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[sloanesallow]

a little less sixteen candles

Something I wrote for Sloane's birthday (April 28th, 1875). I didn't anticipate it being so bittersweet, but that's what happens when your MC's birthday coincides with the end-game events.... (art by puri.dew) SWF | 2.6k words [read on Ao3] | [read on wattpad] | [tumblr masterpost]

It's spring—late April, to be exact. Flowers bloom all over the Scottish Highlands, and students take advantage of the warmer weather to spend their afternoons and evenings outdoors. Most travel to Hogsmeade and the surrounding hamlets, some take to the Quidditch pitch, and others lounge in the courtyards to daydream and watch the clouds pass by.

Instead of enjoying the beauty of nature or spending quality time with his friends, Sebastian is holed up in the Undercroft, scribbling notes on a blackboard with the last nub of chalk. On the table nearby, several textbooks and dusty tombs are spread open, their margins littered with more of his scrawl. He dusts his fingers off, smearing white across his pant leg before grabbing a quill to hunch over the latest pilfering from the Restricted Section.

Curses, Curses, and Even More Curses

It is an encyclopedia of sorts, one Sebastian found tucked away in some dark corner of the library's basement, being used to prop up a wobbly cabinet. The book smells like it has been fermenting in the lake and is icy cold to the touch, but the few pages that remain legible offer more information than he's been able to gleam in recent months. Despite having Salazar Slytherin's spellbook, it has taken considerable effort and time to translate, and even then the ancient writings refer to artifacts and magic Sebastian is just barely starting to comprehend.

He is reading a particularly interesting passage about blood sacrifices when he realizes he is no longer alone. Ominis stands on the other side of the table, eyebrows bunched together and lips pursed in an everlasting state of dissatisfaction. When the bloody hell did he sneak in?

"I won't bother with asking what it is you are doing, as I have no interest in arguing with you this evening."

"Lucky me," Sebastian quips back. Their friendship has been strained ever since Anne's curse, the relationship gradually turning into something far more toxic. But the fear of losing one of his best and only friends is overshadowed by the deep dread that consumes Sebastian every day—he will not let Anne die.

He attempts to refocus his attention to the yellowed pages of the old tome. "It must be a special occasion, if you're letting me off so easily."

"Now that you mention it," Ominis replies, sardonically.

When he doesn't elaborate, Sebastian glances up and finds himself curious for a new reason. His friend is dressed up, or rather, dressed down, in a neat but casual ensemble that is so uncharacteristic it might as well be a prank. Since when did Ominis walk around in anything less than his school uniform?

"Today is a special occasion," Ominis finally clarifies, though his tone makes it obvious he is teasing Sebastian for the gap in knowledge.

"Uh..."

What day is it? He wonders, furrowing his brow in thought. Tuesday? What important event occurs on a Tuesday other than...potions? No, he attended class that morning, even if he cannot recall the details of Professor Sharp's lecture. Crossed Wands? That isn't until Friday. All Sebastian really remembers from the last twelve hours is bartering with the kitchen-elves for leftovers after missing dinner, again. That, and being shooed away from the library by Madam Scribner, again.

The prolonged silence causes Ominis to scoff, more irritated than before. "Seriously, Sebastian?" he snaps, shaking his head. "Do you really not remember? Ugh, why am I even surprised? I only came down here to confirm for myself that you truly are lost."

"I am not—"

"Shut up," Ominis cuts him off with a pointed look that is a tad more menacing than usual. "After all she did to remind us—you—" he sighs, temper simmering. "Siobhan did well to hide her disappointment, but even I could tell by the sound of her voice she was upset by your absence."

"Sloane?" Sebastian blinks several times as the realization dawns on him. Tuesday. The twenty-eighth day of April.

Today is Sloane's birthday.

He drops the book and threads his hands through his hair in exasperation, cursing under his breath, "shit."

"It is remarkable, really, the patience that girl has," Ominis remarks, ignoring the way Sebastian starts to frantically pace. "More than I posses, at least. I do not know the details, nor do I wish to, but it is a small miracle she considers you a friend, for all you have put her through."

Sebastian pauses to glare at his friend, almost daring him to repeat the snide comment. What the hell does he know? But, for what seems like the millionth time in five years, Ominis is right. In his pursuit for a cure, he is slowly alienating the people he cares about. Sloane is a recent addition to his inner circle, though sometimes it feels as if she's been there all along. His feelings for the Hufflepuff are...complicated, to put it mildly. Sebastian knows he likes her, perhaps more than he's ever liked a member of the opposite sex. However, inexperience and denial leave him unwilling to call it love.

He lets out a pitiful groan, palms pressed hard against his eyes.

"I can't believe I forgot!" The memory of Sloane inviting them to a small celebration in Hogsmeade crashes into view, adding to his shame. He's been so wrapped up in research and schoolwork that it slipped his mind. "Merlin's beard—I'm an arse!"

"Yes," Ominis flatly agrees, sarcasm dripping from every word. "Good thing wallowing in self-pity solves everything."

Sebastian frowns, his gut twisting with regret, frustrated by his own preoccupation. The spread of journals and scribbled notes seem to taunt him, his head and heart torn between obligation and desire. He returns to pacing, murmuring incoherently as his brain tries to prioritize what the first step should be. Bathe? No time. He unceremoniously sniffs under his arm and winces—a cleaning charm will have to suffice.

"Is she still in Hogsmeade?" he asks, allowing some hope to flourish when Ominis nods. "Do you think...she'll forgive me?"

"She shouldn't," Ominis says, sighing again. He shakes his head, almost as if he is humored by Sebastian's enthusiasm. "But she will."

Sebastian allows himself thirty minutes to get to the Three Broomsticks. It's still early, but Sloane and her friends have already been celebrating in Hogsmeade for most of the afternoon. Better late than never, right? After fixing his appearance as best he can in the nearest washroom, he rushes to the kitchens and haggles with the kitchen-elves for the second time that day, this time for pastries so he doesn't show up completely empty handed. He will need to procure a proper gift when his mind isn't so rattled.

