricken widow, but in reality, she had snapped after years of mistreatment at her husband’s hands, and opted for something she could pass off as an accident to be free of him. For years she believed he was dead – and he was, legally – but that proved to not be the case when he found his way back into her life again in 1999. Unbeknownst to her, she had been lied to by the police and coroner, who were paid off by her employers when they took Dave’s body for themselves and used him as one of their first test subjects in developing supersoldiers. Before he could ever hurt her again, Diana’s second husband, Albert Wesker, tracked the man down, captured him and tortured him, before allowing Diana to get her violent and bloody revenge.

The origins of Albert Wesker’s involvement in bioterrorism, alongside his twin sister, Alex, are much different than that of Diana’s. The two hail from London, Canada, but unfortunately, they hold no memories of their lives there, nor what happened to their biological parents when they were eight years old. Agents of Oswell E. Spencer, an aristocratic billionaire and eugenicist, took the twins from their home and executed their parents as per Spencer’s orders. Albert and Alex were then placed in a home funded by the Spencer Foundation where they were given new names and a privileged upbringing. They had access to the best education possible, free to pursue whichever field they decided, but it was by no accident they both went into virology and bioengineering; at home, their adoptive parents – agents whom they believed to be their real parents – instilled them with the beliefs of Oswell E. Spencer, harbouring disdain for war and pestilence, and believing humans to be an evolutionary dead-end in need of a rebirth. They were only two of the hundreds of children “adopted” as part of what is known as Project W, a plan intended to develop an advanced race of human beings. The most promising candidates were headhunted by Umbrella Pharmaceuticals, the twins amongst them, where they went on to create bioweapons for the company founded by none other than the man who had handpicked them for his plan. The final stage of this was to infect the thirteen Spencer saw fit, however, only two survived; Albert received the intended effects, now possessing superhuman abilities, however, Alex was only offered more time to live due to her terminal degenerative illness.

In the summer of 1995, Diana was working undercover within Umbrella to gather development data on their projects for her company. Here, she had a chance encounter with Albert, an intelligence officer at the time, which permanently altered the course of her life. The two were never seen far from one another’s side, marrying in 1998, and they went on to become notorious in the bioweapons industry. The development of the Uroboros virus was where things took a turn for the worst. Although Diana’s infection was successful and she bore abilities that rivalled her husband’s, the plan itself did not succeed as they had hoped, and almost cost Albert his life at the hands of his former subordinates.

Now, they work within the shadows, with Diana declared missing and Albert believed to be dead. Their legacy, however, lives on with the mark they left on the world. As visionaries in their field, they influenced bioterror attacks carried out by countless individuals and organisations. In turn, they also inspired others to fight against such atrocities. One such person happens to be Albert’s son from a former relationship, Jake Müller, whose existence he was unaware of.

[tanicus-caesareth]

guarana drama, damage control

[vigilskeep]

hey do you guys ever think about how justice’s inexperience with people and anders’ reliance on laughing over his trauma would’ve made justice wholly unprepared for the kind of shame and hurt and fear that was now suddenly a part of him. i think abt it!

[everybodyshusband]

it's healthy to go back and reread all the nice comments people have left on your writing i think :3

[ramenwithbroccoli]

finally introducing the other character who also occupies a part of my brain:

Meet Giewont!

while the creator of it, Maria Leszczyńska, originally intended to make a war machine, she struggled a lot with finding resources then. however, with her and her family's life deeply affected by both world wars, the idea never left her mind. inspired by utopian idea of glass houses from a novel "the spring to come" ¹, she created her machine from glass. it would be cheap to make, yet durable, available as help to those in need, able to do hard work in times when it was needed - but if fragile peace was in danger again, it could fight alongside other soldiers. as if to set that role of protector in stone, she named it Giewont ². to test her creation, she gifed it to her brother Andrzej, who owned a small farm near the seaside.

