jubileeq

[jubileeq]

This is like insanely good. Insanely.

Where it’s warm

Edward 'Babe’ Heffron x f!Reader

summary; Now both off the front lines, Edward brought you back to Philly with him as best friends you hadn’t had really anything left back in your home state. He’s busy with his ongoing job while you had successfully got a job at foster & Klein — an all women’s office — One particular day something went wrong and you were sent home early. Insecurity’s override and now it’s up to him to make you feel better and say the things he’s been trying to tell you.

Notes; finally got it done it’s been sitting for a little!!

⚠︎ all my writings are based on the actor’s portrayal, not the real hero’s! Happy reading!

Warnings; hurt/comfort, insecurities and overthinking, ptsd.

❝You’ll never know just how much I care. And if I tried, I still couldn’t hide my love for you.❞

South Philadelphia, 1946 Mid-morning. Post war.

The office smelled faintly of ink, lemon polish, and the ghost of someone’s cigarette break from half an hour ago. You sat at your desk in the far left corner hands working quickly on the typewriters keys, spine straight and blouse tucked in the right way.

You had double checked everything this morning before leaving the warm shared apartment. Hair pinned back like it should be, stockings without a run in sight, and wearing that one lipstick shade babe had complimented the most when you forced him to accompany you on a quick shopping trip in the city.

The overhead fan just above you clicked softly, a page turned somewhere in the back of the office, air buzzed with a strange type of quiet — not silence exactly almost something fuller. . Heavier. The kind of quiet that hums behind soft voices and heels scuffing on waxed tiles. The kind of quiet when you know you’re being noticed yet nobody’s looking straight at you.

You could feel them. Not unkind nor cruel just simply aware watching from the corners of their work — from behind powder compacts and careful smiles.

The other girls, well, other women, really had been cordial from the very start when you’d gotten the job. They didn’t necessarily avoid you and your presence, didn’t snub you either. One of the girls whose name you learned was Maureen had even brought you a second cup of coffee when the first ran out too quickly. But there was a rhythm to this place. . A routine you haven’t yet learned how to follow. It felt like each time you did somewhat start understand you were just stalling something like a scratch on a loud record.

You tried, you truly really did.

—

You’d been filling invoices most of the morning, working through the same stack of shipping documents that always came up from the warehouse downstairs. Number and addresses, names you didn’t know typed in clean organized black lines. You were so close to being done with what you’d been working on when your right hand slipped just the smallest movement. . Just enough to smudge the carbon paper and strike the wrong key. . You froze.

The mistake was small enough to fix, hardly noticeable but the sudden rush of heat to your cheeks, the tightness in your ribs growing it all hit too hard. Your breath went wrong and you become aware of how your hands were fumbling more they usually did.

"Damn it.” You whispered under your quiet breath, too quiet so nobody’s ear could connect to where the mutter had came from.

You tore the top sheet from the platen with half trembling fingers and reached for a fresh from, but before you could fully finish sliding it in correctly you felt her sudden presence behind you a warm wedding ringed hand landing gently almost cautiously on your shoulder.

"Honey,” came Mrs.Carroway’s voice a soft yet clipped tone — like the folded sugar in tea. "Why don’t cha’ take a little walk. Go get some fresh air.”

Your eyes had looked up too quickly, her smile was gentle and careful. The other hand that wasn’t on your shoulder was on resting on your desk.

"I can fix it,” your voice was quick and a little wobbly "it was just — my hands slipped, it’s nothing-"

"Oh, I know.” She said cutting off the fast apology with that kind of soothing tone you’d use to clam down a startled child. "But you’ve been working so hard. You need to pace yourself. Nobodies expecting perfection right away.”

You had felt the weight of her words immediately. It wasn’t really the words that got to you but the embarrassment now crawling and snuggling into your body. They way the room went quiet and how nobody was typing like they had been just twenty seconds ago. How Helen, one of the other face you could put a name to was watching in the next row with a sympathetic tilt of her brow like she knew how this was going to play out.

'She’s been through so much,' they would whisper later over drinks you wouldn’t be invited to. Not with malice just the awful quiet pity.

Your throat burned, mouth open but nothing seemed to come out.

"Just take the rest of the day,” she quickly like this quieter added. Her warm yet distant smile curled at her lips. "We’ll see you Monday. Alright?”

You just nodded once. There wasn’t any other choice truthfully.

Her warm hand that had been resting on your shoulder patted once, then she walked away with soft clicking on her heels. Her presence quickly disappeared behind the rows of desks, the sound of slow typing returned slowly like a song that had awkwardly been turned back up.

You sat there for a few seconds longer than needed, long enough to fold the ruined form in half and throw it into the small garbage bin under your desk. Long enough to blink twice and hard pushing the feeling down like you had learned.. like you always did.

Then you stood up wordlessly fixing your skirt that had slightly sat uncomfortable. You grabbed your purse and made your way over to the waiting coat rack.

No one stopped you, not one person said goodbye.

—

Once you stepped out of the building into the outside world you felt like you’d just walked straight into a storm.

It wasn’t raining — no. It was actually really nice outside bright and cloudless. But the sounds all hit you at once. A delivery truck coughed somewhere close by, a man called out to someone from an opened window, different pairs of shoes scuffed against the concrete sidewalks, a bell from the bakery next to the stationers next off gently like a wind-chime, somewhere up ahead there was a child laughing..maybe crying you couldn’t tell anymore.

Everything felt too much.

It’d been months at this point and you’d almost gotten completely used to the city’s noise. This was a known thing about Philadelphia — it didn’t wait for anybody. It didn’t wait for you to adjust, you just had to jump in and keep moving to avoid falling. But today every sound loud or not just felt like a big slap to the side of your head.

Your head stayed down and you kept walking.

The streetcar had come and gone by the time you’d reached the corner but you didn’t bother waiting for the next one. You didn’t want to stand still. Not with the morning still clinging onto your skin like sweat you could feel it starting to press against you like warm shame — the weight of Mrs.Calloway’s voice, the dead silence of the other women; the soft click of the mistake you didn’t have time to fix.

It had been small, so damn small. You didn’t understand why this was needed.

You crossed over two more blocks before the sting in your eyes turned into something more dangerous, something warmer thicker.

The blinking was hard and didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop it. If you stopped the tears would come and that was the last thing you wanted here not with the way strangers were brushing against you, not with the slight of your reflection in the shops windows — hunched shoulders and a pale face. You had to swallow the big lump in your throat and repeat in your spinning mind that this wasn’t a big deal.

But your hands already felt too cold.

Your heeled feet stopped when you saw your apartment building approaching, three floors, paint peeling, bricks scuffed with soot. You’d walk this route over a hundred times now it felt like, memorized the chipped edge of the sidewalk before the first steps. Usually the newfound familiarly comforted you, but not today.

Today it seemed to only make it worse.

You prayed babe wasn’t home. He shouldn’t be. He should be at work. He always left a little before you this morning was normal, was already out of the shared bed his scent still lingering close enough to touch it.

If he was home he’d immediately see it on you. He’d smell it, sense it in the air before you could even get the key into the lock. The look would be back — the one you’ve seen too many times. The one he gave you when you flinched at sudden sirens or when you turned down going out for the third time the same week, when you sat too still and told him you were fine.

You hated the look, hated that you knew he saw it how to was. You’d give him the same one when roles were reversed.

You climbed the stairs quicker than usual. If you don’t stop moving the panic was going to set in. It would settle deep in your chest and turn into something solid. Your hands fumbled with the keys.

Your eyes started stinging more.

In the thin hallway of this crooked, lived in building, the tears you’ve been fighting back were crawling in no matter what. Hot and unwanted. Not sobbing not loud either just the awful slow crying that builds up your nose and throat and behind your irises until it’s the only thing you can feel.

Because it wasn’t just the mistake, it was what the mistake meant.

It meant maybe they were right to treat you like you might break. Maybe there was still too much war in your bones, maybe no matter how many days passed or how many skirts you iron or how often you told yourself this time I’d be different — you’d never be normal again.