By the time Sebastian exits the great hall, the sun is just setting beyond the horizon. It's warm, and as he speed-walks across the viaduct courtyard, sweat forms on his brow and neck and elsewhere he does not want to think about. Knowing his luck, he'll be a perspiring, smelly mess by the time he makes it to Hogsmeade. How attractive, he mumbles to himself, checking over his clothing again to make sure he's properly buttoned and tucked and—

"Sebastian?"

He freezes mid-step, snapping his gaze up to find Sloane and two of her Hufflepuff roommates—Poppy Sweeting and Lenora Everleigh—standing at the top of the stone steps. Sebastian opens his mouth to speak, but his short-circuiting brain won't allow a coherent sentence to form.

Eventually, he squeaks, "me."

Poppy and Lenora giggle while Sloane's lips curl into a sympathetic smile. All Sebastian can focus on is the pale pink of her dress and the way the curve of her neck and collarbone are exposed, making it that much more difficult to speak. Her cropped hair has a slight curl to the ends, and...is that rouge on her cheeks? He's never seen her look so...

"Wow," he breathes, perfectly aware of how lopsided his grin must look. Sebastian straightens up a little, clutching the small, wrapped box of baked goods in his hands. He lets out a shaky laugh. "I was...just coming to find you, actually."

"You were?" Sloane's eyes widen in surprise—is his presence that startling? He tries not to frown at the gut-wrenching realization that she didn't expect him to show up at all. When her friends don't budge to give them any privacy, he reaches up to tug at the knot of his tie, the suffocating feeling lingering as they stare down at him. Sebastian feels like he might faint, or retch, or both.

"Sloane, I—"

"Oh, this'll be rich," Lenora mutters, rolling her eyes. The dark-haired Hufflepuff is consistently disapproving of his relationship with Sloane, though he can't imagine why. Or maybe he can.

Poppy hushes her and the three return to holding similar, expectant expressions. Sebastian clears his throat.

"I—I'm an absolute git for forgetting your birthday," he starts, hoping he sounds as earnest as he feels. Multiple excuses tickle the tip of his tongue but he knows better in that moment than to offer any. This is his fault, his burden to bear. "I'm so sorry, sorrier than you can imagine."

"That's what he said last time, isn't it?" Lenora mumbles.

If Sebastian isn't trying so desperately to look forlorn, he would glare at her. Now's not the time for a reminder of how he's unintentionally, or perhaps intentionally hurt Sloane. For all the mistakes he's made, she has forgiven him time and time again, and everyone in their circle has noticed. Regardless of how much he wants it, maybe he is undeserving of her grace. Maybe the best gift he can give is to cut himself out of her life for good—one less burden for her to worry about in an already chaotic first—fifth—year.

His heart sinks to the pit of his stomach and his hopeful smile falls into a dejected pout. Before Sebastian can fully spiral into another pity-party of one, he flicks his gaze back to Sloane and decides that surrender simply isn't in his nature.

"Can we talk?" he softly asks. He'll beg if he has to, even at the risk of making an even bigger arse of himself in front of Sloane and her friends. "Please?"

Even though Lenora and Poppy are hesitant to let Sloane go, she waves away their worried whispers and nods. "Okay."

While her friends reluctantly head back towards the castle, Sebastian and Sloane find their way to the boathouse, the long walk accented by their echoing footsteps and sideways glances. More than once he thinks about reaching out to hold her hand but refrains, not wanting to further muddle their already shaky friendship. Sloane surprises him when they reach the pier, balancing herself against the wall so she can discard her heeled loafers and stockings. She perches herself on the dock's edge, bare feet just barely grazing the dark lake waters. Sebastian follows suit, tugging off his boots and socks before sitting down next to her, making sure there's a comfortable distance between them.

Before he can find the courage, Sloane breaks the more than awkward silence, "what do you want to talk about?"

It's an innocent enough question, one that puts control of the conversation in his hands. Sebastian could easily take the cowardly route and skip past an apology, force some laughter and pretend nothing is wrong. Instead, he digs deep and swallows his pride.

"I really am sorry, Sloane," he starts, finding it nearly impossible to look at her directly when it feels like his heart might burst out from his chest. All the regret he's been carrying rises to the surface. "I've had so many chances to make things right between us and I've mucked them up over and over again that I honestly can't fathom why you give me any of your time at all."

"You are..." he trails off in hesitation, remembering that a little bit of vulnerability can go a long way. "You are one of the better aspects of my life. One of the kindest, if not the kindest person I know. And...while we haven't been friends for very long, I'm bloody well terrified of losing you over my own stupidity."

Sloane flashes him a curious look. "Losing me?"

"You know what I mean," he quickly replies, even if he is still figuring it out himself. Or maybe he is too scared to admit the truth. The last thing he wants to do is push his luck when it has already run dry. They are friends—it is selfish to hope for more. The uncomfortable tightness in his throat returns. "Am I...too late?"

For a moment that feels like eternity to a fragile boy like him, Sloane doesn't respond, her gaze focused on the water and the reflection of the moon. Her pensive expression is impossible to read, but he takes it as a good sign that she hasn't run off or shoved him into the lake for the squid to drown. She sighs and slowly turns her head to look at him again.

"You're here now is what matters," she says, lips twitching up into the faintest smile. Sebastian should feel relieved, but the guilt lingers. Perhaps in an effort to change the subject, Sloane gestures to the small box, partially crumpled by his anxious fidgeting. "Is that...?"

"Oh! Right," he hesitantly hands it over, watching as Sloane lifts the lid to reveal several squished lemon tarts. He rubs the back of his neck as he lets out a self-deprecating laugh in an attempt to save face. "They're meant to look like that. It's an after-hours kitchen specialty, I'm told."

Sloane's smile widens slightly as she plucks one from the box, generously handing it to him before taking one for herself. Emboldened, Sebastian quickly conjures a small candle to press into her share and carefully ignites the wick.

"I already made a wish," she explains.

Sebastian isn't discouraged. "Well, now you can make a second one. Happy birthday, Sloane."

He continues to watch her as she momentarily ponders, the flickering flame reflected in her eyes before she softly extinguishes it with a soft breath.

"What did you wish for?"

"The first or second time?" Sloane responds, somewhat cheekily.

