ellie

“just in case” is how he justifies it.

in the case of what, he doesn’t really know. in case you need protection, is how he would justify it to deran. of course deran just gives him a stare that reads “i wish i was still surprised” and jokes that he’s weird or tries to tell him that it’s a creepy thing to do, but andrew doesn’t care. he likes knowing you on an intimate level. where you frequent, what you window shop for, what you do when nobody’s looking.

sprinkle of dumbification, almost pleasure-dom type of vibes…

i’m not sure who i want to write the prompt for yet, but i feel it takes a certain level of harshness that suits michael robinavitch more than jack abbot.

i’m open to suggestions :)

//praise, light condescension, mirror sex//

“i know you can give me one more, baby. you just need to stop fighting me.” jack murmurs in your ear, voice low and sultry. his infatuation with you in this compromise is clear as he meets your fucked-out gaze in the reflection. jack’s thick arms flex around you, holding you tightly against his clothed body, one hand gently swiping at your clit while the other is snugly under your chin to make sure you watch. he kisses your cheek and you feel his breath, heavy and barely controlled.

jack always exudes a soft dominant aura around you, but he is nothing if not completely enamored. he’s already worked two orgasms out of you, praising you every step of the way as he overstimulates your body. “ohhh,” he mocks your whimpers against your neck, “i know, baby, i know, but you can take it.”

he calmly kisses the side of your neck as your moans turn to teary whines. even as you squeeze your thighs, his fingers continue until you’re slicked with sweat and break under your third orgasm.

“my beautiful, beautiful girl,” jack praises, hearts in his eyes and hardness pressed against your lower back. he admires the mess you’ve been reduced to and gives you a moment to catch your breath before flipping you over.

~

teehee. first time posting nsfw, hope it’s worth my digital footprint…

it’s my blog and i will be as depraved as i want

to preface, i know there’s something deeply wrong about the way i think about older men. (shawn hatosy, my beloved)

he will sit with me for hours and just talk. encourage me to smoke with him, drink with me so i don’t have to drink alone, and will talk with me about his wife. apparently i have a lot in common with her. he also regularly talks about ways my boyfriend (his best friend’s son) could be better.

we’ve talked like that alone for months and he does so many small things that make me feel like i’m not delusional

for those of you who also need some whimsy to make it through life, think of finals as N.E.W.T.s. studying feels less stressful if i imagine i’m an ambitious witch with a promising future in medicine instead of a low-income college student fighting tooth and nail to make things work. st mungo's better watch out because i’m showing up regardless of whether it’s as a healer or a patient

healing from heroism

ch. 2

i wake with a splitting headache and the feeling of experiencing a nightmare i can’t quite remember. i haven’t a clue what hour it is or when i had fallen asleep, though that’s not exactly new for me lately.

the stuffiness of the room mixed with the shared body heat, incessant buzzing from my sleeping limbs where sebastian lay, and a soggy blouse from a night of weeping nauseates me. my clothing clings to my skin and leaves an awfully uncomfortable sensation of tight and swampy dampness. trying my best to not wake him, i shift sebastian on his side so i can slip out from underneath him and climb off the sofa.

he looks most peaceful when he’s asleep and it hurts my heart a little to admit that. even more so to note that this is likely the longest he’s slept uninterrupted in a week.

i plant a small peck of a kiss on his forehead and fix a blanket that i don’t recall using back over him. i dim some recently lit braziers nearest him to keep the room dark as that’s when he sleeps best.

it’s likely far past curfew, but i can’t go another minute with this heavy, unclean feeling. i gather a few items in my arms and exit the secret room. the clock concealing the entrance reads 3:14 am and i remind myself to be cautious of my steps or light as to not wake the portraits or alert peeves. side from that, i don’t even bother using a disillusionment charm as i begin the trek to the fifth floor. even if someone did confront me, it’s so far into the year and there’s such a clear divide between house points that nobody cares much about minor offenses.

i’m long overdue for a bath. my hair is starting to clump together at the roots and my hygienic routine has suffered tremendously under the constant cloud of aloofness and downpour of self-loathing.

thankfully, i’ve made a habit of keeping spare clothing in the undercroft for the many nights like this. i spend more time in the undercroft with sebastian or in the room of requirements than i do the rest of the whole castle nowadays. after muttering the password to the prefect’s bathroom, a small secret i picked up while stalking the grounds under disillusionment, i begin running the water and soaps.