The thought curled around your ribs and squeezed hard.

You pushed open the apartment door with your shoulders and stepped in immediately freezing. The space didn’t hit you with the expecting quiet you’d been waiting for, not the hum of the icebox or faint ticking of the clock on the wall babe had found at the flea market.

No.

You heard the soft music playing on the new radio you’d both bought together. The feeling of a pair of eyes snapping up in a confused manner, the ruffle of newspaper being put down slightly.

. . Babe was home.

You hadn’t registered it when you were outside the apartment door not with the prominent pressure in your chest.

You heard the rustle of movement then —

"Hey—hey, what’s-“

His voice cut off immediately. Just cut off.

You didn’t look at him. You couldn’t bring yourself to take your sight off the ground, off your heels.

You were still in the doorway, the light behind you catching on your shoulder your coat half off. One of your hands was still clutching your purse like a lifeline the other slowly pressed against your mouth a trembling desperate attempt to try to keep yourself up.

But babe was up on his feet now fast and quick.

“Hey. Why’re you-?” His voice was soft yet confused, faltering. “You okay? What happened?”

You couldn’t respond. You couldn’t even hear him correctly. Not over the thud of your heart and the rush of blood in your warm ears. The room felt like it was just shrinking around you the air had been pulled from it. Your tears were falling now, ungraceful and streaking down your face ruining the small amount of makeup you’d up on earlier.

You turned quick and hurried down the short hallway heels clicking across the floor. It was soft yet loud at the same time. You tried to swallow down the hurting tears.

“Wait-“

You could hear him following close, moving behind you but your hand was already on the bedroom door handle pushing it wide open you stumbled inside the room like it was a safe haven. The sunlight outside slipped through the curtains painting the room in a soft early gold your vision swimming.

You hadn’t sat down on the comfortable bed, didn’t move to slip off your heels — you just stood there like a fool. Purse had dropped to the floor a little feet away from your toes, your coat now fully off and tossed weakly onto the bed. Your chest heaved and your palm was still half covering your messy lipsticked lips as you fought not to make a sound, practically begging your body not to let the sobs get to your throat.

The door creaked open

"Hey..” his voice was low and gentle. Still confused but careful like he’d almost broken something delicate and didn’t want to risk it again.

Babe stood in the doorway almost touching you it was like that for a half second before he slowly walked closer, more into the warm room. He looked at you — really looked. The trembling shoulders and wet tracks on your warmed cheeks. It was the way you hadn’t even looked at him that made his chest hurt.

"You’re upset. .” he spoke like he’d just broken some secret rule. Like he couldn’t understand how this had happened between the short time period he’d hadn’t seen you.

You shook your head once. One time, barely — you were trying to deny it. Hide it. Pretend but it was impossible.

“I-“ his hands hovered for a long second not knowing whether to reach out toward you or not. "Jesus, sweetheart. What happened? What— what did they do to you?”

His voice had crackled just slightly on the last word.

You still didn’t answer. Not because you didn’t want to. It just wouldn’t come out. It had already been lodged deep and curled too tight. All you could physically do was stand there hands trembling and face breaking more each second. Soft raw and barely there.

And that had done it for him.

He moved towards you slow and careful but sure.

He didn’t force grab you or make you turn, he just came closer until you could feel the warmth of his hands behind you. Just enough where his fingers brushed your back. Just enough so you knew he was there.

His voice lowered, thick, like he was fighting something of his own off.

“Talk to me, please.”

You shook your head again but this time it wasn’t to push away it was just too much. Because you were ashamed. You weren’t normal, that everyone was right, that maybe you just would never be the type of person to just move on.

That maybe you didn’t belong anywhere anymore expect this stupid in between life — not in Pennsylvania, not in Philly, not even next to him.

But oh, you wanted to belong next to him so badly.

“I messed up,” you finally whispered out voice cracking “at work just a little. But she — she looked at me like—like she’d been waiting for it.”

His hand tightened just slightly where it rested on your lower back.

“And they all knew,” you went on finally starting to unravel yourself “they didn’t have to ask anything. I could feel it. Like they’ve all been waiting for me to just fall apart from the start-“

Your voice broke more and the tears rushed.

“I can’t — Edward, I can’t stop shaking, and I don’t know why-“

Your body had turned without meaning to hands coming up instinctively one limp by your side and the other back up to your lips, brushing your face. He caught you with ease.

Not hard and not all at once.

Just gentle. One arm eased around your waist and the other found the small of your back again. His body already knew how to hold yours when everything started to crack.

And all you could do was sink into his welcoming body.

When he spoke again you missed it. It was so soft.

"just breathe you’ve been carryin’ too much on your own. .”

Own your own.

That makes you cry a little harder the sound you made into his shoulder enough. It was far from the truth. Your heartbeat began to pound.

You were the one who had leaned on him. You felt like the extra weight he’d taken with no complaint, without ever saying no. You had nowhere to go — nothing left back in your hometown and he’d opened his own door.

You pulled your head back just enough to breathe. You didn’t look at him yet, not yet. But you say the words before you let yourself drown more.

“You’ve been the one carrying too much.” You whispered breath shaking voice torn raw. “You let me come back with you. You— this place, this life, it’s yours, babe. It shouldn’t belong to me. You gave me a bed and a key and I can’t even hold down a job without falling apart-“

He tried to interrupt and shake his head but the words kept falling from your lips heavier than the last.

“It’s not fair,” you swallowed loudly “it’s not fair to you. You work hard, hold it together, and I’m just — I’m just some broken mess you let tag along because you felt like you felt responsible.”

His arms stiffened just slightly his breathing caught not sharp but like he’d taken a hit he wasn’t prepared for.

“I love you,” you said suddenly finally admitting it. The words spilt fast from your lips like a storm hitting an unbalanced roof. “I’ve loved you since you beat me at darts back in aldbourne, but I’m a goddamn mess, and you deserve better than this. Better than me. You need to-“

“What?” His voice finally sliced through the air stacked and firm still not loud but enough to make your words die quick.

Your eyes looked up at him, lips trembling.

His face was pale like yours, wide eyed, lips parted like he couldn’t believe anything he’d just heard.

“Sit down,” he said

“What-“

“Sit.” He took your hand not rough but enough pressure to know he wasn’t messing around and guided you until your legs met the bed. His other hand pushed back his hair like he needed a long moment to think, to catch up, his breath was shallow and his jaw was tight.

You just sat there dazed still sniffling and heart thundering.

He stood in front of you, hands lowering down by his sides.

“You think you’re a burden?” His voice was uneven as he asked, soft yet trembling with something deep. “You think I don’t want you here?”

Your throat closed up for what felt like the twentieth time. You tried to answer but words got stuck.

He let out a breathless laugh — hurt and far from amused. “Jesus Christ. Are you serious?”

With parted lips you nodded just barely. “I’m not like you Edward — M’not mentally strong anymore m’ falling apart at the smallest things. I still panic when someone yells something out from a distance thinking they need help — I..can’t even make it through a week without feeling like I messed everything up. . And you — you’re you. You get up, you go to work, handle things like nothing changed. You’re kind, you’re good. You’re steady.”

“I’m in love with you,” you said again quietly voice still softly cracking, “but you shouldn’t have to deal with fixing me while you still need time to heal yourself.”

The room was dead quiet like the office had been. His eyes were glassy, jaw tense, chest rising and falling fast. He didn’t know what to say. All you did was stare up at him, waiting.

He slowly sat himself down next to you.

“Do you ever see the way I look at you?”

Your breathing caught.

His fully body was turned towards you, eyes shining. Not angry or hard but hurt. So, so hurt. “You really think I brought you back to Philly 'cause what? I felt sorry for you?”

Silence.

He leaned in, one hand cupped your cheek gently hand trembling. “You think I let you share my apartment, let myself wake up next to you everyday, have you walk around wearin’ my shirts and help cook soup at two in the morning 'cause I’m bein’ nice?”