Sebastian doesn't push her to offer a real answer and instead allows for a comfortable silence to settle between them as they nibble at the lemony treats. The lake water gently splashes at their hanging feet and for the first time in recent memory, he feels calm. It might be temporary, but he allows himself to sink into the feeling, smiling as Sloane offers him a second tart.

"Sebastian?"

"Hmm?"

He turns his head just in time, barely registering what is happening as Sloane moves closer with her head tilted just so. Her lips meet his and Sebastian is stunned, taking several rapid heartbeats to react, fluttering his eyes shut as he leans into the kiss. If he knew that her lips would be this soft and warm, he would've kissed her ages ago. As greedy as he is to taste more, he allows the kiss to remain chaste, inching his hand across the short distance to cover hers.

Sloane eventually pulls away and when he peeks open his eyes she is smiling, cheeks dusted with a blush he yearns to brighten. Sebastian is still too flabbergasted to utter a response, nervously laughing when she reaches up to brush away a crumb from his cheek. He catches her hand before she can pull away, squeezing her fingers in his own. The momentary calm of his heart explodes into a burning inferno he struggles to contain. This time, he is sure he knows the answer, but still asks.

"Your wish?"

"It already came true."

[sloanesallow]

Reblogging this because I'm getting closer to being able to get verified 👀

Right now, the Arranged Marriage Sebastian is just *chef's kiss*

I thought maybe I should also post/promote the fact I have quite a few Sebastian bots on Janitor AI.... I didn't realize how popular the Dark Seb was until I was looking today. LINK HERE

Lots of flavors to choose from, but my personal favorite is FWB Seb only because he will fall in love with you.

If you've enjoyed these, let me know! Leave a review, too, so maybe I can finally be verified after 8 months LOL

[sloanesallow]

Alright, to ao3's soon to be arriving Wattpad Refugees, a basic guide to general user culture:

1.) Unlike Wattpads vote system that let's you like each chapter, the ao3 equivalent kudos only allows one per work. Everyone is generally quietly annoyed about this. To engage with each chapter, you're heavily encouraged to comment. Trust me, it makes people's day.

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3.) 'No archive warnings apply' and 'user has chosen not to use archive warnings' mean two very different things. No archives warnings means the work is free from any content that could require a warning tag (character death, graphic depictions of violence, non-con, etc). User has chosen not to use archive warnings means it could contain any of the warning content, be it hasn't been explicitly tagged. Treat it like an allergen. No archive warnings apply is allergen free. User has chosen not to use archive warnings, may contain traces or whole chunks of the allergen. If you're likely to have a bad reaction, maybe don't take the risk.

4.) Speaking of warnings, ao3 has very few restrictions on the type of work that's allowed. Whatever your personal thoughts or feelings on that are, thats how the site is. You're likely to run across some dark subject matters and a lot of people are uncomfortable with reading that. You're well within your rights not like these works and have your opinion on whether they should be allowed, but harassing the authors of such works (or any works) is more likely to come back on you than them. Ao3 operates on a strong policy of 'don't like, don't read'. Use the tagging system to your full advantage to only engage with the kind of works you want to see.

We look forward to welcoming you all and seeing the fantastic works you create. Happy writing!

[sloanesallow]

Ruskin Spear (British, 1911 - 1990)

[sloanesallow]

Pandora's Book, part one

🔞 Sebastian Sallow x Book | PART ONE

Unhinged!Sebastian, objectophilia, sexual acts with a (sort of) inanimate object, an exploration of grief and acute loneliness. Seventh year, minor changes to canon.

Warning: explicit content. All characters 18+. Minors do not interact. Reader discretion is advised.

Seeking distraction from his interminable apathy, or a temporary relief from his guilt that didn't resort to obliterating his own memory, the girls he took made him feel good, said pretty things that made him believe, for a while, that he wasn't broken and irredeemable. But then, issues of that nature were likely a job for St Mungos rather than some girl's mouth in the back of a disused classroom, and over time, the thrill of mindlessly fucking his pain away began to dull, and he recoiled from their sweet nothings and gentle affections; like everything else in Sebastian's life, even the flames of desire eventually turned cold, and his escapades became less about feeling better and more about feeling anything.

Still, he couldn't say with any measure of truth that he'd felt anything like this from a book before.

A/N: Erm. I'm not even sure how to introduce this one, but I've had this idea in my head for months now and — well, brain rot. I KNOW it sounds like a crackfic — and it kind of is — but it's also an (unhinged and smutty) exploration of grief. This'll be a multipart story, probably three parts. I'll update as quickly as I can but I'm a turtle writer so please be patient with me. Thanks for reading, fellow unhinged bebes, I luv u.

Word count: 3k

[ao3 | wattpad] ✨ [HL fic masterlist]

The gate is opened, and the night

Rushes across the sky with a shout.

The gate is opened, and the evil

Comes pouring out.

-x-

'Oh, shut up, would you?' Sebastian muttered as a particularly vocal book wailed directly in his ear.

Darkness surrounds you... your soul is lost, torn between light and dark, ripped to shreds by your own hand... darkness creeps, ever closer... ever closer...

'Yeah, yeah,' he muttered, pausing just long enough to cast a cursory glance at whichever accursed book was taunting him aloud this time. Ah, of course: Secrets of the Darkest Arts. That one had always been especially antagonistic toward him — even before he'd murdered his uncle. 

Rolling his eyes, he gave the offending book a swift two-fingered prod, sliding it deeper into the dark recesses of the shelf it was chained to. It shuddered with indignation — if a book was capable of such a thing — and cursed him so vehemently in Latin he would've been impressed had it not been calling his dead mother a swine.

Unphased, Sebastian scoffed and kept walking, the sound of his footsteps dampened between towering bookshelves as he made his way deeper into the deathly stillness of the library.

To another, perhaps less traumatised sort of person, the idea of inanimate objects giving voice might've been a bit unsettling, but Sebastian was quite used to books shouting at him by now; having spent more time in the Restricted Section than he suspected even the librarian had, their disembodied voices were sometimes the only interaction he got outside of his N.E.W.T classes — that is, if he didn't count Ominis Gaunt, whose insults were often far worse than anything a Dark Arts book could conjure, and who generally addressed him with an equal amount of spite and derision. In fact, Ominis was partly the reason why Sebastian spent so much time alone with a bunch of talking books to begin with: it was one thing for a book to berate you for all your past mistakes, but quite another when it came from your best friend. 