Giewont worked as much as four men, not needing to be paid or fed like people would. it was a perfect solution for everybody, the new industrial revolution. that was, until about half a year into her work, glass started to shatter. it turned out not to be as durable as the utopian story made it to be, especially in contact with rough farm tools. small cracks also started to appear after they worked outside in winter, with low temperatures on the outside and hot steam circulating inside. with her fingers and edges getting sharper every day, Giewont was forbidden from taking care of animals anymore, as she would injure them. she was given the only task with no way to injure others - they recieved a showel fully made from metal and was ordered to dig. she did as she was told, even though the work put strain on her already-falling-apart fingers.

but when one day, when returning home, she noticed daughter of Andrzej, Aniela, swimming too far away from the shore and having trouble coming back, long forgotten wire snapped into its place as she jumped into the water to save her. while Giewont did bring her back home, carrying her in their arms, the girl had severe cuts on her body from coming in contact with robot's sharp hands. furious with his sister creation, Andrzej took it outside, desperate to destroy it. blinded by anger, he didn't even notice the storm gathering over the horizon

Andrzej took the metal showel and struck Giewont on the side on their head, then again, until her body fell and crumbled to pieces. He covered it with sand and raised his hands to deal the final blow.

that's when the lightning struck.

and the man fell to the ground, dead.

the sand melted from the heat around Giewont, filling the empty spaces and connecting the pieces back together. raising from their shallow grave, with body more rigid than what she was used to, she took her shovel and decided to bury the man, with what respect they had left for him. that was, after she dealt the final blow herself.

although miraculous, the lightning didn't return her to the previous state of being. their motions were stiff and some parts of theirs got lost forever among the sands of the beach. the part of her head where the first blow was dealt never worked properly again, rendering Giewont deaf in one ear (or whatever was left from it). however it did some good as well, as it widened the space around her mouth, finally making them able to talk - even if it was simillar to a whistle. determined to help people but with a body that kept hurting everyone around her, Giewont set off into the world, trying to find a home and piece herself together, leaving parts herself and a dead body behind.

footnotes below the cut:

1. "During one pause in their journey, the elder Baryka tells Cezary of an entrepreneur who, along Poland’s Baltic coast, devised an ingenious method for manufacturing durable glass from the vast reserves of pristine sands that had lain for eons beneath coastal peat fields. By a massive Rube Goldberg-type arrangement of channels and a creative method for harnessing the westerly winds (the storytelling here is a literary engineering feat in itself), an incursion of the sea provides power for converting the extracted sand into glass. From this vitreous wonder substance, prefabricated houses of glass are built inexpensively. The houses are strong as steel, hygienic, and easy to heat in winter and keep cool in summer. Whole villages are built with houses of brightly colored glass. Life becomes less of a struggle for mere existence, more civilized, and without the need to toil incessantly. People eat less meat or no meat at all, and begin to revere farm animals as sacred beings. For the reader, the digression serves to freshen the mental palate. For Cezary, however, the story is altogether beguiling, raising the utopian prospect of a more wonderful life, reunited with a homeland that might have been his to begin with and a father he has just rediscovered" - via neh.gov

wow thanks for skimming through footnotes as well! as a reward, here's the first ever design of both Janka and Giewont (which proves they were both created around the same time :] )

2. "Those knights had been in a deep sleep for hundreds of years and they only would wake up if it is time to fight on a great battle. When this day comes, the earth will move, there will be thunders that would shake the sky, many trees will fall and break, and there would be noises when the Border Mountains will break. On that moment the knights will take their horses and they will gallop to fight for Poland once again." - the legend of the sleeping knights

a lot had changed since that time :]

[xisanamii]

liu wei featuring his homie (gay) and homie (platonic)

[cuteniaarts]

What if… Suiren in Vaatu’s colours 😳👀

[motherforthefamicom]

i need to get back into making lps customs so badddd

[ganondoodle]

so for all that dont know the newest news about twitter, mr.manbaby mc dumbo is shutting down any "microservice" of twitter that he deems irrelevant with his oh so superior way of thinking which has lead to ..

.. 2FA not working properly anymore, meaning alot of people are getting locked out of their accounts completely.

[widevibratobitch]

.

[risaonda]

new shoe. ur jealous

[kittttycakes]

polite society

summary: Hob has had a few close calls in his time, but getting caught has never appealed quite so much before as it does now.

rating: E, because this is just smut

contents: established Morpheus x OFC x Hob Gadling, third person POV, smut, fantasy/dream sex, pre-negotiated off screen consent, role play, consensual faux infidelity for fantasy purposes (just trust me on this one), unspecified historical backdrop (the entire fic takes place in a dream), 1.9k

note: Happy birthday to me! This is pure and unadulterated self indulgence. It does take place in the same universe of as heart for heart, and this is the same Grace, but you don’t have to be reading that to read this! (This technically would be taking place after that fic anyway.) All you need to know is that all three of them are in an established, loving relationship, everything has been extensively pre-negotiated, and it’s all being done in the name of having a sexy, fun time.

