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pink-sparkly-witch · 1 year

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All She Wants, Part Two

Summary: Y/N decides to leave the bunker for good when Dean reiterates that he can never give her what she wants. Struggling to adjust without her, Dean turns to hormone suppressants, unable to stomach the thought of going through a rut with anyone else.

Pairing: Alpha!Dean Winchester x Female Omega!Reader

Rating: 18+ Only

Bingo Square: Hormone Suppressants for @j3bingo

Warnings: omegaverse, A/B/O, A/B/O dynamics, angst, arguments, heats, ruts, language, Dean’s still a bit of an asshole.

Word Count: 4.2k

A/N: The response to the first part of this angsty, angsty fic has been overwhelming. Thank you to every single one of you who read and commented and reblogged. It means so much 🥹 Now, without further ado, I hope you love part two!

You can catch up here!

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Please consider reblogging to spread this far and wide around this Hellsite, or leave a little comment. It really does fuel our muse. If you’re too shy, or too cool for people to know you read fanfic and you don’t want it showing on your blog, you can submit an anonymous ask or drop me a DM 💖

Being back in the bunker is suffocating, and you haven’t even been back twelve hours yet. The mild cramps in your stomach are now an annoying and constant discomfort, and being near Dean is only making it worse. Your body is so used to the green-eyed hunter that his scent has you craving him. If you don’t get out of here and find another alpha, you know you’ll cave and go to the man who keeps breaking your heart.

Digging into the depths of your meagre closet, you pull out one of the few dresses you have and get ready to have a night on the town. It’s nerve-wracking; you haven’t done this in a long time, but you need to kick old habits and rid yourself of your addiction to Dean. It’s no longer a healthy relationship—maybe it never had been—but your last time together opened your eyes and proved that he doesn’t see you as anything other than a fuck toy.

Walking through the hallways of the bunker, your heels click loudly on the cold, concrete floors as you head towards the library. You know at least one of the boys will be there, and you pray to Chuck it’s Sam. You’d skip this part entirely, given it’s none of their business, but as an unmated omega going to find someone to satisfy a heat, it’s probably best that someone knows your intentions.

As you turn the corner into the room, the scent of Dean’s agitation slaps you in the face. If you’re not careful and can’t control your emotions, it’ll end in a fight and a tumble in the sheets, and that’s really the last thing you need.

“Where are you going dressed like that?” Dean asks as soon as he sets eyes on you.

“Out,” you respond.

“You’re in heat, Omega,” Dean growls.

“I’m aware,” you can feel your body warm as his gaze on you intensifies.

“Do you think it’s wise to go out in your condition?” Dean questions, and you fight your biological instinct to shrink in on yourself and submit to him.

“I need to find an alpha who’ll help me through this, so yes, I do think it’s wise.”

“You have me, Y/N.” Dean’s tone softens, and the hurt that flashes in his eyes almost makes you run to him.

“No, I don’t. Not anymore.” You don’t wait for his response, walking out of the library and up the stairs because you’re so close to saying screw it and making him take you right there in the library.

“I’ll be back in a few days,” you call out and shut the bunker door behind you.

You know you won’t find what you’re looking for in the bar a few towns over, but at least you’ll find someone who can scratch your current itch and make you forget about Dean fucking Winchester.

At least for a few days.

DEAN’S POV

Dean feels his heart shatter as he watches Y/N walk out the door. This isn’t how he wanted things to go with her. He wanted to talk to her and apologise for his behaviour during his last rut. At least if he’d done that, there was a chance they could still have some kind of relationship.

What they had is gone. He knows that. He’s hurt her too much. If he’d dealt with things differently, they’d still have had the potential to at least be civil to one another, but his gut’s telling him that the opportunity for civility has gone.

He can’t blame himself entirely; she hasn’t let herself be alone with him since he’d realised how much of an asshole he’d been to her. Dean had expected her to come to him last night when the scent of her heat became stronger and carried through the bunker, but she’d remained shut in her bedroom. He isn’t even sure she’d eaten since yesterday morning.

“Hey,” Sam says as he sits beside his brother and hands him a beer. “I heard you and Y/N talking. You alright?”

“No, Sammy, I’m not. You know, it never once occurred to me that what Y/N and I had could end?”

“It doesn’t have to,” Sam says softly, noticing tears in Dean’s eyes.

“Yeah, it does. I can’t give her what she wants—”

“Can’t or won’t?” Sam interrupts, and Dean’s heart pangs at the implication he’s being his usual stubborn ass alpha self.

“I can’t, Sam.” Dean didn’t usually show his vulnerabilities to Sam. He’s the pack leader and can’t afford to show weakness. The only person he’s ever shown vulnerability to is Y/N.

“Why?” Sam’s question is simple, but the weight of the answer is something Dean’s not sure he’s ready to admit out loud.

“It’s complicated,” Dean answers and takes a long swig of beer, drinking half the bottle in two swallows.