No, when it came to facing resentment, Sebastian would sooner bear the brunt of it from some gruesome edition of Magick Moste Evile than see it written clearly across another's face. In fact, there'd been a time when the incorporeal voices of those awful books had enticed him, called out to him like a siren song, drawn him in with promises of power and glory the likes of which he'd never dreamed of. And he, driven by his desperation to free his twin sister from the grips of a dark curse, had immersed himself in their age-browned pages so thoroughly he'd begun to hear their voices in his dreams.

But that was then. 

Now, those ghostly whispers, once a comfort to a boy who'd had very little of it in his life, were more like the incessant buzzing of insects, harsh and irritating. He was no longer interested in what secrets they had to offer him: Anne was dead, and nothing in any book would ever bring her back — of that, he was certain.

Stretching up to reach a high shelf, Sebastian slid another misplaced book into its correct place, feeling a sense of pride he seldom felt any more. Being voiceless, this particular book couldn't thank him for his tireless commitment to reorganising the forbidden library, but at least it couldn't offend him, either.

Having nowhere else to go after his classes and homework were done, he'd come to frequent this part of the castle so often that he'd appointed himself as an unofficial librarian of sorts. Judging by the general air of neglect about the place, old Scribner never bothered venturing this deep into the forbidden recesses of the library, so rather than tossing and turning in his bed, Sebastian spent his restless nights bringing some semblance of order to the forsaken space, dusting shelves, repairing book spines, and clearing out the infestations of spiders that'd taken up residence in the darkest corners. It didn't matter if every so often some ancient tome insulted his dead parents or taunted him for his lack of an intact soul, if it was incorrectly catalogued, missing a cover, or simply in need of a good clean, he would diligently set it right again and move on. It was a library, after all, albeit a nefarious one, and it deserved respect.

He was just turning a darkened corner, muttering about the lack of proper organisation and general disregard for the correct cataloguing procedures when something — no, someone — distinctly moaned his name.

Well, that was new.

Sebastian stopped dead in his tracks. In all the time he'd haunted these aisles, he'd never once come across another living soul — at least, none who wasn't made of paper and evil.

Calmly depositing his armful of books onto a nearby desk, he withdrew his wand from his pocket. Not much scared him any more — committing murder and raising the dead made one rather fearless in the face of anything less — but it was apprehension, not fear, that had him casting Homenum Revelio under his breath. This was his peaceful hideaway; he neither wanted to share it nor have it taken away by some meddlesome idiot.

But the spell resounded through the empty library, detecting no living presence besides his own. 

He was alone. 

Strange. Either Sebastian was officially going mad, or the books were becoming more sentient — for all their moaning, whining and idle threats of bodily harm, none had ever addressed him by name before.

He paused, held his breath, strained his ears.

There! — There it was again, a distinctly feminine voice calling out for him. 

s e b a s t i a n... i n e e d y o u...

Swearing under his breath, he followed the spectral call as best he could, his fingers trailing over the dusty shelves as he hurried down the aisle, leaving streaks through the grime that might lead him back should be lose his way.

As desensitised as he was to all thinges evile, some distant part of him wondered whether he might be better off ignoring the call of this one — he was surrounded by evil books, after all, and Sebastian wasn't stupid enough to forget that anything gained from cursed pages demanded something of the reader in return: a sacrifice, some sanity, a little piece of the soul. But the desperation in that voice, the pain — the longing...

'Say it again!'

Whimpering moans, a body squirming beneath his; the cute Ravenclaw had been giving him the eyes for weeks before he'd finally gotten her alone. 

'Say it again, or I won't give you what you want.'

Lustful eyes met his — pretty, but he couldn't recall their colour now; they all looked the same after a while. 

'I need you,' she whined, grinding her hips against his. 'Sebastian, I need you.'

He was sweating by the time he found it; tucked away in a small side chamber he hadn't gotten around to cleaning yet, and half-hidden behind piles of long-forgotten junk, the voice called to him from an innocuous-looking cabinet in the corner. Its glass panels were thick with dust, but the door opened easily, unobstructed by lock or magic.

Inside, the books weren't chained to their shelves or bound shut with leather straps, nor made of flesh or covered in suspicious-looking stains. They were just — books; plain old inanimate books.

All but one.

He wasn't exactly sure what first drew him to it. Instinct, he supposed, for it bore no title to pique his interest, and the cover was dull and plain, free of any macabre embellishments that usually made restricted books so alluring. But when his gaze settled upon it, the sudden, terrible ache at his separation made him sure this was the one.

Mine.

He snatched it up, clutched it to his chest — laboured breaths mingled with his; the book was panting as hard as he was, sweet, breathy whimpers against his chest — and when he felt a second heartbeat thumping against his own, knew he'd sooner die than ever let it go again.

s e b a s t i a n...

'Yes,' he growled, squeezing it tighter, his grip possessive.

i n e e d y o u...

'I know.'

w a i t e d s o l o n g...

Striding over to a small table against the far wall, he cleared a space amongst the ancient clutter and gently laid the precious tome atop it, stroking the cover with the adoring touch of a lover, tender and gentle. How supple it felt beneath his calloused palms, and strangely warm.

'I've got you,' he breathed, reverently tracing the hardcover edges with his thumbs, his eyes glazed and heavy.

p l e a s e, s e b a s t i a n...

'Please what?' He leaned down as if to whisper in an ear that wasn't there, his breath ghosting the surprisingly pristine pages.

t o u c h m e...

Loneliness had a way of changing people; extroverts became withdrawn, optimists turned cynical. But when that loneliness was the direct result of one's own failings, it withered anything pure that had ever bloomed in a person's psyche, leaving only a wasted garden in its place, a bed of rotting roots.