You had stated biting your lip tears slowing but your entire body trembled from the weight you’d confessed earlier.

“I’m goddamn crazy about you!” he said his voice soft but holding more volume “I’ve been crazy about you since I first saw you in that uniform, first girl I ever saw wearin' one and it was you. I would go back into that damn war if it meant I’d be comin’ home to you.”

Your eyes filled again wide with disbelief.

With a shake of his head his voice broke quietly open fully. “And I hate that you don’t see it. I hate you think you’re such a burden, like I didn’t choose you with every step I took after war. Every decision I made — it was you. Always.”

It was quiet, sacred. Then he softly leaned in forehead brushing yours.

“I’ve never wanted to feel close to someone so bad in my life, but not 'cause you need fixin’ not ‘cause you’re broken but just because I love you. I want to kiss you everyday even like this. Sad . . messy. . I don’t want perfect, I just want you.”

And then, finally, finally — his lips met yours.

It wasn’t rushed and it wasn’t something of fevered explosion of all the time you’ve both waited. It was gentle and deep and aching — slow. Like a promise made in a quiet church. His hand held your jaw like something precious. Your hands had found his shirt gripping tight and unwilling to let go.

When he pulled back his eyes were still closed, so were yours. Your face was tilted up like you didn’t want it to end. He leaned in his forehead back on yours.

“You’re not leavin’,” he shook his head lightly “not now. Not ever.”

Your throat burned as you nodded.

He gently pulled you back with him to lay down. His arms curled around you almost protectively. His body folded around yours like it was meant to always do this. You tucked your face into his broad chest, legs tanged and his hand rubbed slow circles into your back.

“Just. . Rest, relax.. I gotcha.” he whispered “we’ll figure out everything later.. just close your eyes.” His lips had found your hair, then your temple before sighing sealing one last kiss to your shoulder then closing his eyes.

When you finally drifted off in his arms, heels still on — everything felt like it was back in place. This was where you were supposed to be.

[jubileeq]

This is the best Sebastian fic I’ve read, no joke. IT HITS ALL THE RIGHT TICK MARKS IN MY HEAD. I cannot stress enough how beautifully this is written- I can just feel the tension as if I was there.

cross your heart

Word Count: 4 k

Themes: angst, aged-up characters, suggestive themes (no smut), sebastian sallow x F!reader

Summary: why did sebastian sallow disappear after graduation? even after all the years you’ve spent trying to forget him, you realized that he never left your heart. would things be the same when you accidentally saw him again, now as your foe?

One

You took a deep breath.

Two

Three

Four

You exhaled.

Five

“Expelliarmus!” you shouted as you leapt from the makeshift barricade made out of wooden debris, casting a light blue spark directed to the figure across you. In a split second, as his wand flew from his grip – you casted “Confringo!”, waves of flame burst from your wand, burning the man. Taking another beather, you felt the world was at a standstill. Fog clouded your vision, the cold winter night breeze stung your reddened ears, your eyes darting between the hoard of hooded foes casting curses and hexes and your team of Auror officers. “Just a little bit more, my friend!” You snapped back to reality, focusing on Natty, who was chasing down a mongrel — you’d assumed was an Animagus.

Of course, there was no time to waste. Just a little bit of push and this battle will be finished. “Incendio!” A ring of fire spread around you, blazing the group of inferi that were closing in on you. You ran towards the biggest tent in the area, scanning the dimly-lit room. “Avada Kedavra!” You immediately dodged the green light, heart beating wildly against your chest. Godric’s Heart, just a second late and you would be dead. You swiftly striked “Diffindo!”, inflicting a wound on the man’s arm. “Depulso! Flipendo!” The wizard’s body flung all over the room, finally slammed down to the ground with a loud Thump! Blood spluttered from the man’s mouth, most likely from broken bones. Carefully inching closer, you stepped on the dark wizard’s black crooked wand, snapping it in half. You pointed your wand at his direction, as you leaned down to check on him, you noticed a hydra dragon with three heads tattooed on his forearm. Just as Officer Singer had warned you, the group of Dark magicians were a part of the recently formed group of Dark Arts users who would go around torturing and killing people, always leaving three slash marks on the victims’ chests. You pushed thee tip of your wand against the wizard’s neck, “Give me a reason why I shouldn’t kill you right now.” He let out a sinister laugh, catching you off guard, he landed a punch right in your stomach, knocking the air out of your lungs as you stumbled down. “You can’t stop us all,” he winced, “kill one, and more will rise. Apparate!” In a split second, the dark wizard vanished into a black smoke, leaving you on the floor, clutching your stomach in pain.

Natty came rushing into the camp, seeing you writhing on the ground, she grabbed a Wiggenweld potion from her satchel and offered the bottle to you. “Are you alright?”

You swiftly gulped the green liquid in one shot, promptly reducing the pain you had been dealing. “Thank you, I’m alright now,” you sighed, looking around the now wreck of a room, “I’m sorry I couldn’t catch him. Ruth was right, he is one of those blasted Hydra members.”

Natty shook her head, “Don’t worry.” She picked up the dark wizard’s broken wand, securing the pieces in her bag. “I think this should suffice. We can take this to the Ministry for further investigation. Come on, now.” Natty casted Incendio, creating a small bonfire in the middle of the tent. “Let’s get out of here.” Hoisting you up, she threw a handful of Floo Powder from her pocket to the fire, “Ministry of Magic!”

You closed your eyes, letting the green flames envelope your body, transferring you to your destination.

It had been a week since you, Natty, and several other Auror officers ransacked a Hydra encampment. Officer Ruth Singer, now promoted as one of the Auror heads, ordered you to take a couple days off from raiding. To be quite honest, you knew she needed someone to do the long overdue paperwork. You didn’t mind, it was a nice break from putting your life on the line all the time.

Ever since the end of year sixth studying at Hogwarts, you had decided to take on the journey to become an Auror officer. After all, you did spend some time defeating bands of poachers, spiders, goblins, and even trolls. A small part of you wanted to leave your fighting days behind, as you stopped using Ancient Magic altogether after the passing of Professor Fig. You kept your last memory of the honorable man close to your heart – as you promised him that you shall make sure to be the keeper of Ancient Magic, so the powerful force wouldn’t end up in the wrong hands. There were two reasons why you eventually chose to be an Auror; firstly, on a one particular day, Professor Hecat sat you down, brewed you a delightful piping hot cup of tea, and convinced you that you have a massive potential to fight for the good of Wizardkind. She also added that it could be a good challenge to practice your duelling skills without the use of Anicent Magic.

The second reason is, the Slytherin boy that has successfully taken your heart as hostage. It was none other than the one-and-only Sebastian Sallow.

Where to begin with Mr. Sallow? It was an understatement to say that you had a history with him. The connection that you formed Sebastian, even after ten years or so, you couldn’t find anything that came close to the euphoric feelings that you had when you stare into his hazel eyes. Until now, you didn’t understand why it felt so natural to care about the boy. You genuinely tried to help him find a cure for his sick twin sister, even letting him dove deep into the Dark Arts – leaving you with a life lesson that such force shouldn’t be trifled with. You swore that he’d enchanted you, that you would do anything just to see a glint of smile on his face.

The sound of footsteps echoed through the school halls, lights from the floating candles barely cleared your path. It was late into the night after the graduation party. Everyone, even the paintings, were fast asleep, trunks packed as the students were ready to either further their education, or some planned to explore the vast world beyond Hogwarts. Pointing your wand to the clock, turning the gears, prompting the furniture to open its door. You hurried down the stairs to the Undercroft, the secret hideout that only Sebastian, Ominis, and you knew. However, Ominis was rarely seen in the croft after the incident with Solomon Sallow. Ties were severed that day. You tried convincing the Blonde boy, but it was for naught. Nothing you and Sebastian could do to turn back time and restore the trust. You tried your best to cheer Sebastian as well, greeting him with the best smile that you could muster, and offering your shoulder to cry on whenever dark thoughts clouded his mind. Sebastian still had an interest in duelling, thus you made a pact with him that you both would take the N.E.W.Ts together and join the Auror office. The last years in school were spent taking advanced  Defence Against the Dark Arts and Potion classes together.