“Enlighten me, Dean, because from where I’m standing, it’s not complicated at all. You already have an emotional bond with her. You’ve been mating with her for what, six or seven years? Why is it so hard for you to claim her, have that deeper chemical bond, and make you both happy by having a couple of pups? It’d be nice to have some little ones running around here.”

“Because the second I claim her, she has a target on her back. She’ll become the hunted. Every monster on the continent will want to tear her apart to get to me. And that’s something I won’t survive.”

“So you do want to claim her?” Sam confirms, a small smile pulling at his lips.

“Of course I do!” Dean’s voice booms across the library. “I love her. More than anything. I always have, but I would rather die than put her in danger because of me and who I am,” Dean can’t keep his turmoil to himself anymore. Now it’s out in the open with Sam, he can’t shut the hell up. “I have thought of every way possible to give her what she wants… for years. Give us what we want, but in every scenario, she ends up dead, and I end up alone.”

“Dean, if you keep going the way you have been, she’ll die, and you’ll be alone anyway. And if you let her walk out of here and into the arms of another alpha, you’ll still be alone.”

“I know that, Sam! But I’d rather spend the rest of my life alone and know she was safe and happy with another alpha and a few pups than put a target on her back by claiming her! What part of that don’t you understand?”

“You think Y/N would be happy with another alpha? You think she wanted to go out hunting for someone else to fuck her through her heat? You think she’s not wishing it was you? You think she doesn’t love you? Because she does, Dean! It’s clear to everyone!” Sam’s frustrations reach boiling point, and he no longer has the patience to hold back. “That curse she saved me from loosely translated to stealing what your brother has broken and making it yours. If she hadn’t got between me and that witch, and I’d been hit by that curse, I’d have claimed Y/N for myself because you’re too chicken shit to do it. You know what that means, right? That even the witch knew you were in some kind of relationship. Even just being associated with you in the way she is makes her a target. And she’s an even bigger one without a claim.”

“Then maybe it’s for the best that she’s out there trying to find someone to take care of her,” Dean said, raising his eyebrows at Sam’s exasperation.

“No, Dean! It means that, claimed or not, monsters know what Y/N is to you and you to her. It means she’s already a target, and you’ve been protecting her from the monsters for a long time. Claiming her and having pups with her isn’t going to change that.”

“Look, can we just drop this? Y/N is better off without me, okay? And nothing you say will change my mind. She deserves something good, and I’m not good.”

Pushing his chair back, Dean stands from the table and enters the kitchen. He grabs a bottle of Scotch from the cabinet and locks himself in his bedroom to lick his wounds.

It may not be the healthiest way to deal with things, but at least getting blind drunk on whiskey will stop the images of Y/N presenting for another alpha or taking another’s knot from playing like a video in his mind.

FIVE DAYS LATER

Y/N’S POV

“You’re alive, then,” Dean’s voice greets you as soon as you step into the bunker.

“I am,” you respond, warily making your way down the stairs. You’re on high alert, knowing this could turn volatile very quickly.

“You alright?” he asks next, his eyes scanning your body for signs of injury. His gaze lingers on your neck, and when he notices it remains unblemished, he releases a breath, and his shoulders relax slightly.

“I’m fine.” It feels like you cheated on Dean, and it makes you feel so sick you want to cry.

“Good. I’m glad you’re okay. I mean, you could’ve called. Let us know you were fine. It would’ve stopped Sam and me from worrying about you every second of the day. For all we knew, you were lying in a ditch somewhere.”

“My phone’s GPS was still…” you pause and sigh, knowing you don’t need to explain anything to him. “Look, can we not do this, please?” You plead. It’s been a rough few days, and you just want to shower and sleep.

You stop next to him, waiting for him to let you pass and frown when he rears back with a snarl.

“Go shower, Omega. The stench of sex and Alpha makes me want to vomit,” Dean growls and walks away, leaving you standing at the entrance to the library, no longer able to keep the tears in.

The decision to leave is one of the hardest you’ve ever had to make. The bunker is your home, too. Still, you know you’re no longer welcome. Dean doesn’t want you, and you’ve hurt each other beyond repair. You could’ve tried to sort this mess out. You could’ve done that rather than look for a heat buddy, but had you not gone out, you’d have fallen straight back into bad habits and Dean’s bed. You had to break ties with him completely, and the only way to do that was to sleep with someone else, even if it broke both your hearts in the process.

Between the anxiety from you and Dean’s argument after the witch hunt and your heat, you’ve barely eaten for the past week. Before you leave for good, you head to the kitchen to grab something quickly, knowing it’s late enough that both Winchesters will be in their bedrooms, and you can eat and leave undetected.

“Sneaking out on us, huh? That’s mature,” Dean scoffs, and you jump, startled by his voice coming from somewhere in the dark kitchen.

“Any particular reason you’re sitting in the pitch black, Dean?” you ask, your hackles raised and ready to flee if needed.