i retrieve my toothbrush and paste from my toiletry bag and diligently brush away the plaque and acrid taste and smell of my breath. the relief is instantaneous as the mint leaves behind a cool tingling. i fixate my eyes on the sink, no wanting to meet my own in the mirror. i can’t pinpoint why, but seeing my own reflection as of late is equivalent to a punch to the gut. shame, hatred, embarrassment, the exact feeling evades me.

i set aside a simple set of pajamas and find a towel before peeling off my uniform and leaving it to pool on the tile.

the frigid air makes the escape into the water heavenly as i wade around the still-filling bath. just knowing i’m in soapy water eases my mind and the pressure causing my headache. the suds smell so fresh, almost sweet, as they surface and adhere to me.

all of the tension and stress seems to evaporate, ebbing as i let my body rag-doll against the wall of the tub. the temperature difference creates wafts of steam where the water and air meet and it humidifies the scent, filling my senses like a warm and numbing sedative.

a long bath is where i tend to ponder most. i think back to the last thought i remember before drifting to sleep. obliviation. suppose one can’t really miss the life they have when they can’t remember it. i could just return home then. free of being a keeper, free of the burdens i carry from all the battles. no ancient magic, no wand, no hogwarts. it’s selfish, i know, but i think i deserve to be a little selfish right now.

my peers haven’t even known me one year, so i don’t believe they’d miss me too badly. even if they did somehow find me, it would be like starting over fresh. of course that leaves sebastian completely by his lonesome… and ominis with only a very broken sebastian since anne had shut him out as well after solomon’s death. poppy without a confidant, natty without a companion, garreth without a partner in crime, and amit without an academic enthusiast to motivate and receive motivation from.

someone else would emerge eventually to fulfill the role as keeper, i’m sure. just as i had.

my mind slips into recalling some of my most riveting first memories here. meeting with professor fig, my first interaction and duel with sebastian, the swell of pride and excitement that came with getting my very own wand. i was so thrilled when i had learned my first few spells. magic holds such beauty-

there’s a slight glisten that catches my attention from the corner of my eye that ripples and glides with the movement of the water. no, not magic, the sheen of the soap and bubbles. for months, i have explored every inch that i could of this world and it all felt so surreal, every knickknack on the professor’s desks or simple blade of grass emanating a swell of energy, an unmistakable and irreplaceable level of richness that seems to be partial to places where magic is openly used. hell, i’m sure the dust in the corner of stitches and draughts has seen more magic than any novel in the muggle world could think up. this, however, despite the glimmer, is so unapologetically normal. nothing about these bubbles hold enchantment. even the way they levitate and pop midair is horribly mundane, sobering.

this all feels wrong. it’s almost as though the longer i stew in the water, the more that my place in the wizarding world is being leeched from and erased; as though the realization that something here is devoid of whimsy tears a hole through each thrilling memory, leaving behind drab experiences overcasted by stubborn refusal to acknowledge the glamour. perhaps it’s just my mood and negativity, but it’s something i can’t shake.

i feel more down to earth, more cognizant of the bigger picture of my life and time here. not in a way that i’m distant from it, but rather that i have the keenness of a bird’s eye view. though it’s strange to feel so tethered to one’s self while being so weightlessly suspended in water, it’s as real and as human as i’ve felt since i arrived on these grounds.

the clarity and lucidity of this moment are beyond the corporeal sensations of my adventures: my feet as they had rhythmically padding along the halls with bustling classmates as i rushed to a much anticipated class; the proof of my beating heart as my breath had rapidly exchanged with shallow gasps of stale, cold air while the muscle in my chest constricted and thudded against my rib cage, forcing blood to whir past my eardrums as i escaped through the woods to save my life on more than one account; the warmth beneath the feathers of a hippogriff as i flew one for the first time; the rush of being overwhelmed as each of my senses were assaulted by my surroundings amidst a battle.

if i had any less sense, i’d be halfway convinced this is all some sick dream. some exacerbated figment of my imagination that came about by long nights in bed wondering how the world is fated to end or what could have been if i lived in another universe. but it’s not. and this is sickeningly concrete.

i use a cloth and scrub my skin down, as though the abrasiveness would strip me of my abilities to perform otherworldly witchcraft. my relatives, and many others in the town, would believe any bit of my spellwork to be devilry and perhaps they’re right in a sense. no other kid in my hometown, with or without a twig in hand, would be able to do what i can. maybe my parents should have taken that as a sign and suppressed the truth like every other levelheaded muggle family trying to conceal the almost visible excellence exuding from their child, the microscopic bits of charmed stardust coursing through their veins.