You well knew that your feelings had blossomed into something more. You couldn’t finish the day without thinking about Sebastian. Often times he would visit you in your dreams, holding him, touching him, wondering how his lips tasted like. You were no coward. Despite the so-called etiquette of being a proper lady that had been instilled in you, you determined to at least confessed your feelings to your closest friend before you leave the school.

There he was, standing in front of the triptych, adorned in the green and black Slytherin coat. You’d always thought the color green suited him the most. “This is it”, you thought, taking long strides to the boy. He turned around, flashing a faint smile. Before he could utter a single word, you grasped his tie, pulling him down, and crashing your lips against his. You could feel his body stiffen, probably surprised at your sudden brazen act. It was almost taboo for women to make the first move. It didn’t take long for Sebastian to reciprocate, cupping your face. You felt like your body was weightless, as if you were on the back of Highwing again. Yet at the same time, your body burned hotter than fire.

Few words were exchanged that night. You spend the dark hours wrapped in each other’s arms, you swore you fell asleep smiling, imagining your future together with him.

Morning came, and to your devastation, you were left alone with your heart in pieces and a note etched in a parchment paper.

“I’m sorry. -S.S”

That was the last time you saw Sebastian Sallow.

A knock against the door to your office took you out from your nostalgic thoughts. “Natty!” you exclaimed, jumping out of your desk to hug your friend. Natty was your rock, she was there when you spent your days wallowing the lost of your love. With perseverance, she pulled you out from your misery and became your companion in your studies in becoming an Auror. “Ruth is expecting you in her office. And by the way, looks like you received another letter of marriage proposal.” Natty added, flapping the envelope in front of your face. You sighed, taking the piece of paper and threw it in the bin, alongside several other unopened proposal letters.

“When do you think they stop sending us proposals? I don’t even know them!” you huffed.

Your best friend laughed, patting your back, “I think some of them have started calling you a spinster.”

You rolled your eyes, “They can say whatever they want, Natty, I don’t care.” You truly don’t. You tried opening your heart for another men to fill, yet your heart still yearned for the same Slytherin boy that you loved years ago. You found zero reason to shack up with someone that you don’t love. “Alright then, best be on my way to see Ruth.”

The Daily Prophet paper clippings, stacks of wanted posters, and report papers decorated Officer Ruth Singer’s desk. Her office was pretty small for an officer in her calibre, but she has always been more keen in patrolling out than being stuck in her desk. You closed the door behind you. “Hello Ruth, anything I can do for you?”

“Ah!” the head Auror set her tea down, “just the person I was looking for. I trust you’ve recovered well?”

“Yes ma’am.” You smiled, “I’m ready for whatever task you have in mind.”

“Good. I have a case that might piqued your interest.” The brunette-haired woman set down a map in front of you, pointing to a spot down around the Clagmar Coast area. “I have just received a tip that there were sightings of dark wizards here. Unfortunately, I had assigned our other officers to other cases, and I supposed you can investigate this?”

“Are they a part of Hydra, ma’am?”

Officer Ruth shrugged, “They most likely are. Please, be careful. Don’t engage if there are a lot of them. Just report back to me.”

You gave the woman a salute and went back to pack the essentials – an array of potions and plants were hastily dumped into your bottomless satchel. The longer you dilly dally, more possibility for the target to move.

It has been a while since you went to the gloomy coast. You were never a fan of the place. It was cold, muddy, filled with Dugbogs and Poachers to top it off. Being on your broom wasn’t so bad though, feeling the fresh ocean breeze blowing against you. You flew quite close to the grounds, scanning the area. You thought you went around twice, feeling a bit disappointed that you might have just missed the suspects.

That was until you heard a blood curling scream. You quickly titled your broom downwards, flying faster to the source. Putting your broom away, you casted a Disillusionment spell, rendering you invincible. You hid behind a huge tree, peeking to see the commotion. To your horror, you saw a man, one of the men you saw on the wanted posters on Officer Ruth’s desk, hands tied behind his back, writhing in pain on the ground. “Please, please, please,” he coarsely cried, “make it stop… or, just kill me!”

“Ya better shut yer’ trap or I will keep you for days!” one of the hooded wizard shouted, before pointing his wand to the pleading man. “Crucio!”

You cringed as you heard the man pained cries, his limbs were twisted in directions that you thought weren’t humanely possible. “Crucio!” Another curse hurled from a woman, also covered in dark hooded robe. The tortured man was reduced to tense muscles and breathless grunts. His back arched as if his body was snapped in half. You could see a shadow of the third figure looming over.

Scanning the area once more, you deducted that there were only three of them. Confident that you were able to take them on, you inched closer to the group, still under the Disillusionment charm. “Petrificus Totalus!” you shouted, binding one of the dark wizard closest to you. As he was paralyzed, you attacked him with a series of casts, pushing the man away from the victim. The woman laughed maniacally as she scream incoherently, calling a hoard of inferi to attack you. You used a combination of Confringo and Incendio to burn the living corpses. Trying to keep track of the three opponents was harder than you thought, especially with the inferi spawning all over the place. “Levioso! Accio!” you were able to flung the man, hurting him with basic casts while he was mid-air, he finally dropped down defeated. After burning through the corpses, you were able to find the hooded woman running away from you. You chased after her, as you closed in, you waved your wand, transfiguring the woman into a barrel. Without any hesitation, you quickly destroyed the item.

Wait, you thought to yourself, there was one more. While you tried to catch your breath, your eyes frantically darting to every corner of your peripherals, yet you couldn’t find the third figure.

One

You took a deep breath.

Two

Three-

Just before the count of four, you felt a cold blunt item poking against your neck, hitching your breath. Your felt your body tensed, how could you miss this? Is this the end? Your thoughts were all over the place. And then it hit you, the smell of ashes, sandalwood, and a tinge of musk – the scent that was etched in your heart. The scent of the man that slipped away from your arms long time ago. Your visions were blurry, knees weak as you felt the man’s figure pressed against your back. “Petrificus Totalus.” You heard him whisper, before everything went dark.

Sobs and cries filled your ears as you stood in front of a grave at Feldcroft. “Anne Sallow, loved and remembered forever.”  Written on the stone, simply decorated with a small angel statue on the top. You placed the white Lily flower on top of the soil, before finding your way back between the small crowd. Everybody tried their best to find a cure, but Solomon was right, the curse was stuck with the poor girl forever, slowly rotting her body away. But she passed being cared by her friends, especially Ominis, who never left her side after graduating from Hogwarts. To everyone’s surprise, her own twin brother was not there. It felt like the person who fought for her the most has given up. Deep down, you had hoped that you were able to see him again this time, finding the answer why he left. You were disappointed once again, forced to bury your feelings again.

The sound of waves crashing greeted you as you woke up from the deep slumber, feeling the soft blanket wrapped around your body. Slowly, your eyes fluttered open and gained focus, taking particular interest to the full moon peeking through the window. Your body shot up, finally conscious enough to realize that you were in an unfamiliar room – old dusty wooden floor illuminated by the crackling fireplace; maps, newspaper clippings and posters pasted on the wall, just above a desk filled with stacks of books. Your eyes trailed down, finding empty bottles of what you assumed were muggle-made alcoholic beverages.

“Ah, you’re awake.” A calm voice broke your trance. Just as you thought, Sebastian Sallow stood in front of you. Gone was the schoolboy you kept in your memories all this time, replaced by a tall, brooding man towering over you. He kept his hair in a similar style, his gaze significantly darkened, making you wonder about the things that he had experienced throughout the years. You find solace seeing the same tiny freckles adorned his face, wait, did he always have that scar on the right side of his jaw? Your eyes trailed down to his left forearm, to your disappointment, there was the hydra dragon tattoo wrapped around his arm, just underneath the rolled sleeve of his shirt.