“Answer my question first, then maybe I’ll answer yours.”

“Come on, Dean. We both know it’s not a good idea for me to stay here,” you reason.

“But this is your home,” Dean says, and where before you only heard contempt, you can now detect hurt.

“Not anymore.” You turn to leave, deciding to just forget about food so you can get the hell out of here.

“Please don’t walk away from me, Omega.”

“I told you I’m not your Omega, Dean. You’ve made that abundantly clear over the years.”

“Y/N, please, sweetheart,” he begs, and you turn to face him, your anger rising.

“No, Dean. I can’t do this with you anymore. We can’t keep doing this same dance over and over again. I want more. I need—” Your voice catches in your throat, and you swallow down the emotion that wants to spill from you. “I need to be claimed. I need to have pups. It’s in my biology, Dean, and I can’t change that. And I can’t change the fact that if I don’t settle down soon, I’ll go feral and die.”

“And you’re gonna do that with the asshat from the bar?” Dean spits back at you.

“No! I want to do it with you, but you don’t want me!” The tears spring from your eyes, and once again, you will Chuck, or whatever fucking angel is standing in his stead, to give you the strength you need to finally leave. To break this toxic bond that’s been forged under false pretences for years.

“Y/N, I do want you. I just can’t give you what you need,” Dean pleads.

“You can,” you nod with a tearful smile. “Because even if it wasn’t in the traditional way, you gave me what I needed for years. You just don’t want to.”

“No, Omega, please.”

“Goodbye, Dean.”

DEAN’S POV

Y/N has been gone for two months, and there hasn’t been a peep from her. If Sam has heard anything, he’s kept it quiet, and Dean hasn’t asked. She’s turned off the GPS on her phone and removed the tracker from her car, and anyone he’s asked in their network either hasn’t seen or heard from her or has just told him she’s fine.

He misses her laugh and her smile. He misses her comforting scent that would linger around the bunker. He misses her soft, warm body sliding into bed next to him when she’d had a nightmare or wanted to cuddle in those first few hours of her heat before her need for him changed to something more carnal.

Yet, never once did he reach out to her. She’d made it pretty clear they were done, and he’s accepted that. What he did to her was unforgivable. Still, he’s hurting, too and feels betrayed by what she did. He may not have the right, but it’s how he feels, and try as he might, he can’t change it.

As the telltale signs of his next rut make themselves known, Dean knows this will be the hardest challenge he’s faced since Y/N left, but if she could so easily toss him aside and find someone else to mate with, so could he.

Standing at the bar, Dean preens under the attention of several omegas surrounding him. It’s been a long time since he’s had so many women fawn over him, and he guesses that being with Y/N has kept them at bay all these years.

Looking towards the other end of the bar, he does a double-take. The woman has similar features to Y/N: same eye colour, same shaped face, and from what he can see, a similar figure. It’s not her, but Dean is on his feet and making his way over to her before he can think twice about it.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Dean gives the woman his most charming smile and feels his confidence soar as she giggles and looks down briefly before raising her eyes and batting her lashes at him. “The name’s Dean.”

“Carly,” she responds shyly, and Dean smirks.

“Pretty name. It suits you, Omega. Can I buy you a drink?” he drawls, using his alpha tone.

“Sure, Alpha,” she smiles sweetly, batting her eyes at him once more, and Dean knows he’s found a rut partner for the next few days.

“So, what’s your poison?” Dean asks, grabbing the bartender’s attention.

“Appletini,” Carly says, and Dean fights a scoff at the girly concoction. Y/N would’ve ordered a whiskey or an Old Fashioned if the mood struck her, none of this fruity shit that makes you question whether there’s even any alcohol in it.

“Whiskey, neat, and an appletini for the lady,” Dean says to the bartender.

“So, Dean, what’s a handsome alpha like you doing in a place like this?” Carly asks.

Glancing at her kind eyes that remind him so much of Y/N’s, he finds himself spilling everything to her. He’s not sure why he finds it easier to talk to a stranger than his own brother or even Cas, but he does.

“Look,” Dean says after an hour of talking and a few more whiskeys. “I came here intending to find an omega to ride out my rut with, but I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” he confesses. “I’m not even sure I could… physically… uh, you know.” he chuckles.

“I think that’s a wise decision, Dean,” Carly smiles kindly. “I don’t think you’re in the right frame of mind to be mating with someone new. You haven’t fully accepted that your mate left you, and it could be dangerous for both of us if we leave here together.”

“I wouldn’t say she’s my mate. I never claimed her, so…” Dean shrugs, feeling a little bad for leading her on.

“Doesn’t matter, Dean. You bonded with her intimately, and I’m guessing you stayed faithful and only had her the entire time, right?”

“I only ever wanted her,” Dean nods and swallows another whiskey.

“So, you were together like a beta couple would be, right? Like dating but not married?” Carly replies with a knowing smile, and Dean has to admit he’s never looked at his relationship with Y/N in that way before.