Once a boy of friendly disposition and bright curiosity, Sebastian's innate optimism had slowly eroded away after every loss that'd darkened his life: his parents, his sister, his uncle, each death a blow to his happiness from which he never recovered, rendering him withdrawn and bitter, a tree lopped well before its time. — But though he might’ve been emotionally damaged beyond repair, but there was certainly nothing wrong with his body.

Sebastian was tall for his age, handsome and broad-shouldered as his father had been, his muscular physique and toned forearms the result of several years playing as the Slytherin Beater. He wasn't ignorant to the way girls looked at him, nor oblivious to the effect he had on them when he flexed his arms or ruffled his hair. And despite his melancholy (or perhaps because of it, as one Slytherin girl had told him), he attracted intimate partners with surprising ease.

When he'd lost all sense of himself under the crushing weight of grief, it was sex that made him feel alive again.

Ever the resourceful Slytherin, he used this inherent charm to his full advantage, setting his sights on only the prettiest girls in his year level, the most unavailable, or the ones too shy to meet his gaze. He revelled in their blushes and giggles when he brushed his hand against theirs, their darkened pupils and parted lips when he finally had them pushed up against a wall or straddling his lap, and soon, Sebastian found himself addicted to the taste of soft lips against his hungry mouth, the flush of goosebumps beneath his demanding touch, slick thighs and flushed skin.

Seeking distraction from his interminable apathy, or a temporary relief from his guilt that didn't resort to obliterating his own memory, the girls he took made him feel good, said pretty things that made him believe, for a while, that he wasn't broken and irredeemable. But then, issues of that nature were likely a job for St Mungos rather than some girl's mouth in the back of a disused classroom, and over time, the thrill of mindlessly fucking his pain away began to dull, and he recoiled from their sweet nothings and gentle affections; like everything else in Sebastian's life, even the flames of desire eventually turned cold, and his escapades became less about feeling better and more about feeling anything.

Still, he couldn't say with any measure of truth that he'd felt anything like this from a book before.

Maybe he really had lost his mind.

'Touch you?' He swallowed roughly, fingering the notches of the spine. 'Where?'

s p r e a d m e... t o u c h m e...

With his entire body throbbing with need, Sebastian spread the book open to the middle pages. He ran a slow, measured finger down the length of the inner crease, imagining the soft hollow of a collarbone, the sensitive dip of an inner thigh. But to his immense surprise, his finger did not glide over the smooth paper as he was expecting, but sank in, disappearing into the spine as if he'd breached some concealed opening. Instead of meeting a paper barrier, or even the polished wooden table beneath it, he delved into a strangely wet, yet pleasantly warm depth.

He added another. Sebastian's fingers were thick, but the pages yielded easily to accommodate them, stretching and pulsing around him.

Something inside him roared to life.

'Is this what you want?'

Mingled breath, pretty skin. Snow was falling outside but her body burned against his.

'Yes! Yes, Sebastian, please!'

The resulting moan that fell from the book's lips — pages? — ignited a primal, aching need inside him. Musical and clear, and so deliciously lustful it made his knees tremble, it was the single most beautiful sound Sebastian had ever heard in his life: ethereal and otherworldly, pretty and bright — and yet, somehow, achingly familiar. He slid his fingers deeper, the slip of the unmarred pages like silken bliss against his skin, and when the voice whimpered in approval, he thought of the last girl he'd fucked under the Quidditch stands who'd made very similar noises with his fingers inside her. Sebastian smiled, remembering the way he'd had to hold her up when she came all over his hand, her knees buckling and her mouth agape in a silent scream of bliss.

'Oh, so this what you need, is it?'

Sebastian was grunting now, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts as he curled his fingers deeper into the pages' soft, wet void.

The empyreal voice only cried out in reply, but the tight, hot opening fluttered around his fingers in that additive way he knew proceeded a mind-shattering orgasm. He smiled again, half-feral with lust as he pawed at his own crotch, roughly stroking the evidence of his depravity that was straining against his breeches.

'I'm going to finger fuck you until you fall to pieces.' He picked up his pace, the veins in his forearm bulging with the exertion of the efforts, his hair falling over his eyes. 'Is that what you want? To be ruined?'

'Sebastian! Sebas— fuck!'

Frantically rocking hips, fingers slippery with desire.

'Do I make you feel good? Do I? — No, look at me when you come!'

Well past the point of no return, Sebastian watched the rhythmic pumping of this fingers with a singular intensity, marveling at the way they slid so easily into the mysterious depths of the book only to come out coated in slick. This was better than any real girl he'd even been with; this was all-encompassing, mind-numbing bliss, each glistening stroke soothing his burdened mind, mending the roots in his ruined garden.

This was magical.

It was some time before a cramp in his hand had Sebastian reluctantly peeling away from the books' lush center— but the pain of their separation was immediate and unbearable. Whimpering, he went immediately for his breeches, his stiff, slippery fingers struggling with his belt and fastenings until, finally, in a half-blind sort of daze, hot and throbbing, he stroked himself with a raw, gutteral cry. The table groaned under his weight as he leaned over it, mimicking the sounds that fell from his ruined throat.

i n e e d y o u...

His hips bucked.

With one knee propped on the table and a pant leg still tangled around one leg, the angle was awkward, uncomfortable, and if he weren't so utterly fucked out of his mind, he might’ve stopped to reconsider, well... everything.

But he couldn't stop. Now now.

Instead, mumbling stupid, unintelligible praises, he managed to angle himself in just the right way to swipe his weeping tip through the deliciously slick cease.

His mind went blank.

There was no warm body to hold onto, no hips to bruise nor neck to sink his teeth into, just an old splintery tabletop and smooth pages — and yet, if he closed his eyes, he could almost envision a trembling, sweat-slicked body beneath him, as warm and needy as any he'd had before.

If somebody were to walk in on him now, hovering half-naked over a book, painfully hard and inarticulate with lust, they'd be hard pressed to make him stop.

At this point, not even a team of Auror's could pry Sebastian cock away from these pages.

They'd have to crucio him to make him stop.

And even then...

Trembling with the effort of holding himself steady, he gingerly probed the spot his fingers had just been enjoying.

He slid in an inch. Then another.

The book shuddered.

His vision blurred.

i n e e d y o u...