Immediately, waves of emotions crashed onto you like a tsunami – anger, relieve, frustration, yearning, all mixed up in your head. You couldn’t even stop the tears that were dripping down, wetting the blanket. Sebastian gently sat down on the bed, he reached for your hand, yet you pulled back. “I thought you died,” you croaked between sobs, “I-I had to forget about you.” You heard him sigh, bringing a flask to his lips, taking a swing from it. “Why, Sebastian? Was I meant nothing to you? What we had… was that even real?”

He kept his silence, the only thing that was audible was the sound of your hiccups and logs cracking from the fireplace. After you calmed down a bit, he offered you the flask, you gave him a suspecting look. “Relax,” Sebastian sighed again, “if I wanted to kill you, I’ve already done that when you were unconscious.”

You huffed, taking the container and downed the liquid inside. It was bitter, and the alcohol was strong enough to make you wince. “It was an old wine I got from my trip to Italy.” Sebastian explained, “helps with the headache after a binding spell.”

“Italy?” You asked. He was right, the wine did calm you down – physically and emotionally. You were too tired to fight him anyways, all you wanted to do was to find out the truth.

“I had to go away and clear my head-“

“Without telling me? Without sending a single owl? Don’t you know how worried I was?” you riled up again, now finding the strength to get up from the bed.

Sebastian stood again, now you could see how he was significantly taller than you. He crossed his arms, “Go on.”

You scoffed loudly, “Go on? I have much to say to you, Sallow. I spent years trying to get us to where we were before the incident… but you just ran away! Like a coward!”

“A coward?” He shook his head, a bitter grin plastered across his face, “Do you even try to listen to yourself? Have you ever, during those years, thought about what I was dealing with? Yes, I was eternally thankful that you didn’t send me to the Ministry, but have you ever thought about what it felt like to see the people closest to me deathly scared of me?”

“I saw how you and Ominis grimaced whenever I held my wand. I knew what you both thought, you are scared that I would use the Dark Arts again. You said you trusted me, but I know we were never be able to go back to where it was before.”

Tears welled up in your eyes again as you turned away from him. He was right, you had clinged on to the hope that your things would be the same again because of your selfish desire to have Sebastian. “You didn’t even come to your sister’s funeral.” You whispered.

“She never said that she wanted to see me again. The least I can do is to honor her wish.” He said coldly, taking another sip of the wine.

“Then why did you join…” you turned to him, eyeing the tattoo on his arm, “that group? Is cutting us out from your life not enough?”

“I tried to stay away from the Dark Arts, I truly do. But… The potential that I felt… I still believe that there are more to it than just forbidden curses. And, don’t you see that we only inflict them on crime suspects? How is that different from what you Aurors do?”

You fell silent.

“Morality is a strange concept, is it not?” Sebastian scoffed. “Just like your special ability with Ancient Magic. The difference is that I chose to embrace it.”

You took the flask from his hand, taking a big swing, the whole ordeal took a toll on you. Walking closer to the desk, you glanced over the old Dark Art books – probably stolen from the restricted section years ago, several letters sprawled on the surface, and to your surprise, you pulled a tattered ribbon, stuck between stacks of journal.

It was very difficult to make sure you have all your belongings packed in your trunk when tears wouldn’t stop streaming from your eyes, wetting the pile of crumpled clothes under you. On top of that, your hair was getting in the way of your sight. You searched for the ribbon that you’ve been wearing to tie your hair – a silk ribbon of your house color that Sebastian gifted you on your first birthday at Hogwarts. You couldn’t find it anywhere, you’d thought you most likely dropped the item at the Undercroft. Never mind then, maybe it’s better that way, easier for you to forget Sebastian.

Deep in your personal thoughts, you didn’t even realize the footsteps slowly closing in on you. His warm breath caressed your nape, sending quivers down your spine, feeling goosebumps all over your body. Both excitement and fear took over you – even after all this time, there were some nights that you would find your fingers inside your undergarments, imagining Sebastian’s deep brown eyes on top of you. Carefully, he ran his fingers through your long hair, cascading down to your back. He grasped a strand of hair, bringing it against his lips, “You kept your hair long… Just the way I like it.” You hated to admit the truth, but you have been growing your hair ever since Sebastian made a remark that he ‘thinks long haired girls are very attractive’.

Gathering the last bits of courage you have, you turned around to face the imposing figure behind you. God, you were utterly bewitched by him. Your hands found their rest on the edge of the desk, taking a mental note that you were as cornered as lamb beneath its prey. Sebastian dared to get closer, his leg nestled between yours, calloused hands laid on top of yours, interlacing your fingers with his. In the corner of your eye, you were drawn to focus on a small tattoo just below his ear. It was an initial. Your initials, eternally inked on his freckled skin. “Sebastian,” you gently whispered, “all this time?”

“Always.”

The world stopped moving as he laid his lips against yours.

One

You breathed in. Ashes. Sandalwood. Musk.

Two

Three

Four

Sebastian Sallow tasted the same as he did years ago.

A/N: Thank you thank you thank you so much for reading my works! I’ve been thinking about this story for days now. I never thought that I would be writing again, but the love I’ve received from the HL community encouraged me to share my stories. Hope you enjoyed this one. I’m thinking to do a second part with mature themes. Please let me know your thoughts! <3

[jubileeq]

this is the funniest thing I’ve read in my LIFE

[jubileeq]

Hey, help me please. How do you write description in your novels? Not a character one, surrounding ones. How do you describe from 3 POV , the background of the novel?

5 Tips for Writing Great Descriptions

Hi there! Thanks for writing. I talk at length about this in my book The Complete Guide to Self-Editing for Fiction Writers (See Chapter 4 / “Building Your Story World,” Chapter 16 / Setting the Scene, and Chapter 21 / “Choosing the Right Details” for the majority of the discussion about description, but it’s peppered throughout), so I’ll just give a brief rundown here. :)

Tip #1: Use concrete, sensory details

That means describing, with precision, a detail you can see/hear/touch/taste/smell. Avoid using vague words that are hard to visualize or sense, like “the house was ugly” or “the weather was bad.” Instead, choose a sensory detail (or two) for your descriptions, for example “the house was a wretched shade of salmon pink” or “the wind was blowing I could taste dust in my mouth.”

Tip #2: Try not to over- or under-use descriptions

It’s common for beginning writers to either use no description, or go completely overboard. I give examples of both in my book. While there’s no hard rule about how much description is too little or too much (it depends a lot on the particular story, genre, and the writer’s style), I personally like to include around 4-5 sensory details per page.

The idea is to give the reader a solid sense of where they are without going on and on, making them want to skim over as you carry on for paragraphs about the smell and texture of a doily.

Tip #3: Use more description during important parts of the story

Description draws your readers attention to what you’re describing. Use that to your advantage. If that doily contains a blood stain that’s a pivotal clue in your murder mystery, by all means spend three sentences describing the particular color red of the blood or the weird smell it emits. Where you linger, the reader will linger.

Tip #4: Use description to set the scene

Use more description at the beginning of a new scene, or anytime the location of your story changes. I talk about this in the section on transitions in my book. Summary gets a bad reputation in fiction, but these transitional paragraphs are the perfect time to paint the scene with sensory details about your character’s surroundings.

Tip #5: Pay attention to “camera movement”

One common thing I see in writer’s manuscripts is what I call “jerky camera movement.” Here’s an example:

Jesse pulled into the driveway of the suspect’s mansion around noon. A white, floppy dog barked ferociously in the window. It was a warm, sweltering day. Jesse looked down and realized her shoe was untied. The house had three large columns in front, each wrapped with a gawdy red bow. 

In this example, the “camera” moves from the driveway, to the dog in the window, to the “day,” to Jesse’s shoe, to the outside of the house. If that was your head, looking around the scene, you’d get dizzy pretty fast. Here’s a smoother movement, starting wide and focusing in on Jesse’s untied shoe.