“I suppose we were,” he responds with a nod to the bartender for another drink.

“Do you know where she is? Can you go to her?” Carly asks.

“No,” Dean sighs. “We have some mutual friends, but they are very quiet about her whereabouts. Don’t get me wrong, I get it. I hurt her. A lot. And I wish I’d handled things differently.”

“You’ll get there, Dean,” she smiles. “And if you don’t, try begging your friends to tell you where she is and grovel until she forgives you!” Carly chuckles and squeezes his hand. “It could be an easy fix if you can overcome your fears. It’s clear you love her, and if you can give into those feelings, you’ll work it out.”

Carly hops off the barstool and pulls her purse strap over her shoulder. “Goodbye, Dean. I hope you find your girl and make things right,” she cups his cheek and winks at him before walking away and leaving him alone.

Downing the whiskey in one, Dean throws some bills on the bar and heads to the Impala. If he’s going to see himself through his rut, he’d need a lot of provisions.

It took six days, three bottles of lube, and the help of various knotting toys for Dean to come through the other side of his rut. He can’t remember the last time one had been so brutal or unforgiving. However, now he’s out and can start taking the suppressants he got from the drugstore, so he doesn’t need to go through one again.

“Hey, you alright?” Sam asks, seeing Dean at the hob, frying bacon and eggs.

“Still feeling rough, but some food and fresh air should do me good. Please tell me you found a hunt while I was out.”

“Yeah, looks like there’s a ghoul loose in Stillwater, Oklahoma.”

“Alright, then. We’ll get everything together and leave in a couple of hours.”

“Dean, are you sure you’re up for this? You still look a little… off.”

“I’m fine, Sammy. Just ready to get out of here. Been cooped up too long.”

For the next few months, that’s what they do; move from small town to small town, saving people and hunting things, and Dean? Well, he’s just peachy.

FOUR MONTHS LATER

Dean always knew the suppressants would take some getting used to. They’re the drug store variety and weren’t for long-term use. Still, the nausea and headaches are getting worse and are now accompanied by bouts of fever and a loss of appetite.

He knows his age probably isn’t helping, and the fact he’s been rejected by his mate in a roundabout way, so rejection sickness has been on his mind the past few days as his symptoms got worse.

Sam’s said he’s easier to anger than usual too, and Dean’s starting to feel constantly on edge now. He can only hope whatever this is will end soon because this fucking sucks.

Swallowing down another pill, Dean throws the pill bottle into his duffle so that he and Sam can get home, put this vampire hunt behind them, and take some time off.

Although sceptical at first, he’s now grateful he’d agreed to take a break from hunting for a couple of weeks to recoup and relax. They hadn’t stopped hunting in close to twelve weeks, and he feels awful. A little time off might be just what he needs.

“Ready to go, Dean?” Sam asks, frowning when he notices the pill bottle at the top of his brother’s bag. The younger Winchester walks over and picks it up, huffing loudly. “This is what you’ve been taking? Over the counter suppressants?”

“Yeah, so?” Dean replies.

“Dean, these aren’t for long-term use. They’re supposed to only delay a rut for a couple of weeks, not for taking every day. Why didn’t you go to a doctor and get the right thing?”

“Oh, because we have that luxury, Sammy!” Dean snaps. “‘Do you have insurance? No. What’s your address? An underground fortress in the middle of fucking nowhere.’ Seriously, you don’t see anything wrong with that? And they say you’re the smart one!” Dean scoffs and shakes his head.

“We would’ve found a way, Dean. We always do. These are probably doing more harm than good. I think it’s why you’re feeling off, and it’s only going to get worse.”

“It can’t get any worse, Sammy! Y/N left me. Nothing will ever be worse than that!” Dean yells as he grabs his bag and stalks out of the motel room, and slams the door.

Dean is agitated. So much so that even he can’t deny it. And the more he tries not to be, the worse he gets. He knows it’s annoying Sam—it’s annoying him, too—but it’s not something he has any control over. Everything is going haywire; his skin itches, sweat drips down his back, and he just wants to pick fights. That’s why he had a go at the idiot at the gas station and the douchebag from the diner. He blames Sam for that one. He wanted to keep driving, but Sammy just had to stretch his freakishly long fucking legs now, didn’t he?

When Sam finally rejoins him in the car, Dean tries to avoid his baby brother’s puppy eyes. He knows he’s fucked up. He knows he should’ve found a way to get the real thing, but the fear of a doctor telling him he’s a lost cause, that because his mate left him would mean that suppressants can’t fix him stopped him. Besides, it can’t take the ache of Y/N’s departure away. It doesn’t change the fact that as an alpha, it was his duty to claim her.

“What am I in for, Sammy?” Dean finally asks, breaking his silence on his suppressant use. He’s not sure he wants to know, but he needs to keep what’s left of his pack safe. If this ends the way he dreads, he needs to put a plan in place.