'Sebastian, I need you!'

He fell forward, knees buckling, pleading, whimpering — then a voice, maybe his own, maybe the books', let out a garbled, broken cry as he sank into the sweet, tight abyss.

The world narrowed to the euphoric point of connection, and nothing else.

Pleasure, exquisite.

And nothing else.

And nothing else.

[part two coming soon]

[sloanesallow]

He glances at Sloane again and it’s so easy for him to imagine living his life like this every day. Just…peeling potatoes in an old family house with the woman he loves by his side.   Sloane finally notices the way he’s staring at her and a soft blush dusts her cheeks the same time a tiny grin pulls at her lips. She quietly laughs. “What?”   Sebastian’s heart leaps like it’s the first time he’s seeing her smile all over again. The thought that crosses his mind isn’t a new one, but certainly something he hasn’t voiced out loud before.   Until now.   “I’m going to marry you one day.”  

Had the chance to commission the lovely @vienguinn and just look at these two in all their domestic bliss, just being cutie patooties (potatoes) thank you so much!!!! 💛💛💛✨✨✨

[sloanesallow]

Till death do us part? Yea no you’re not getting out of this that easily

[sloanesallow]

hufflepuff fashion

part 2 of what i think each hogwarts house's style would be like! you can find part 1, ravenclaw, here.

layering

hufflepuffs just feel like such comfy people to me. comfortable to talk to, warm and inviting personalities, so they need just as many layers of warmth in their fashion. they like to mix different textures and fabrics for optimal comfort and warmth. think knit cardigans, wool sweater, tweed jackets, and corduroy pants. as far as the color palette, i feel like they're very warm autumnal people, earth tones, and, of course, yellow/gold.

hair

to me, hufflepuffs would definitely be the most savvy house when it came to their hair. not just having really nice hair in general, they literally all do it's crazy, but the hairstyles and accessories of it all...beads, clips, rings, braids, bows, headbands, head wraps, all of it. it's so cute watching them share different charms and ribbons to match with each other. the other houses are always stopping by the hufflepuff common room asking if they can do their hair in intricate braids or curl it for them because they just do it best!

colorful academia

if any of the houses love color, it's hufflepuffs. they're similar to their ravenclaw friends in the sense that they love the eclectic look, but hufflepuffs always prioritize a color scheme for their looks. even if some hufflepuffs are more neutral in their palettes, they still love going for the academia look to keep it simple, classic, and chic. colorful leggings, plaid skirts, statement jackets, patterned scarves, and tall boots are just a few of their closet staples.

victorian-inspired

i don't know about you guys, but to me, hufflepuffs feel like very classy people to me. they enjoy the more traditional, contemporary parts of life and that includes fashion. they would love the modern victorian-inspired style of academia fashion that's been getting more popular, with things like lace, peter pan collars, baby doll dresses, ankle-length skirts, and vests. this is about the only time you'll see them in black & white!

ravenclaw | masterlist

[sloanesallow]

just right after the Imperio incident

HC: Sebastian is allergic to compassion for himself

My roman empire is Sebastian telling MC he needs a time to be alone after being yelled at or kicked out of the house.

The last thing he wants to seem vulnerable about everything what happens with Anne or his family.

[sloanesallow]

Magic and Genetics

So, this is not like 100% finished and will be more musings than a full theory. The main reason is that we, as humanity, just don't really know that much about genetics. Like, we get the gist of it, but we can mostly only say: "it's complicated" about it.

Which is true. Like, the idea of dominant and recessive traits the way most people are familiar with (like the eye color chart for blue eyes and brown eyes) is super oversimplified and inaccurate. Like, there are 2 major genes that affect eye color and then there are 8 more genes that affect eye color, hair color, and skin color, but we aren't really sure in what way. We just think they do from observation. Usually, genes behave in a way that is in line with the dominant and recessive traits charts, but there are exceptions to it. Again, we just don't know much about this field.

Because of this, I can't really come to conclusive conclusions regarding exactly how many and which genes affect a person's magic in the world of Harry Potter. What I can do is use the book evidence to try and create a pattern of how magic behaves genetically.

Disclaimer: I'm not a doctor, nor did I study genetics in any professional capacity, this is from online reading and self-study. And most importantly for fun 😊

Why do I think magic is influenced by multiple genes?

So, JKR stated in an interview she thinks of magic as a single dominant gene. This is impossible, since if that were true squibs and muggleborns wouldn't exist and the chart for the likelihood of a child being born with magic would look like this:

And that's just not what we see in the books...

This is all without mentioning how squibs like Arabella Figg can see dementors while muggles can't:

“A Squib, eh?” said Fudge, eyeing her suspiciously. “We’ll be checking that. You’ll leave details of your parentage with my assistant, Weasley. Incidentally, can Squibs see dementors?” he added, looking left and right along the bench where he sat. “Yes, we can!” said Mrs. Figg indignantly.

(OotP, page 143)

This means that squids do have some magical genes that muggles don't.

Additionally, from what we know about wizards as a species they have other differences from muggles that would effect their genetics in less obvious ways, for example:

Wizards heal faster, so cell regeneration is different than muggles.

Wizards have a completely different set of illnesses than muggles, so their white blood cells are also different.

Their brain cells likely live longer since they have an overall longer life expectancy.

Since they can see magic, like dementors and the Leakey Cauldron, we know the sight receptors are different.

Their nerves likely also function differently since they can sense magic in a way muggles can't.

To name a few.

And this is all without going into the fact wizards can reproduce with other species (goblins, veela, and giants to name a few) which actually implies a common ancestor to all of these races, but I'm not going into that can of worms.

What I am going into is how magic works genetically and how predictable it is. As in, if I know the magical status (pure-blood wizard, half-blood wizard, muggleborn wizard, squib, or muggle) of two human parents, can I tell how likely their child is to be a wizard, a squib, or a muggle?

What are squibs?

We don't know of many squibs in the books, these are the list of the known squibs:

Argus Filch

Arabella Figg

Marius Black

Dolores Umbridge's brother

Molly Weasley's second cousin

Squibs aren't a subject wizards like talking about, even not wizards who don't mind muggles like the Weasleys:

"Er — yes, I think so. I think Mum's got a second cousin who's an accountant, but we never talk about him."