not even in a school where i’m meant to be, where all sources of divination and sortilege and prophetization would lead me to, pacifies this notion. the sheer irony of being outcasted, by self or otherwise, in the place i was destined to be since birth to be leaves me with an abhorrent sense of being condemned by my own future, damned by the moirai.

magic hangs stagnantly in the air around me, inescapable, like a magnetic yet foreboding augury of my inevitable demise, minimized to become only the memories in a live portrait after my passing. as individual as this ancient magic defines me to be, i don’t want my life to be defined by being a keeper. i can’t spend my life here protecting something i don’t understand, but i also cannot return home. i can’t be the hero that professor weasley and professor fig wish i could be.

i wonder how my story was twisted. how the sequence of events were fabricated to falsify or deny existence of ancient magic. how is it my peers know me for heroism alongside the staff without knowing the means i endured for it? my name won’t be memorialized on a badge, forever fated to be glanced at in passing as future students learn of ancient magic and all it had entailed because instead, i’m forced to bear witness to everything i’ve done being washed away with praise for falsehoods. whether or not to be thankful my ability’s need to be kept under wraps, i have no clue.

my success came from aid and efforts from others. i would have died alongside my professor in that repository if not for the staff of the castle appearing in the nick of time.

i have no idea what i plan to do, but since when is that new for me?

numbly, i finish my bath and don my pajamas. carrying my soiled uniform in a wad, i reluctantly pick up my wand and try to ignore the connection. there’s an undeniable tie to a witch and her wand, but maybe if i convince myself it’s only a placebo, i can think of it more like a weight i’m bound to carry instead of the lifesaving tool it’s proved to be.

i make by way back to the hidden corner of the defense against the dark arts tower and enter the swinging interface of the grandfather clock. i shouldn’t be as surprised as i was to see him, but ominis stands near the centre of the room looking as tired as i feel. sebastian is now upright on the sofa, slowly picking at a plate as their conversation quickly ends.

guilt and betrayal takes hold as i realize i feel better now that i’m around them. my plan to leave them both behind, especially now that he’s willing to come around and speak to us again, leaves a bitter taste on my tongue and a sickness within that lingers. merlin, how i’ve missed him.

“i brought you a plate,” ominis begins, shifting on his feet, evidently unsure how else to begin a conversation with me. “i noticed you two weren’t at supper… or lunch or breakfast. i convinced a house elf to prepare you both a meal after i found you asleep earlier.” when there’s nothing else said for a few moments, he awkwardly continues with an explanation. “i’m sorry. to both of you. i’ve heard throughout the halls how rough you two have looked, if even spotted to begin with, and i couldn’t push off speaking to either of you for any longer. i obviously don’t approve of what happened with solomon or the resolve, but i needed a few weeks to myself as i figured things out while i was covering for sebastian on the ministry side of things with my family ties,” ominis pauses and falters momentarily, his face frown deepening. “it’s been covered up as a tragic and untimely passing in his sleep…”

i nod and take a moment to let this settle in. my train of thought is very happily deterred from grief to thinking about having my friend back in my life. truth be told, i’m elated that ominis is here to begin with, let alone that he wishes to extend an olive branch as he is now. things won’t bounce back, but things were rocky since his absence. sebastian and i began to drift with silent resentment, fear, and anger.

although it wasn’t me that caused solomon’s demise, i played a part too large to be ignored. stupidly, i encouraged sebastian along the way in pursuit of anne’s wellbeing, neither of us knew when or how to stop the snowball effect once it had begun. ominis being so understanding and patient makes this all whole lot worse. we had continued to take advantage of his love for us to the point that he literally covered a murder up for our sakes. it’s been eating me alive that i begged and pleaded for him to return to the family he despises to ask for favours. we, sebastian and i, have been rightfully getting the cold shoulder for a few weeks now and i was sure the freindship between us all was done for. we knew we deserved it, anyhow.

i walk a little louder so he can hear my footsteps before i pull him into a hug. when he embraced me back, the muted buzz that masked voices and the dull colors that replaced my vision lessened, bringing more precision to my senses. for a moment, i just hold him close, making sure he’s here for real and not that i fell asleep in the tub.