“You’ll go into a rut that can only be satisfied by uhm… your mate,” Sam says, avoiding her name so it doesn't set the older alpha off again. “And because she’s not here, you’ll go feral,” Sam sighs.

“And when I go feral, I’ll be dangerous to any omega who isn’t Y/N,” Dean finishes what Sam doesn’t say.

“I think it’s already started. I can smell your rut pheromones, but they’re… off.” Sam said.

“Listen to me, Sammy. I’m going to the safe house in Montana. I’ll let nature take its course. You will leave me there and take the Impala so I can’t get out.” Dean begins, but Sam’s quick to intervene.

“Dean, no. I can track down Y/N. When she hears what’s happening, she’ll—”

“Laugh and tell you to tell me to go fuck myself! I made my bed, Sammy. I gotta lie in it.”

“You’re signing your own death warrant!”

“Then so be it!” Dean roars, but Sam won’t back down.

“I can’t let you do that when someone can help you!”

“She won’t come because she doesn’t want me, Sam!” Dean yells. “How many times do I have to say it? She left me because I couldn’t give her what she wanted. For all we know, another alpha has already claimed her.”

“I have to try, Dean! I can’t just let you die!” Sam is trying to stay calm, not wanting to upset his brother more.

“Yeah? Well, maybe it’s what I deserve.”

“It’s not, and you know it. I’ll lock you in that cabin and take the car with me to keep you safe, but I will find Y/N.”

“Fine. I can’t stop you,” Dean relents. “But when she tells you she’s done with me, you will leave me there, and whatever happens, happens. Deal?”

“Deal,” Sam agrees reluctantly.

Next Chapter>>

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#j3bingo #omegaverse #a/b/o dynamics #alpha!dean winchester x omega!reader #dean winchester x reader #a/b/o universe #a/b/o

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autistic-ben-tennyson · 7 months

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Is anyone here a former Zionist?

I was a Zionist for a while due to being ignorant. I was raised in an environment that preached “Israel is God’s chosen people”. Sometimes I questioned it as it didn’t seem fair that Palestinians had to suffer in the name of Jesus but people saw any criticism as antisemitism. Even as I drifted leftward, I still held onto Zionism. I had a phase where I felt I had to convert to Judaism because of what many Zionist bloggers preach about atheists which is just a progressive sounding version of Christian beliefs that atheists have no morals and live sad empty lives. Zionists would call any protest antisemitic or claim Israelis were the true indigenous people and that Zionism was a social justice movement. I fell for some of the BS “Israel is the only pro LGBT democracy in the Middle East” but now I know how they really treat trans/queer people and the foothold the fundamentalist orthodox have in the government. Last year I joined a pro Palestine club at my school but we mostly did fundraising events. When I first got on this Hellsite, I followed some Zionist bloggers, but started to question why I did that. Now I am working to unlearn a lot of the BS I was fed. I still have a lot to learn, but I’m disgusted with Zionism and support Palestine and its people.

#ex christian #free palestine #lgbtq+#anti zionism #anti zionism ≠ antisemitism #exvangelical

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justporo · 10 months

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Lost between the covers

When outside a blizzard is raging, there is nothing better than cuddling up with your vampire for a little reading date, right? Well, if you can pick a book to agree on...

MASTERLIST | AO3

Author's Note: Written for the "Getting cozy" prompt of the BG3 Winter Holiday challenge. Shortly ago I wrote a little thing about Astarion and books - and then immediately knew I had to write more about it for the fluff challenge. The bad erotica short stories thing was inspired by another post (I'll link if I can find it, if someone has it, please halp, I can't find anything on this hellsite) and also ofc there have been several posts going around on how Astarion is a Drizzt fan.

Pairing: Astarion/GN!Tav (You) Warnings: none Wordcount: 1,4k ~~~

The burning logs crackled in the fireplace while the flames licked on them and flickering warm light filled your living room. Outside a snow storm had been raging the whole day and hadn't stopped even when night had fallen. Wind was howling around the house, and little specks of ice were thrown so hard by the gusts, they made clattering noises against the big living room window.

It didn't bother you at all. You didn’t even spare it any attention at all anymore. The rising and ebbing of the howling wind and the crackling of the fire had become nothing but pleasant background noise.

You were all cosily snuggled up on Astarion's lap, legs swung over his, head on the vampire's shoulder, a blanket wrapped thoroughly around you. The pale elf’s feet were comfortably crossed over each other at the ankles on the floor. His head slightly rested on the crown of yours and he had put his arms lightly around your frame while holding a small leatherbound book he was reading to you from.

The whole scene was just complete and utter bliss - you didn’t remember the last time you had felt such serene peace. Perhaps you never had.

And if you would have asked him, Astarion would have told you very much the same. The vampire might never get used to the feeling of having you close, feeling the warmth of your body slowly seeping into his own as you relaxed into him, fully trusting him. He’d never known or shared this kind of closeness with anyone before.