(PS, page 73)

The definition of a squib is a child without magic born of a magical parent. If we look at the list of squibs above, all of them except Umbridge's brother are pure-bloods. This is kind of important because of the limited genetic pool of pure-bloods.

I tried calculating the inbreeding coefficient (basically how likely it is that a specific genetic trait is identical in both parents. The number ranges between 0 and 1) of the pure-bloods in the Wizarding World. We don't have much information on most families, but even looking at the Black family tree, they aren't really inbred (except the Gaunts). The closest relation there is the marriage between second cousins Walburga and Orion. So the inbreeding coefficient of pure-bloods would be above zero, but not high enough to cause serious health detriments for the most part. But, this doesn't mean wizards don't have a problem with a limited genetic pool even without close inbreeding.

Looking at that same Black family tree, we see a lot of familiar names: Flint, Crabbe, Burke, Potter, Crouch, Longbottom, Weasley, Prewett, Malfoy, McMillian... Basically, all pure-blood wizards are related. Some more closely than others, but they are all related. It means that among pure-bloods there is less genetic diversity which tends to cause illnesses and weakness in children over the course of multiple generations.

Such illness can, for example, come in the form of a squib. If the child just isn't capable of having full access to magic, due to their limited genetic pool, they will be born a squib.

But what about Umbridge's brother?

Well, here's the interesting thing. When looking at accounts of children of a pure-blood and a muggleborn, they are all always magical (and usually quite powerful, but more on that later). Umbridge's mother though is muggle. I believe a muggle parent would also have a higher chance of a squib offspring since they don't have magic. Essentially, Umbride's brother received some of the magical genes from their father, and some muggle genes from their mother, leaving him somewhat capable of interacting with magic, but not casting it — a squib.

Essentially squibs have a higher chance to be born from two pure-bloods (due to lack of genetic diversity) or from a wizard and a muggle. If we look at the books, we actually never see a squib being born from a pair of two wizards where one of the parents is half-blood or muggleborn (since they bring new genetic diversity and make the offsprings much likelier to be magical).

What are muggleborns?

So, we covered that squibs are rare and are caused by the lack of genetic diversity in the pure-blood families or by receiving non-magical genes from a muggle parent. But what about muggleborns? How could they genetically exist?

Well, I discussed here the actual percentages of different blood statuses across the Wizarding World. And the percentages looked like this:

57.5% Pure-Blood and Most Likely Pure Blood

22.5% Half-Blood

15% At Least One Magical Parent

5% Muggleborn

And as I covered here and here, I believe magical Britain is approximately 0.01% of the muggle population. This means that muggleborns are incredibly rare in the muggle population and have an overall very low chance of being born. But under what circumstances would muggleborns be more likely?

We know, for example, that the brothers Colin and Dennis Creevey were both born magical. It means, that their parents had genes that make them more likely to have magical children. This means Petunia had a higher chance of being born magical than, say, Vernon, it was still a low chance, but it was more likely.

Now, I'm not the first to raise this theory, but I believe these muggles that have a slightly higher chance for magical children like Mr. and Mrs. Creevey are descendants of squibs. We know that:

"Squibs were usually shipped off to Muggle schools and encouraged to integrate into the Muggle community. . . much kinder than trying to find them a place in the Wizarding world, where they must always be second class..."

(DH, page 136)

So, squibs have been sent for generations to live among muggles. It means that there are multiple "muggles" running around that are actually squibs. They might be able to see dementors or notice something odd around the Leakey Cauldron, but not enough to produce magic. But they still have magic in their genes. And when they have kids, sometimes, through a fluke of luck and genetics a muggleborn can be born.

This means all muggleborns are distantly related to wizards in some way, but still the muggle blood adds some much-needed genetic diversity that makes them less likely to have squib children.

What would magical genes look like?

So, we talked so far about how to predict the likelihood of a child having magic or not. But we also know not all wizards and witches are magically equal. You have crazy powerful individuals like Voldemort, Harry, and Dumbledore. Hermione is an incredibly skilled and talented witch, often the first in class to get spells right. And then you have wizards like Crabbe, Goyle, or Merope who are barely more magical than squibs. Then you have unique magical gifts like being a parselmouth, metamorphmagus, or seer are all inherited, and therefore genetic.

So, let's start with the power/talent difference between wizards that we see. I think this, like squibs, is correlating to the lack of genetic diversity. Sure, you have pure-bloods that are magically powerful or average, but if we look at the most magically powerful wizards in the books — Harry, Voldemort, and Dumbledore — they are all half-bloods. They all have a higher genetic diversity.

Hermione and Lily, are also examples of this added genetic diversity raising the likelihood of magical talent. Both muggleborns, both referenced as talented and bright multiple times. Snape, another half-blood is also referenced often as an incredibly talented wizard.

Actually, Nymphadora Tonks is one of the best pieces of evidence for magic weakening over pure-blood generations and becoming stronger with the new blood from muggles or muggleborns.

The Black family had the hereditary magical gift of being metamorphmagi. This gift has been lost for multiple generations, the first Black to be born with this gift in recent history is Tonks. And it makes perfect sense, Andromeda, a pure-blood with the genes for being a metamorphmagus, marries a muggleborn, Ted, who has the much-needed genetic diversity, so their daughter is finally durable enough for the metamorphmagi magic to kick in.

The Gaunts are another example of just how much the lack of genetic diversity affects a wizard's magic. All three, but especially Mereope, are portrayed as barely skilled with magic, almost squibs. But then we have Tom Marvolo Riddle, magically gifted so much beyond most wizards because he had the added genetic diversity from his muggle father.

Parseltongue seems to be a more dominant trait than the metamorphmagus ability. As even an almost squib in the Gaunt family can speak it. That being said, the Gaunts are implied to be incredibly incestuous, so perhaps it's just a matter of both parents speaking Parseltongue that causes this gene's apparent dominance.