“truly, i cannot thank you enough, ominis. i can’t express how fortunate we’ve been to have you. more than that, i’m so regretful to have put you in that position. you have been of such tremendous help and we owe you one like no other.” out of the corner of my eye, i can see sebastian nodding along to my thanks, likely having just given his own before i came back. ominis relaxes a little more and when i pull away his tense features melt, joyed to be back with us and to be properly acknowledged for his sacrifices. “i can imagine it was difficult and that your family didn’t make is any easier, but because of that, we both understood your reason for needing space and forever we will be indebted to you for keeping seb out of that awful prison. it was beyond unfair for me to ask such a request and have you choose between your morals and your friends.”

from the sofa, sebastian stands and clears his throat.

“while you were out, i told him about the uhm.. repository and stuff. about what really happened with it all.”

i had forgotten entirely that ominis was never told about my connection to ancient magic. i swore sebastian to secrecy about it and he was the only other person that knew of it, even without the details that only professor fig was privy to. i suppose i always believed he told ominis about it to some degree sometime along the way because of their closeness. i feel awkward and put on the spot considering how insincere it sounds to have ominis be ‘confided’ in now considering the three of us kept very little secrets, if at all, and everything regarding ancient magic has already been fulfilled. before i have an opportunity to apologize for keeping him in the dark about such a monumental matter, he spoke up with understanding.

“i’m not hurt to know you never told me. it stung a little to hear of it after everything has all been said and done, but i don’t fault you. this wasn’t your secret alone to keep and if it was a secret powerful enough for the amount of bloodshed it has caused, i can only offer my condolences for the loss you’ve suffered and that i couldn’t have been more help to you. of course, i won’t speak of it, but the weight of this burden doesn’t have to be carried by your lonesome.”

even stifled by my moods, i have a little more faith in my future knowing i have friends like these two. of course, i have poppy, amit, garreth, and natsai, but they couldn’t possibly get me the way these two do.

healing from heroism

ch. 1

- evening, the undercroft -

“do you… think i’m good?”

the question stuns me. it’s not perplexing, nor unsurprising, but i’ve never considered it. of course, objectively, i believe he’s good. he’s sebastian sallow, for merlin’s sake. headstrong and making sacrifice after sacrifice even if it’s not his own because he’s relentless, driven by love. he’s always had good intentions no matter how he achieved what he wanted. even if it meant lying to his best friend. even if that meant manipulating people like me. even if it meant killing his uncle.

“i’m sorry?” i ask in return, unsure if i heard it correctly.

how could i not? it’s silent otherwise. merely a low crackle of a fire in the undercroft’s makeshift hearth and a ticking clock somewhere, but it’s just us. I shift to face him more directly as we lounge on a sofa, the tall stacks of books and some miscellaneous homework long forgotten as we had drifted into thoughtful silence.

i can see the misery, though. his downcast eyes being filled with such despair, such conflict.

“please, i need you to be honest with me. am i good?… am i a good person?” his voice cracks and it’s a painful reminder that things weren’t supposed to happen as they did. not that either of us needed another reminder.

the end of our fifth year is coming too quickly to an end. the classes are becoming shorter, more of a blur as the days fade away like smoke in the wind. it’s disorientating and the disassociation we’re experiencing is weighing heavily on every aspect of our lives. most days, it’s like i’m floating through the halls, like i’m in a weird sensory deprived dream as the faces and voices turn unrecognizable, like muffled buzzing, not even sure of the day of the week. the o.w.l.s came and went, i think, and now the both of us are left wandering the castle, trying to pick up the broken pieces of our youth.

the students are ecstatic about the upcoming summer, and every mention of their plans gouges a small part of me out, carving deep until i’m hollow. i hear them talk over meals about their family’s summer houses or trips they’ve planned, the promises of exchanged owls and slumber parties. all the while, i’m being congratulated by faces i’m not even sure i’ve seen.

my first year introduced into a world of whimsy and i become the “hero of hogwarts”. most have no idea the things i had to do to earn such a title. it’s made me sick. physically, mentally, emotionally sick. the late nights, overloaded course work, expectations, favors, expeditions with classmates, watching the cruelty of poachers, raids, battles, trials, death threats from adults in full confidence of them knowing i’m only a student, the blood on my hands.

i couldn’t just stop it once i had begun. i couldn’t just return to safety behind the castle’s walls and resume classwork as though the safety of every man, woman, and child in the school, neighbouring towns, and highlands were at stake and i was the only one trusted to, expected to, and even capable of coming to the rescue.

i didn’t sign up for this. neither did he.

we weren’t supposed to face the world the way we did. we weren’t supposed to do the adult’s jobs, no matter how grown we believed we were. we weren’t supposed to be heroes, we were supposed to be kids.

that’s what we are; kids.

he’s just a boy. a crestfallen, scared, mournful, alone, and traumatized boy.

so now isn’t the time to define what “good” means or to explain that the world isn’t comprised of black and white or “good” or “bad”, but of horribly muddied shades of grey that are entirely up to perception. he doesn’t want to hear about the intricacies of morality. he wants to be reminded he’s still capable of being loved.

i can’t possibly look at him the same way. nor can he look at me the same he did at the beginning of the year. i’m nowhere near a saint, but perhaps our histories is what makes us perfect for each other. after all, the pot shouldn’t dare be the one to call the kettle black.