And he wouldn’t give it up anymore for anything in the world - not even for being able to walk in the sun again.

At first Astarion had made a fuss when you had started to climb on his lap like a cat. But you'd been feeling rather sick for a while now and felt you were entitled to some pampering from your partner. And of course Astarion actually loved that he was that to you: the person you came to because he was your safe haven - not to mention the love of your life.

But the vampire still had wrestled you off his lap once more while you had pouted.

“Ah ah, patience, my darling. I'm only setting us up so we can stay all neatly cuddled up for the rest of the night,” he'd lectured you and had inclined his head towards you while doing a little bow.

“I don't know, Astarion, you being the one talking about having patience somehow feels cynic to me,” you'd replied and wrapped your arms around you to stay warm.

Astarion's eyes had narrowed dangerously at you, tongue in cheek, before he had turned on his heel and left without another word. You probably had only made him take his sweet time now. With a sigh you had sunk back onto the piece of furniture

He had returned some time later with a stack of different books under his arm, a cup of hot tea for you and some mulled wine for himself.

Astarion had scoffed at first at the premise of drinking “fine wine ruined with spices and fruit, my love - why not immediately make me drink juice with seasoning, ugh.” But then he had started to enjoy it quite quickly.

You scurried to make place for your vampire on the sofa. Then putting the mugs down on the small table beside the couch, the vampire sat down beside you again, balancing books of different size and condition on his legs.

“So, tell me my love, what shall we read?”, he asked cheerfully while you just eyed the stack of books on his lap - they were in your spot.

Astarion looked at you cockily, eyebrows raised, waiting for you to give a response. You just slowly blinked at him. Your brain was mushy and foggy from being sick - you weren't up to make important choices, but you tried to pull yourself together. Astarion was awful at downplaying how excited he seemed to just snuggle up with you on the couch with a book and you surely wanted to indulge him.

“Well, what's on offer?”, you finally asked in response.

Astarion jumped right back into action with a pleased grin: “I'm so glad you asked, my love.”

He lifted up the first one of the books: small, blue, golden lettering on the front and spine. “We have a nice small volume of poetry - the writing is a bit too sappy for my liking, personally, but this poet's been all the rave lately, so I had to form an opinion on that of course.”

“Of course,” you chimed in with a knowing little smile. It was insanely cute to you how much enthusiasm the vampire had for literature.

You had drawn your legs up to sit on them and were now leaning your elbow on your knees, chin in your hand, looking at Astarion who lifted up the next book - a huge, very old looking, leather-bound tome.

“We have one of the most holistic and elaborate accounts of history of our wondrous city of Baldur’s Gate”, the vampire went on, putting on some scholarly demeanour. Gods, he almost reminded you of Gale for a second. You blinked a few times to get that out of your head.

Then you eyed the dusty and crumbly book with a scrunched up nose: “You don’t really want to read that, do you?”

Astarion looked at you in confusion: “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Nerd”, you simply said. “Next!”

The vampire’s red gaze narrowed at you in distaste. He still held up the huge leatherbound chronicles in his hands.

“One comment about how I grew up on the streets and am uncultured, Astarion, and I will bite you!”, you threatened and stuck a finger in his face.

Immediately the pale elf put on a smug grin. “Would be a nice change for once, don’t you think?”, he muttered in a sultry tone while you just rolled your eyes and groaned. “But alright, I understand that the audience may be a little… overwhelmed with this suggestion”, he continued in one of his insufferable ways and went to carefully place down the huge tome on the wooden floor.

You still felt like you had been made fun of but you let it slide for now.

“Alright, next up we have this titillating collection of obnoxiously bad erotica short stories,” Astarion continued and lifted up a much smaller book again - this one bound in linen in a deep red colour. The vampire was back at grinning lewdly at you, one eyebrow lifted high.

“Is this where you got all your lines from?”, you asked dryly.

Astarion’s expression immediately turned sour. “Alright, we’re not reading this one”, he said in a flat tone, glowering angrily at you. He threw the book over his shoulder and heard how it clattered to the ground - always so dramatic.

Meanwhile you had started cackling so much you had to bury your face in your hand for a moment. Under his breath you heard Astarion mutter something about why he hadn’t “just chosen about anyone else to manipulate and end up with”.

Quickly, you went to lean forward and grab his face to cherish it with a kiss. Despite his still disgusted face the pale elf welcomed the loving attention. When you pulled away you kept holding his face in your hands: “You’re stuck with me, love.”

“Good thing, I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else then”, Astarion replied and leaned in again for another kiss.

Afterwards,sitting up straight again, Astarion sighed dreamily while his eyes lingered on you.

“What’s the last one?”, you asked after a while of the vampire seemingly just getting lost in your eyes.

“Hm?” he made, raising his eyebrows. Then he shook his head softly to focus again while you grinned to yourself knowingly.