It was a warm, sweltering day. Jesse pulled into the driveway of the suspect’s mansion around noon. The house had three large columns in front, each wrapped with a gawdy red bow. In the window, a white, floppy dog barked ferociously. As Jesse approached the door, she looked down and realized her shoe was untied.

These aren’t perfect examples because I’ve dashed them off just now, but you get the idea :) Try not to make your reader seasick by making them look all over the scene (unless you’re trying to achieve that effect, for example, in a scene where your protagonist is drunk or discombobulated).

Hope this helps!

[jubileeq]

Writing doesn’t have to be realistic... But.

I’m serious. It doesn’t. Go ahead. Your characters can find true love in just a second. They can knock down a thousand henchmen before reaching the Big Boss. They can wield unlimited powers. They can turn out the be The One.

Is it unrealistic? Probably. Is it fun? Yes.

It’s fiction. It doesn’t need to be realistic.

But.

Writing doesn’t have to be realistic, but it needs to be consistent.

Realistic = compared to the rules of the reality outside your story, the reality you and I live in (most of the time).

Consistent = compared to the rules of the reality inside your story.

What I mean when I use the word “rules”

I don’t mean “You’re not supposed to do X in this society.” I mean rules that describe reality, not prescribe it. Rules that are as inescapably tied to your story’s reality as gravity is tied to ours.

Examples:

Why do we accept that Disney princesses live happily ever after with someone they just met? It may be unrealistic, but it’s consistent.

Why do we accept that one set of superheroes in one universe can wield unlimited powers without facing consequences (Superman etc.) and another set of superheroes can’t (The Incredibles)? Because the writers of each universe have made it clear to us that these are the rules.

“But, Bookish Diplodocus… My character is The One!”

“My character is the One who breaks all the rules nobody ever thought could be broken.”

“I’m not breaking the rules, my character is an exception to the rules!”

“Their arrival has been foretold by Legends! They are Special!”

That may very well be. I enjoy reading the The One trope just as much as the next person. But just know that if you break your own rules, your reader may feel cheated.

So you need to do it well.

If you have established certain rules and you create an exception, you have to make it believable that the rule has an exception.

A well-executed exception

Well, take The Matrix for example. (Spoilers ahead, obviously.)

Neo is the exception. What is the rule? The rule isn’t that the Matrix exists. All the rebels know that. The rule is that no-one can manipulate reality. Jesus. Obviously no-one can manipulate reality. Do you take us for idiots? And then one guy shows up who can.

Why do we accept the existence of this one individual? Along with Neo, we are gradually led to realize it. Trinity believes he is the One. But what does she know anyway? Morpheus believes it too. Morpheus, as a mentor figure, has more authority, so we start to believe it. Neo doesn’t, not entirely, not yet. And then we start to see it, slowly, with ups and downs. There is a training session, a breakthrough moment, a failure, people around him start to doubt, but some keep faith. The Oracle says Neo may become the One, but isn’t the One yet. It’s only during the finale of the movie that Neo truly becomes the One.

The character arc from Thomas Andersen to Neo to the One is the whole story arc of the movie. It’s done slowly and well-executed.

A badly executed exception

I’m gonna make one up, because I’m a kind person, I don’t want to drag other people down. But we’ve all read books with heroes like the one I’m going to describe.

The hero is a teen or just a regular guy. Nothing special. They come into their powers, or start training, or… Within a few months/years/chapters they surpass the level of their mentor/teacher/champion/authority figure, who’s been doing this for at least 112 years. No need to think this is weird, reader. This character is the One, remember? I showed you the Legend that foretells his arrival in chapter 2.

While the character arc in the Matrix is done slowly, this fictitious bad example is done within the scope of a few chapters. Quickly level-up the character, so that we can get to “the real story”. And that’s the mistake.

So, next time a reader tells you something is unrealistic, they mean it’s unbelievable within the reality of your story. You don’t necessarily need to cut it. Go back and fix it.

I hope this was helpful. Don’t hesitate to ask me any questions, and happy writing!

Follow me for more writing advice, or check out my other writing tips here. New topics to write advice about are also always appreciated.

Tag list below the cut. If you like to be added to or removed from the list, let me know.

Keep reading

[jubileeq]

“𝑺𝒉𝒆” — [𝑵𝒆𝒊𝒍 𝑷𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒚]

Summary: In which Mr. Keating's class must recreate a poem and the only young girl is so nervous that she doesn't notice the intense gaze of one of her classmates, Neil Perry.

Word Count: 1491

Warnings: none

Pairings: neil perry x female!reader

A/N: Sorry if there is more than one mistake, english is not my first language and I am still learning it. However, I hope you enjoy it and have a good time, thanks for reading! (:

One by one, the students of the class passed to the front of the room with their papers in hand, some kept the piece of paper hidden under their sweaty hands, others implored in whispers not to be called upon and a few simply didn't care and gave each other amused looks. Mr. Keating, the English teacher, had assigned the task of writing a poem and performing it in front of the entire class, with the sole intention that the desperate poet inside those young bodies would come out shouting his loud and barbaric "YAAAAP!" in triumph. A faithful follower of Uncle Whitman.

"Y/N! It's your turn!"

The young woman was perplexed and motionless in her seat as she was still engrossed in her brain trying with all her might, to give her own meaning to the earlier poem she had listened to so intently. So, when she heard her name, her creative bubble burst in the blink of an eye and she was forced back to reality. Her hands were just another pair of those that began to sweat as she tried, unsuccessfully, to dodge the gaze of her beloved professor. She was convinced that her name would be one of the last ones on the list, but it seemed that Mr. Keating's plans were very different from hers.

"Come on, come on, show these barbarians how it's done!"

Some of those present burst into loud laughter as Mr. Keating went in search of his only student and encouraged her to get up with a gentle pat on the back.

"If I were you I would not laugh so openly, Mr. Hopkins. Women are fundamental to this world and I can tell you, with all due respect, far more elemental than a lot of the men I have known and will know in my life." as he uttered those words, the English professor spoke with a raised finger and a warm smile, which caused his one female student to blush. She didn't know whether to thank him or hide in the woods.

"Amen!" admitted with a loud tapping against his desk the Dalton boy, he had a rebellious glare in his dark orbs and a sneaky smile in their direction. That act didn't take long to provoke new giggles, this time, in support of professor Keating's wise words.

The professor gave Y/N a gesture with his arm and invited her to take her place at the front of the class, where she remembered why she hated oral exams and expositions so much: a hundred eyes were watching her, silently, expectantly. The girl took a deep breath and hidden her face behind the thin sheet of paper to avoid the stares of others, especially one in particular. She closed her eyes still with the leaf covering her reddish cheeks and felt how her teacher crouched in the middle of the row of tables to listen delightedly to her poem, "when you are ready" was the last thing she heard from him. She gave a long sigh and then, magic made her soul dance:

She can't write these words and show them, the time it took her to put the tip of the pen to the page was too long. She thinks it's not worth it; that her words are ordinary and slow because they don't come out the right way, she thinks it's impossible that a living person would be interested in them.

She adores art in each of its disparate forms; writing, theater, music, she longs for the time she spends with them. Her face transforms and grows somber when she wonders why such a deed is popularly ignored, what does it take for much of the human race to stop being silenced? what does it take for beauty to have a new reconquest? For people to seek new lands and fall prey to the feeling of agony, of madness, of new inner adventures deep in the caves!

She weeps when she sees an instrument covered in dust, when she enters empty museums and the faces in oil paints look at her with sorrow and are grateful that even oblivion has not fallen upon them; her breath is shortened when she enters a theater and her gaze is lost with innocence on the stage, on the enigmatic sky. So much history, so many eyes and beating hearts that have passed through the same place with a story to hear and a confession to leave behind enclosed in that sky, embedded in the walls, witness on a stage full of sins.

Her sight blurs as she sees hundreds of books piled on the road in the rain, hundreds of tales and stories placed in garbage bags; her heart stops and her soul recites, prays and screams on the sidelines of the artists the world has taken from us, of minds that are nothing more than worm food. A world wary and controlled by a pain that it has created.