“of course you are, seb,” i attempt to soothe him, mustering as much emotion as i could. he nods, hearing what i said, but not as through he believed it.

the conversation was difficult to hold after that. i knew he wanted to say more. he wanted to repeat his offenses and for me to kiss away the worries anyhow. he wanted to remind me of what he’s done and push me away, to self sabotage his growth to have an excuse to hide away like a recluse without shame. he wanted- no, he needed more. he needed someone, now more than ever. he needed me. needed to be told he’s human beneath it all, that his blood bleeds red the same as everyone else’s and isn’t tainted black like he believes. he needs to be reminded that he not only can be loved, but that he is.

it’s been especially hard since ominis has left us to our own devices for now, needing a break to rationalize his life and choices. neither of us can blame him.

i feel… nothing. nothing at all and everything all at once. i’m spread thin. i’m doing all i can to be here for sebastian and still preoccupied with my own life and loss. professor fig died. he died and i know it wasn’t because of me, but if only i was a little quicker, a little stronger, a little wiser. if only, if only, if only. i knew him for only a few months, but he’s been paramount to my new life. he was a beloved teacher that truly dedicated his time to the betterment of his students. i feel that his avoidable death is pinned on me. i was supposed to a savior and his blood has stained my hands like all the others have. what good are my abilities if i can’t even save those that help me? what good are they if i can’t even maintain normalcy?

nothing has been the same. not me, not sebastian, not ominis, not anne, not the faculty, and certainly not my relationship.

we’re closer than ever, i suppose, but how close is close when each of our minds are wandering light years apart?

sebastian fiddles with the corners of the parchment he’s been toying with for the last hour. it’s another drafted letter for anne. an apology, first step towards reconciliation, a goodbye, self-justification, explanation, i haven’t any clue at this point with how many he’s written.

he’s defeated and solemn, like how you would expect a kicked puppy to look: vulnerable and strangely still trusting despite it all. he looks the part, too. his close are wrinkled, eyes are sunken and devoid of the typical glint of happy mischief, cheeks stained with hours of silent tears, hair tousled, his nose reddened from the constant weeping-induced nose running, and lips chapped from dehydration.

there’s no book that could ever teach someone to manage this type of pain, this level of compiled guilt and shame. we weren’t born with the know how on gluing the pieces back together one by one when your entire world falls apart.

so i do the only thing i know i can to help. i take the note from him and set it down, the ink having long been ruined with blotched mixes of tears and ink, and pull him into a hug.

the sound he makes, heart wrenching, is never one anyone would expect to hear from him. halfway between a choked sob and stifled breath, he lets his face fall on my shoulder and unashamedly breaks.

his body convulses, racked with forceful and raw barks of pain.

i have to blink away several tears myself as he crumbles, what little composure he had left tearing and ripping at the seams. the lump in my throat is hard to ignore as i fear it may strangle me soon. he grips at the loose fabric of my uniform where he’s hugging me, grounding himself to the only constant he has in his life right now.

with one hand making small strokes up and down his back, i use my other to smooth down his hair, holding him close to me.

“i didn’t mean to… i didn’t want to become a bad person,” he manages through shaky breaths and hiccups. “ca-can’t even go home now. haven’t got anyone else to go to.”

“i know, baby, i know.”

i couldn’t maintain a brave face for him and began to sniffle. we were a mess. holding each other and breaking down like the world was ending because for us, it was.

when it’s just the two of us, hero of hogwarts and brave (former) best duelist of the castle, we could let our facade fall away, knowing nobody else could truly grasp the weight on our shoulders. we don’t have to be a formidable duo when it’s just us. we don’t have to pretend like the other isn’t broken seemingly beyond repair.

i eventually lean back, letting him lay across me as he cries until my blouse is soggy. until he’s exhausted and limp.

i try to quiet my whimpering to not wake him, but i can’t help but think of where i’ll go after this. even if i do go back home, my parents wouldn’t understand, they couldn’t possibly.