Astarion lifted up the last pick in his stack of books he’d brought: “Well, the last one is another adventurous tale of Drizzt Do’Urden.”

Your head perked up when you heard that.

Astarion had introduced you to the legendary tales of Drizzt a while ago now and despite brushing it off at first you had gotten seriously into the stories. And another one of those stories sounded just about right for a stormy winter night and for cuddling up for the rest of the night.

Eagerly, you climbed on Astarion’s lap without any other responses. The vampire just laughed while he allowed you to cosy up to him and finally sealed the deal by putting an arm around you, with his other hand opening up the book already.

“Alright, looks like we have a winner”, he mused playfully and dragged you in a little closer on his lap so he could press another kiss to the top of your head.

Tag list: @spacebarbarianweird @sunfire-ancunin @tragedybunny @dependsonthedream @tallymonster @magazzne @micropoe10 @aoirohi @my-bunny-prince @lumienyx @fayeriess @darlingxdragon

#astarion #baldur's gate 3 #astarion ancunin #fanfiction #astarion x tav #bg3 spoilers #baldur's gate iii #baldurs gate #astarion x mc #astarion x oc #bg3holidayfluffle23 #astarion x you #astarion x reader #bg3

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decolonize-the-everything · 11 months

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You are literally going to get people killed by pushing them to vote third party. People voting third party is why Trump won in 2016, which allowed him to stack the Supreme Court with conservative garbage which is going to negatively affect us for DECADES to come (already has, since it led to the repeal of Roe v. Wade which has LITERALLY killed people). I'm baffled, because you've done so much good work on this website (like I still go back and regularly reread your posts on whiteness etc because they're so informative), but advocating for voting third party going into one of the most important elections in recent memory is actively harmful.

Like have you heard of Project 2025? In case you haven't it's literally like a 1000 page manifesto for the Republican party to reshape the federal government to essentially let the President become a dictator. It also expressly mentions plans to roll back rights for women, the LGBT community, and pretty much any other minority you can think of. I know things are bad now - not arguing that at all - but if Republicans win next year, things will get EXPONENTIALLY WORSE.

You can sit there and yell about Democrats being "just as bad" until you're blue in the face, but it's literally not true. The Democratic Party itself is obviously just another problematic institution and there are definitely Dems who showed their entire asses with supporting Israel, but like... Progressive Democrats do exist and while they're obviously not perfect, it's absolutely a step in the right direction. Not to mention Republicans literally need to cheat by gerrymandering and attacking voting rights for minorities in order to even get elected in a lot of places, whereas Democrats tend to win when more people are registered and actually show up to vote. They are not the same, and the harm they do is not the same.

Again, I have a lot of respect for the work you do, especially with your recent posts on the Palestinian genocide. But I vehemently disagree with your stance on voting third party in this upcoming election. Ideally I would love if we could vote third party and actually have multiple options that more accurately represent us as a population, but our current system is a two party one and unfortunately we literally do have to vote for the lesser of two evils, because one option sucks but preserves what little democracy we have (and gives us a chance of making it better) and one will literally bring genocide against trans people. I would personally rather not see that happen.

How can you say this and mention the Palestinian genocide in the same ask.

Democrats are getting people killed. In fact they're committing one of The worst crime against humanity possible and then only thing you're worried about is that things might get worse for gay people if a Republicans wins.

I'm the biggest queer I know. I'm native. I'm brown. I'm almost definitely on a watch list. And listen to me and understand the depth of my words when I say: my people have been oppressed the way Project2025 outlines.

And maybe you personally cared or helped us protest that. But most people didn't. In fact I can't remember the last time the US supported native rights at all.

But now that YOURE under threat I'm supposed to risk my life because the queer community can't be bothered to stop discoursing about neopronouns long enough to actual give an shit about saving the community?

Y'all got a lot of damn nerve, let me tell you.

Go bark up some other tree cuz this is not the one.

Also I'm not pushing anyone to vote 3rd party. I'm laying out facts. Facts are a Gallup poll says 63% of people would vote 3rd party. Facts are my Tumblr poll says that number is STILL at least 45% on the hellsite.

And since people are interested in voting 3rd party they should know their options. The people who say "I would vote 3rd party but they don't have support" also deserve to see the articles that said 63% of people would join them.

They deserve to know that 3rd parties currently hold a not insignificant amount percentage of support from the two main parties. 20% of votes. When 33% is an even split are good odds. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Sorry, blue Fascists, but this country is in fact still a democracy and just because you Want people to vote blue doesn't mean they have to and you feeling they're the best doesn't make you right!

Other people aren't "wrong" for not wanting your conservative Jurassic party in power anymore.

They can vote how they want.

And if you see a poll that says 63% of people would rather NOT vote for either major party and your first thought is not: wow 63% is enough to elect someone we want, I'll support that.

And instead you go: how can I force them to vote for my party instead.

Then please understand it is not THEM splitting the vote. Biden will get MAYBE 40% votes. You gonna force 63% of the country to vote for someone they don't even want?