There was always the risk of getting caught: someone watching them too closely, noticing that they both always managed to disappear together. It was especially a risk that afternoon. She could hear the sounds of the garden party, not far from them, as she slipped into the hedge maze, holding her skirts close to her to avoid being caught and leaving a trace behind.

A hand reached for her, pulling her to a dead end of the maze, pleasantly shaded to form an enclosed bower with a bench and a handful of crumbling freestanding columns that had once held up a dome. She nearly let out a shout before recognizing the familiar warmth and the smiling eyes before her: Lord Gadling, Hob, to her.

“You frightened me,” she said in a whisper, her words undercut by her answering smile. Hob pulled her closer, leaning in to kiss her once before pulling her deeper into the enclave, until her back hit the cool stone of a column.

“I missed you,” he said softly, caging her in, leaving her feeling pleasantly held.

“It wasn’t safe, you know that,” she replied, reaching up to cup his cheek. He turned towards her hand, pressing a kiss to her wrist, over her pulse point.

“Has he been taking care of you?”

“He’s been—busy,” Grace replied. There was a small thought in the back of her mind, a gentle tug, reminding herself that this was, at the end of the day, entirely a dream, a fantasy, and she didn’t actually think that he’d ever been too busy for either of them, not in a way that would imply any kind of neglect. This element had been his idea, she reminded herself, a way to work out, in dreams, a perceived flaw and—The thought disappeared as quickly as it had come, soothed, and she smiled at Hob, quick and sharp. “That’s why I have you, isn’t it?”

“Always,” Hob grinned at her. “Let me, then. You’ll just have to be quiet.”

“I can be—” she began to protest, stopping as Hob sank to his knees before her. “Oh—”

There wasn’t enough time and there were too many layers to undress, especially in such a vulnerable location, but she gathered her skirts in her hands and lifted them, just enough for Hob to make his way underneath. Leaning back against the pillar for support, she let him move one of her legs to rest over his shoulder, and she had to bite down, hard, on her lower lip to keep from crying out at the first touch of his tongue against her. The heel of her shoe must have been digging in to his back but he made no complaint, save to groan, muffled against her, the vibration rocking her to her core.

Any sounds from the party in the distance faded away as Grace let herself simply feel, her head tipped back against the smooth column, her hands fisted in her own skirts. Beneath them, muffled by the fabric, Hob licked into her with a single minded focus, nose occasionally brushing against her and causing her to tense with a soft, surprised moan each time.

Neither of them could truly be blamed for their lack of attention to their surroundings. They were the only two who would dare to leave a gathering without the express permission of the host, each for their own reasons. Had either of them been paying attention, they might have noticed that all sounds from the party had ceased, carried away with the crush of wheels against gravel as a line of carriages departed the summer house.

“Hob—please—” She was so close, and he was teasing, now, touch lighter than it had been before. She wanted to pull his hair, draw him closer to her, but he was kept from her by the very fabric of her skirts and so she was left to grip uselessly at them instead, wrinkling the silk.

Neither of them heard footsteps approaching until it was too late. He had always moved lightly, as gracefully as a cat might, and he made no noise that he did not wish to, which meant that the heavy fall of his foot, displacing the gravel of the path, was intentional. He rounded the corner as Hob scrambled out from under her dress, the move less dignified than he might otherwise have managed. He stood, attempting to look as though he had been doing anything other than what he had been, the effect ruined by his mussed hair and the slick shine of his mouth.

“My lord—” she began, her voice less steady than she would have liked, breathless still. Grace knew she was flushed, her skirts askew, and she smoothed them down self consciously. What could she possibly say, when it was obvious to anyone with eyes what they had been doing? How much had he seen? How long had he stood, hidden, and watched? Her pulse ran rampant, heart beating so loudly she thought surely they all must be able to hear it.

“Do go on, Lord Gadling,” Morpheus said, dark eyes fixed on Hob. “I do believe you were pleasuring my wife before I so rudely interrupted you. As you were. You looked quite serviceable on your knees.”

Hob raised an eyebrow; he had always been better than she was at hiding his true feelings behind a perfect mask of indifference. He belonged more at court than she did, more used to it by far, but she knew all of his tells, and the flush creeping steadily up his neck, just barely visible under the collar of his jacket, was the least of them.