She cries out in memory of all who have visited hell and found solace in this, the art that is pure and sinister. She cries for all the stories and words that are being erased by that same rain that, as she looks, she feels guilt for considering beautiful; her tears are grateful for the gray clouds at the thought that there are still people who wander lost, those with the soul of an artist, called misunderstood. A strength that goes far beyond what demons and voices are capable of tolerating, a legacy that not even her own insecurities can leave behind, because it is the only thing she can do for humanity, the only thing that can save it.

She laments everyone who locks away the desperate desires of a hungry heart, hungry for more than the crumbs of silence and fear. She penetrates the dreams of others and rejoices those who sharpen their ears, stretch their arms towards those forbidden drawers and open them, even with their eyes tightly closed. She whispers: "don’t be afraid and see what you have made with your own hands, it is your legacy: the way in which you can be heard even when the years go by. Look at it, hold it between your fingers, it may be heavy or light, but it is your manuscript. The words you have never said, the verses you have never read, the fears you have never overcome, the ghosts you keep stumbling over, the urge to vomit when you are a second away from discovering the truth, your mother's smile, the scent of trees, of freshly cut grass, of old books… they are there. Everything is engraved there, written in scribbles you won't be able to understand, in letters that matured over the years, that's where all this I've recited comes from: a memory of what is new and what is old."

And in spite of everything, she keeps wondering if this leaf, the greatest oath of her life so far will be reduced to ashes and if its words will become yellowed pages. She keeps questioning herself, with tears and a bitter voice: what will last until the end?

Her heart was beating so fast and her breathing was ragged, she couldn't believe what she had just done. Her mind was in complete chaos… she had read one of her writings to an entire class, full of boys! She could feel her face and body burning with pure adrenaline, it was done. Dammit.

"God bless the women" Charlie Dalton's voice broke the ice, in a whisper.

"Fuck, Y/N" Knox hurried to say, completely beside himself. Shocked.

The entire class was staring at her, gawking and some with faces full of admiration, highest respect. None of them thought that the only young lady in the class was an intoxicated soul of art, letters, literature. Soon the applause and cheers quickly replaced the sepulchral silence, accompanied by several insults from their classmates who were still in complete awe; Charlie, Knox and Pitts were some of them, clapping and whistling with pure pride.

"Never forget this, Y/N. Never" spoke the Captain, gently grasping the back of his pupil's neck and pressing her temples together in triumph, a sign that she would take with her a powerful lesson: she would see to it that her voice would be heard in every corner and that she would never, ever be silent again.

Before she returned to her seat, however, her cheeks flared furtively again, and this time not because of the shouts or cheers that still did not want to leave the mouths of the Dead Poets, but because of the perplexed look that the young man with who she had always been in love was giving her. The verses had penetrated deep into the soul of Neil Perry, inexplicable sensations, all his feelings were alive, at the surface of his skin.

She…

Wow, he had no words. She was amazing.

— 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬.

[jubileeq]

[jubileeq]

NETFLIX’S ANGELS

[jubileeq]

[jubileeq]

there’s the fake merchandising holiday today that makes people depressed and theres also the other really good holiday 

[jubileeq]

how does being punched in the face feel like

[jubileeq]

THIS IS SO CUTE, I’m in love with this 🥺

“Wear Your Makeup Like A Man”

(Paring: Sonny Wortzik x Reader) 

Word Count: 1,500 

Sonny Worznik was the first ever queer character I saw in cinema, and had a profound impact on my life. So here’s a little character study ;; gonna CRY. Title is from the LCD Soundsystem song call the police! No warnings, enjoy! 

8:01 AM

Brooklynn, New York 

The hustle and bustle of the city rumbled below, morning traffic beginning to piling up. The early risers already emerging from their houses, checking their mailboxes and gathering the daily paper. In the distance, children’s screams of joy pierced through the morning as they stomped and splashed in the water spraying from the uncapped hydrants.

It’s summer.

You sat at your vanity, fumbling through your makeup bag. You start lining your products up one by one across the table - foundation, eyeshadow, eyeliner, blush, and mascara. There. That should do it for today. 

You never wear makeup to impress anyone else, you just really enjoy the way you feel in it. It gives you a boost of confidence, and you love experimenting with new looks. It’s a little indulgence in self-vanity, and finds its way in your typical morning routine.

Another body moved around the apartment, currently starting breakfast in the kitchen. The smell of coffee permeated through the complex. 

A slight shuffle is heard from behind you, then the familiar creak of the bedroom door opening. Your boyfriend, Sonny, stood in the doorway. In one hand, holding a cup of coffee, and the daily newspaper in the other. Sleep still crusting his eyes and refusing to get out of his pajamas, he lets out a yawn. After living with him for around six months, you’ve learned he’s not the biggest morning person. 

“Hey, babe,” he ruffles your hair and gives a quick kiss to the top of your head, perching himself next to you on the bench. It barely gave enough room to comfortably seat two people, but Sonny squeezes in close to you. Being a bit of a needy lover, he will always find, no, make. Make room to be next to you. 

Sonny’s very aware of your makeup hobby, and finds it quite enjoyable to witness your artistic process. How steady your hands are, how your brushes dance across your face like a painter on a canvas. He watched intensely as your wrist delicately flicked a black line above your eyelid, pulling it out to create a sharp wing. He remembers this style is called…cat eyes or something like that. Sonny never understood why a little black line ontop the eyelid made a woman so confident, but he couldn’t help but notice how it made your (e/c) eyes pop. 

Sonny’s eyes carried down, looking at the beautiful pink rouge dusting your cheeks. How it highlighted your cheekbones, how it made you look so feminine. Everything about you was just so soft and delicate to him, you reminded him of a doll. 

And in that moment, he wanted to feel like that too. Before he can catch himself, the words tumble out of his mouth. 

“Could you do my makeup next?” 

You stop in your tracks, turning to look at Sonny quizzically. He’s got an unreadable expression across his face, something you could only describe as embarrassment. And, maybe just the smallest glimmer of hope that you’ll take him up on his offer. 

“Want me to do what?” 

He pauses, gulping audibly. “Fuck,” he thinks to himself, “You’ve really gone and done it now, idiot. She’s gonna think I’m a freak. You finally got yourself a nice girl to settle down with, and what do you gotta do? You-” 

As Sonny’s thoughts race, a voice rings out in his ears. He’s immediately tugged back into reality, present in the here and now again. 

“I mean, If you want me to, sure!”  

You begin to dig throughout your makeup bag again, rummaging through different eyeshadow pallets and expired makeup you refused to throw out. “Now, usually it’s not sanitary for two people to share the same makeup, but I’ll let it slide today. Maybe if you find an interest in makeup, we can work on building your own collection.” 

Sonny barely pays attention to what you’re saying. Not because he isn’t interested, but because how quickly you took him up on his unexpected request. 

Studying his face, you tap your chin in contemplation. “Now, what kind of look are we going for today? More natural, something bold. Oh. I know, maybe a look for a night on the town? You tryin’ to impress someone, aren’t you Sonny. Got a hot date I don’t know about?”

You try to crack a few jokes, as you notice Sonny’s nervousness. Lighten the mood a little. While your boyfriend was usually playful, during times of uncertainty or fear he locks himself up in defense. There was nothing wrong with him exploring makeup. In fact, you found it endearing in a way; Sonny cared enough about you that he wanted to partake in one of your interests.  

“Well, since this is your first time and all wearing makeup, I’ll go with something more natural,” you get up from the bench, standing in front of him to get a better angle. 

You hold up a little silver tube, and detach the lid, showing Sonny the tiny, bristly brush that was encased inside. “See, this is mascara. Do you know what mascara is?” 

Sonny nods. “Yeah, I’ve seen you use that before.”

“Well we’re off to a great start then! I’m going to use this on your eyelashes.” You tilt your head, “Though, honestly Sonny you already have some amazing eyelashes, I wish we could trade,” you sigh dramatically. “Some guys just don’t appreciate what they have.” Sonny chucks at that, and you smile. The room already begins to feel lighter. 