i’m so different from the person i was merely a handful of months ago. my hair is shorter, poorly chopped after being singed too many times in battle, and my hands are rough with callouses and scabs. i’m unsure how much of my former self i still resemble. at the very least, i know that i have more skin covered in scars than i do freckles and that i have new muscle growth from the running, climbing, borderline parkour, and combat.

i definitely don’t think, act, or speak the same way i did before. i’m not the same bright and eager little girl my parents had proudly gushed over when i received my letter. i can’t go home like this and risk breaking their hearts. i can’t just resume my life like i haven’t done the things i’ve done.

i remember reading of a spell called “obliviate”…

he’s internally battling himself on the daily, torn between his lover’s sweet nothings of reassurance and the detrimental ideals and feelings of inadequacy his family tried to instill in his youth.

he doesn’t care about blood status, in fact, he would prefer someone that isn’t a pureblood just to stick it to his family.

he wants nothing more than to be committed entirely to each other, wishing he only had a last name he was proud to give to you, a name he would be proud to prolong with a family of his own.

he holds so dearly your attention and endearment, but keeps distance for the first few months of your relationship, wanting it not to ruin him if you decided a gaunt wasn’t worth entertaining.

he’s getting better with learning how valued he is, but cannot help the nagging thoughts of insecurity. he understands how different it must be to adjust both a romantic and casual life to accommodate a lover with one less sense. you think him foolish to believe you ever cared.

ominis can’t say he struggles with blindness, only that he wishes for your sake he had sight.

to take you to your favorite museums and experience them to the fullest, to watch the sunset with you - he hears it’s beautiful but would say it almost certainly pales in comparison to you if anyone mentioned them, to see the love that fills your eyes when you look at him.

oh, the things he would give to see your smile instead of settling to hear it in your voice.

neither of you require grand gestures to feel appreciated, so your love is made apparent through actions, though not lacking in words.

his heart melts when you started replacing your typical paints with textured ones. he was infatuated, running his fingers over your detailed works and following the stoke patterns so often it began to wear.

he would commission matching jewelry, imprints of your fingerprints onto a pendant. he loves the tactile reminder that you’ve entrusted him with a piece of your identity, and his with you.

should you want a pomegranate, he would be ever eager to peel one, uncaring of how long the task would be. he would let his admiration show for you with the stains of garnet on the pads of his fingers and beneath his nails. he doesn’t know of it, of course, but you find comfort in the fact that he carries his passion for you on his own skin; such a form of intimacy.

not without practice, he learned several styles of braids so that he had a place in your daily routine, beaming when you tell him he would make a wonderful father to a little girl.

his clothing in need of mending? it began as a one time thing, he found you practicing fonts with your threads and asked you to embroider your name so he could feel it. now, every time you fix a piece for him, he soothes himself on his worst days, caressing his fingers along the inside of his button down’s cuff where your name resides.

he would memorize the notes of your favorite songs, practicing endlessly in private to be able to fill your shared space with piano instrumentals.

in a modern world, you would surprise him with a personally made audiobook of his favorite novel. he listens to it as though it contained the secrets of the universe.

you two would roam the isles of a craft store, searching for the best textures to make matching dual-sided, no-sew throw blankets from. he revels in the peace of mind knowing that when it’s not your arms around him, he can still sleep with your warm embrace.

never letting you run cold, even if he had to hide his reddened fingertips in his pockets, his coat would be more yours than his at this point.

he would always replenish your favorite perfume once you ran low, secretly buying a second vial to use on his pillows and bedding when you’re away.

he would let you stand on his toes while you danced if you didn’t know how, any excuse to keep you held close.

4.9k, notes at bottom :)

content: crucio, unforgivable curses, salazar slytherin’s scriptorium scene, ignorant sebastian, ominis’ trauma, hint of ominis x mc at the end if you squint reaaaaal hard

trapped. a dead end. of course it has to be a dead end.

i don’t know why i keep letting sebastian convince me into doing these things. infuriatingly and effortlessly swaying my stubbornness, my morals, even.

first post to tumblr, so please bear with me as i try to figure out how this all works :)

my name is ellie. my main interests on tumblr is x-men (the wolverine, specifically), buffy the vampire slayer, harry potter, hogwarts legacy, and bg3.

i’ll be posting mostly for myself as a way to feel more comfortable putting out works (likely very few) without stressing so much over perfection. i have something i’m working on now that i’m almost finished with. super fun!

31 hours into a 58 hour work week, so major thank you to everyone’s blogs that i’ve been spam liking the past few days while i have downtime on the clock.