“Need someone to show you how it’s done?” he asked, smiling, all teeth, a near feral thing that sent a shiver down her spine, so at odds was it with all of his other aspects as gentleman.

“I will not repeat myself,” he said smoothly, with a kind of self assurance that brooked no argument. “On your knees, Gadling.” He looked at her then, a passing glance, but his eyes were soft, impossibly fond, and she winked at him. It was all still a game, and one she was very interested in continuing.

Hob knelt gracefully, moving his jacket out of the way with a flourish, and she saw, for a moment, the gentleman he had once been: proud, nearly arrogant, and so handsome it made her ache for him. “As you say, my lord,” he said, and although his words were addressed to Morpheus, his eyes were on hers. He flashed her a brief smile before disappearing beneath her skirts again, as dignified as he could manage to be, which was a rather surprising amount, given the circumstances.

She barely noticed him moving her gently as he liked, pressing a kiss to her thigh where it rested, close to him, before resuming his earlier position. She bit down on her lip to keep from crying out, watching Morpheus as he walked towards her. She felt as though she were prey, being stalked, pushed back into a trap, and she couldn’t say that she minded. She didn’t know what to do with her hands, flexing them uselessly against her skirts, and she nearly jumped when Morpheus took her hand in his, brushing his thumb over the rings on her left hand: a smooth gold band resting underneath a ruby solitaire of uncommon color and clarity.

“Whose ring do you wear, my treasure?” he asked, voice low, as he brought her hand to his lips and kissed the back of it.

“Yours,” she gasped after a moment, realizing she was expected to answer. Both of yours, she thought privately, but pushed it away; that wasn’t part of the game.

“And whose houses do you spend your hours in? Whose parties do you attend? Who provides for you, your dresses, your shoes, all your fine pretty things?”

“You—you do, my lord,” she replied, struggling to focus. Hob had a single minded determination when it served him, and he was employing it then, drawing her closer and closer to the edge with his tongue.

“You will address me by name, I think, so there is no mistaking your meaning.”

“Morpheus—”

“Better, beloved. I am not unfeeling. I understand what it is to want more. All I ask is one simple thing.”

“Yes?” she asked, breathless. She was clinging to him, she realized, with both hands now, one still trapped in his and the other clutching his arm.

“All that I have is yours. You want for nothing. I simply ask that you share equally with me.” Her answering gasp was drowned out by the press of his lips against hers, and she shuddered against him, nails digging into his hand and the fine fabric of his coat as she came.

The cool stone of the column became a soft mattress beneath her, and when she opened her eyes, she was laying on a large bed, half undressed; only her corset and chemise remained, and she made a mental note to tease Hob for it later, because it was surely for his benefit. Morpheus and Hob were looking down at her, coats long gone, leaving them both in a state of undress—for her benefit, this time, she thought—looking for all the world as if they wanted to eat her alive. She would let them.

“If we’re sharing, shouldn’t it be Hob, between us?” she asked, raising an eyebrow as she sat up, looking between the two of them. Before either could answer, she reached up with both hands, pulling Hob down by either side of his undone cravat, and kissing him, the taste of her still on his tongue. When she pulled back, he was flushed, breathless, his eyes dark, and she smiled at him before looking over his shoulder at Morpheus and holding out her hand. “Come on. He’s good for much more than just pretty words and a witty riposte. Let him show you.”

Morpheus took her hand, allowing her to pull him down to the bed beside her. “He takes direction terribly well,” she continued, raising the hand she held to her lips in a mirror of Morpheus’s own actions in the garden. “Don’t you, darling?” She turned towards Hob, who, to her great satisfaction, looked as though he were mere moments from dropping to his knees before them both at the rapid change in dynamic, clearly taking him by very welcome surprise. They had outlined several possibilities for this particular fantasy, and this had been one that Hob had mentioned, almost in passing, that she hadn’t forgotten at all.

“Where are all those pretty words now, I wonder?” Morpheus asked from beside her, voice deep and dark and rich.

It was the tone of it, she decided, that led to Hob sinking to his knees with a fluid grace that she had often envied. “At your disposal, my lord,” he said, looking up at both of them. “My lady.”

She reached over, tugging the ribbon out of his hair and letting it loose, running her fingers through it gently. “Go on,” she said, smiling down at him, even as his hands moved of their own accord to undo the fastenings of Morpheus’s trousers. “Fair is fair.” She left her hand where it was, fingers tangled in his hair, as she guided him down.