“Okay, I’m gonna need you to close your eyes for this.” 

As you move forward, he flinches away from the brush, startled by the new sensation on his eyelashes. You jump a little too, surprised by the sudden motion from Sonny. Fear that you might have hurt him, you profusely apologize. 

“Oh no no, (Y/N) it’s okay, I just didn’t expect it to feel like that,” Sonny frantically explains. 

You let out a sigh of relief, “It’s ok Sonny, I promise I won’t poke your eye out.” Standing up tall, you playfully nudge him, “Trust me, I’m a professional.” 

“(Y/N), you know I trust you.” 

“I know, just wanted to hear you say it.” 

Sonny puts his whole trust in you, and will eventually become a bit more comfortable under the makeup brush. Sonny would even goes as so far to find it soothing after a while, having you pamper him like this. 

“Okay, open!” 

Sonny opens his eyes, batting his eyelashes at you. His large, brown orbs search your face for any sign of reassurance, for any sign that this is okay, that he is allowed to do this. Your heart practically melts. 

“Oh, Sonny that looks so good on you! I’m..actually surprised I…” 

He tries to turn his head towards the mirror, but your hands immediately reach out and grab both sides of his face. You hold him in place, locking eyes with you. “Wait, no! Lemme finish the completed look first!” 

Continuing, you attempt to recreate the makeup you’ve done for yourself today on Sonny. Cat eyes, mascara, and pink blush. Backing away, you admire all your hard work. His delicate features are amplified by your makeup choices - his long, thick eyelashes deeper and more profound with a coat of mascara. The sharp, winged eyeliner drawing attention to his large eyes. A slight dusting of rouge on his cheeks highlights his jawline and his plump cheeks. Your heart flutters - how are you so lucky to have such a beautiful partner? 

 “Ok, Sonny, I think you’re all done. Wanna see?”

You grab his shoulders, guiding his body to be positioned right in front of the mirror. Wrapping your arms around him, you rest your chin on top Sonny’s head. “It’s funny, you don’t need makeup at all. You’re just so beautiful already. But, I must say, you pull it off.” You pull away, smiling, and returning to your space on the bench. 

Sonny is shocked, slowly moving his hand up towards his mouth. You made him look so beautiful, tears start to prickle in his eyes. In an attempt to become even closer to you, he leans his head against your shoulder, gazing at your shared reflections in the mirror. For the first time, he feels complete. No fear, no shame, the most important person in his life accepting him fully. He may have to hide his confusion from his family, from his friends, from his coworkers. But not you. 

“You look handsome.”

“Do I look pretty, can I be pretty too?”

“Of course you can be pretty.” You smile contently, “You can be anything you want, Sonny. Just as long as you’re mine.”

[jubileeq]

Writing Websites

1. a website with a list of superpowers and what they are

2. a website that generates random au ideas

3. a website that generates names, basic info and futures in a bunch of languages

4. a website that checks your grammar

5. website that lists types of execution in the states

6. a website with info on death certificates

7. a website with info on the four manners of death

8. a website with info on the black plague

9. website with information on depression

10. a website with info on the four types of suicide

11. website that lists famous quotes

12. website with different kinds of quotes

13. a website with info on food in every country

14. a website with a list of different colors

15. website with a list of medieval jobs

16. website with a list of fabrics

17. website with a list of flowers and pictures

18. website with a list of flowers and no pictures

19. website with a list of poisonous plants

20. website with a list of poisonous and non-poisonous plants

21. website with a list of things not to feed your animals

22. website with a list of poisons that can be used to kill people

23. website with info on the international date line

24. website with a list of food allergies

25. website with a list of climates

26. website with info on allergic reactions

27. website with info on fahrenheit and celsius 

28. website with info on color blindness

29. website with a list of medical equipment

30. website with a list of bugs

31. website with an alphabetic list of bugs and their scientific name

32. website with a list of eye colors

33. website (wikipedia sorry) with list of drinks

34. website with a list of religions

35. website with a list of different types of doctors and what they do

36. website (wikipedia again sorry) with a list of hair colors

37. website that generates fantasy names

38. website with a list of body language

39. website with a list of disabilities

40. website with an alphabetic list of disabilities

[jubileeq]

Showcasing art from some of my favourite artists in the field of visual arts, including vintage; pulp; pop culture; books and comics; concert posters; fantastical and imaginative realism; classical; contemporary; new contemporary; pop surrealism; conceptual and illustration.

The art of Kyle Lambert.

[jubileeq]

ATLA/LOK FIC WRITER RECOMMENDATIONS:

Y’all asked so you shall receive, this is in no particular order but here’s a list of fic and smau writers that I think are awesome! I know the anon asked specifically about Katara x readers, but I figured I’d make a list for every ATLA /LOK writer I’m a fan of. Enjoy!

@kyleewrites

@writtenportkey

@melzula

@zukochi

@welovediaaxx

@sukifans

@catxsnowatla

@mackandcheese24 l

@theavatarsfireflakes

@sokkascroptop

@sokkasangel

@fromthewatertribe

@nataliahaslosthershit

@azucanela

@krewbies

[jubileeq]

I’ve been a fanfiction connoisseur for many years now, I reade it, I request it, I enjoy it. I also listen to a shit ton of music and sometimes I’ll be listening to a song and the lyrics make me think “this would be a good base for a fanfic”. After coming to this realization I started making a list of songs and what genre of fic I think it could be good for. If any of you want to add songs and/or share this by all means go ahead! If any writer out there sees/listens to a song and wants to write something for it by all means go ahead! Without further ado, I present ~the list~

Warning: There are a few songs listed under nsfw at the bottom if your uncomfy with that.

•Adore You-Harry Styles: Any genre

•Lover of Mine- 5 Seconds of Summer: Any genre

•Wanna Be Yours- Arctic Monkeys: Any genre 

•Womanizer- Britney Spears: Any genre

•Mirrors- Justin Timberlake : Friends to Lovers

•History- One Direction: Friends to Lovers

•I.F.L.Y - Bazzi: Friends to Lovers

•YOUTH- Troye Sivan: Fluff/Friends to Lovers

•Tongue Tied- Grouplove : Fluff/Friends to Lovers

•Like or Like Like- Miniature Tigers: Fluff/Friends to Lovers

•Paris in the Rain- Lauv: Fluff/Friends to Lovers

•I Like Me Better- Lauv: Fluff

•Halo- Beyoncé: Fluff

•Dream Girl-Anna of the North: Unrequited love

•What Now- Rihanna: Angst

•Misery- Maroon 5: Angst

•Ghost Of You- 5 Seconds of Summer: Angst

•The Night We Met- Lord Huron : Angst/Unrequited love

•SLOW DANCING IN THE DARK- Joji: Angst/Unrequited love

•Skinny Love- Birdy: Angst/Hurt comfort

•Back to Black- Amy Winehouse: Angst/Breakup

•Phases-Prettymuch: Hurt comfort

•Must Have been the Wind- Alec Benjamin: Hurt comfort

•Die for You- The Weeknd: Angst/Enemies to lovers/Nsfw

•Bad Idea- Ariana Grande: Enemies to lovers/Nsfw

•One More Night- Maroon 5: Angst + Nsfw

•Stuck on a Feeling-Prince Royce ft Snoop Dogg: Nsfw

•Call Out My Name- The Weeknd: Nsfw

•505-Arctic Monkeys: Nsfw

•Wildflower- 5 Seconds of Summer: Nsfw

•Sweater Weather- The Neighbourhood: Nsfw

•Love Me Harder- Ariana Grande ft The Weeknd: Nsfw

[jubileeq]

Movies you NEED to watch as a teenager

• can’t buy me love

• la bamba

• the breakfast club

• 10 things i hate about you

• a walk to remember

• before sunrise

• flipped

• weird science

• clueless

• dirty dancing

• the outsiders

• grease

• say anything

• ferris buellers day off

• sixteen candles

• she’s all that