We also know these genetic traits are only passed to wizards. So a squib from the Gaunt family, would not be able to speak Parseltongue. So, while it is a separate gene, it is connected to the other genes that affect magic. That's why a muggleborn born from a Gaunt family squib line, could potentially be a Parselmouth. They won't necessarily be a Parselmouth, but they have a chance to get the gene.

Conclusions

So, let's put all of it together into a series of rules* to how magic seems to work genetically.

*Rules is not exactly the correct word. It's more like, how it would usually behave, but there are flukes to genetics and everything is possible.

Two magical parents would almost always have a magical child. Pure-bloods are more likely to have squib children than half-bloods or muggleborns due to lack of genetic diversity.

A child of a muggle and a wizard has a higher chance of being born a squib than two magical parents. (The chance is still pretty low though and the child is more likely to be magical)

Muggleborns are the result of at least one parent who is a muggle that descended from squibs and has magical genes.

If both parents are squib-descendant muggles, all their kids might even end up magical. (Like the Creevey brothers)

Being a parselmouth, metamorphmagus, or seer are all unique genetic traits that are passed in a separate gene but dependent on other magical genes. Each one of them behaves differently as a gene.

Genetic diversity promises a higher chance of naturally magically gifted children. (It doesn't promise they will be more gifted, just makes their chances better)

Blood purity and a limited genetic pool cause magical children born to these lines to be overall weaker. (Again, there are exceptions, this is just about chances)

[sloanesallow]

lucan would ask sebastian to duo with him in fortnite and that’s just canon to me baby. hit post

[sloanesallow]

JUST BE HAPPY, DAMNIT

[sloanesallow]

Mid week reblog! Thanks for all the love on this update 💛✨

Sloane, By the time this letter reaches you, it will be Christmas Eve. I am bribing Ophelia now to ensure it arrives in a timely manner, and not in the dead of night. I can’t apologize enough for what she did to your father’s coat the last time she made delivery. Please inform him I will be purchasing a replacement, just as soon as I’m able to scrounge up a few galleons. I would like to buy something for——With so few students around, there have been quite a few odd jobs to pick up in Hogsmeade. It helps to pass the time…and provide towards the new coat fund. I know I asked before, but has it snowed yet in Nottingham? This morning I awoke to the castle grounds covered in white. It’s made the dungeon corridors even colder than usual, even the——The library is so quiet that Madam Scribner glares at me if I turn a page too loudly, but it’s the only place I can escape Peeves, who has been taunting me with stolen mistletoe ever since he caught us—— I think I might have a head cold. Tis the damn season, as the saying goes. Reading this back I realize that I sound horribly melodramatic. I assure you that is not the case, though—would it be alright if I admitted that I miss you? Happy Christmas, Sebastian

✨ Chapter 12 of Magic, Madness, Heaven, Sin is now up on [Ao3] and [Wattpad] Comments, kudos, and feedback are always appreciated!

[sloanesallow]

Sloane, By the time this letter reaches you, it will be Christmas Eve. I am bribing Ophelia now to ensure it arrives in a timely manner, and not in the dead of night. I can’t apologize enough for what she did to your father’s coat the last time she made delivery. Please inform him I will be purchasing a replacement, just as soon as I’m able to scrounge up a few galleons. I would like to buy something for——With so few students around, there have been quite a few odd jobs to pick up in Hogsmeade. It helps to pass the time…and provide towards the new coat fund. I know I asked before, but has it snowed yet in Nottingham? This morning I awoke to the castle grounds covered in white. It’s made the dungeon corridors even colder than usual, even the——The library is so quiet that Madam Scribner glares at me if I turn a page too loudly, but it’s the only place I can escape Peeves, who has been taunting me with stolen mistletoe ever since he caught us—— I think I might have a head cold. Tis the damn season, as the saying goes. Reading this back I realize that I sound horribly melodramatic. I assure you that is not the case, though—would it be alright if I admitted that I miss you? Happy Christmas, Sebastian

✨ Chapter 12 of Magic, Madness, Heaven, Sin is now up on [Ao3] and [Wattpad] Comments, kudos, and feedback are always appreciated!

[sloanesallow]

I know it’s mostly because the game made everyone slouchy but it’s always been my headcannon that Sebastian just has terrible posture until he’s an adult like look at that sad slouchy boy groveling

A rare moment when Sebastian Sallow apologizes. 💚

“Fine. Fine. I’m sorry. I’m letting my emotions get the better of me. And I have been for a while. I do trust you. And I don’t think I can help Anne without you.”

[sloanesallow]

people telling you they reread your fic is the biggest compliment you could ever receive. there are thousands of stories out there begging to be found, to be explored, but your story meant so much to someone that they came back to it eagerly, they went over every word again. to love is to return and loving a fic is rereading it. thank you to all readers and rereaders <3333

[sloanesallow]

Sloane is standing on the top landing, one hand on the banister to balance herself as she slowly glides down step by careful step. She’s wrapped in pale pink satin and sparkling tulle, the fabric flaring out from her waist and brushing the floor, the sleeves hanging loose around her shoulders. She’s something out of his wildest dreams, a fairytale princess come to life. A goddess—his very own Venus floating down from the heavens. Sebastian blinks hard, grateful she’s still there when he opens his eyes. Sloane tucks a loose strand of her ash-blonde hair back into place as she scans the crowd, and he swears her eyes sparkle when they land on him. He flashes a lopsided grin, trying to not appear overly eager. “You…” He forgets how to speak, flicking his eyes up and down her delicate form before meeting her stormy gaze. “You,” Sloane mimics, her voice just as soft. She steps closer, reaching up to adjust his bowtie. “You look very handsome.” “I do?” Sebastian knows he is blushing, the heat on his face increasing as she grazes her fingers through his hair, attempting to tame the dark, unruly locks. “What I mean is—” he clears his throat, wanting to appear earnest. “You look…beautiful,” Sebastian hopes he isn’t overstepping the blurry lines laid between them. “Bana-phrionnsa….” The pink on Sloane’s cheeks nearly matches her dress. “Thank you.”

Realizing I never posted this before. But here's an (edited for context) excerpt from my fanfic, Magic, Madness, Heaven, Sin, a Sebastian x F!MC fic that you can read on [Ao3] and [Wattpad]

art by puri.dew