There's a name for that yeah?

How'd it work out in 2016 when y'all "forced" us to vote for Hillary by putting her on the ballot? She lost and she wasn't even actively commiting a genocide.

But you think Biden will not only earn votes from that 63% but he'll also win the election. Against trump. Which less blatantly shitty democrats have struggled to contend with?

Democrats are legitimately delusional.

Your problem is you see Democrats as being better than Republicans. While the rest of us see less and less of a difference every year. And you can only say you're "better" if you're different enough.

See this is what happens when you vote for the "lesser evil." Eventually that evil balances back out and you're left with the truth that your two main options are just evil.

Now the only people actually different enough to make that argument are third parties.

Coincidentally, that's what people are drawn to right now.

I know, go figure. It's almost like it makes sense to lose support when you consistently prop up shitty candidates nobody asked for every 4 years.

We do not have a two party system and you know that, that's why you sent this ask.

Cuz you're stressed dems might lose. Cuz you KNOW people have other options.

Good. Cuz they will lose if Biden is the democrat's nominee and Claudia de la Cruz stays in the race, which she will since she's running with PSL not democrats. So there's no competition. Her party is organized and chosen her and a VP already, she's guaranteed every one of their votes because her party works like a union does.

It's a wrap.

Biden can't use his "lesser evil" script with Claudia De La Cruz on the ballot actively challenging his genocide and imperialism.

Vote Claudia De La Cruz cuz you are a scooping water out of the Titanic trying to get 63% of Americans to think voting for a Genocidal warmonger is what's best for any of us, let alone the planet. And we didn't want him BEFORE he did any of this.

#asked #answered #voting

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hellsite-detective · 9 months

Text

Hellsite Detective in…

The Miku Bind

sometimes, a detective has got to do some work for herself. and i decided it was time to go after one of my white whales…

it was a cool, rainy afternoon in Tumblr City, like always. i had just wrapped up doin’ some cases and i was broodin’ out the window. but one image kept flashin’ in my mind. a vocaloid lovin’ foundin’ father that i’ve sought for my whole career. the fabled Thomas Jefferson Miku Binder.

to start my journey, i went down to the Search Bar, a night club in the heart of the city. neon lights shined on the sign out front and music could be heard pourin’ out the front door. i stepped in, drippin’ wet from the rain outside. the place was lively as ever, groups minglin’ and dancin’ to the music. and there, in a corner booth away from everyone else, was Don Google. that big time mob boss that acts as my informant. they sat there playin’ poker with a couple of lackeys, no one of note from what i could tell. they saw me walkin’ up and immediately called out to the waiter for another drink.

“well well! if it ain’t my buddy, Miss Detective! whatcha here for?”

i’m here for personal business, actually. i’m lookin’ for this…

i slid a photograph across the table. the photo that was so well known, it made even the Don pull back. they knew this was serious business.

“you sure you want this one?”

i’m sure, Don. you got it or not?

“oh, i got it. but it’ll cost ya.”

i wasn’t about to have my victory snatched away by this selfish old fool. the Don lookin’ for a deal was never a good sign, but i was desperate.

what do you want?

“oh, nothin’ much, doll. just do me a favor sometime down the line. then we’ll call it even. capisce?”

bein’ in debt to the Don was not something i wanted. whatever they asked me to do, i knew it’d be bad. but either way i needed this post. i needed to solve the case. so i made what would possibly be the worst mistake of my life…

it’s a deal.

“glad we could reach an agreement, Miss. i believe this is what you’re lookin’ for?”

they pulled out their black leather briefcase, their name engraved on it in multicolored letters. it would seem tacky on anyone else. but the Don had a style to them that made it work. poppin’ it open, they handed me the file i was lookin’ for. just sittin’ there at the top, like they knew i was here for it. i grabbed it, thanked the Don, and got up to leave. that’s when they grabbed my sleeve.

“Miss Detective. don’t forget about our arrangement.”

i pulled away, scoffed, and went on my way. whatever they wanted me to do, i’m sure it wasn’t great. either way, the job was done. and i finally had what i wanted. i went back to my dingy office, alone, and filed the post away. the rain still poundin’ down against the window.

Post Case: Closed

#long story post aaaaa!!!#sorry it’s so long oops i got carried away #but either way enjoy this classic post!#also idk if i’ll ever continue this story?#maybe if i do another personal case #or if people just want to see more #also normal post cases resume tomorrow!#hamilton #hamilton the musical #thomas jefferson #thomas jefferson miku binder #writing #original story #can i tag it that?#hellsite detective #post case closed #hellsite detective personal cases

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sebastianswallows · 1 year

Text

Beautiful memories — Chapter 1

— PAIRING: Sebastian Sallow x F!MC (aged up)

— SYNOPSIS: Sebastian is sentenced to Azkaban for six months. When he is released, he finds MC is expecting a child, and is filled with anger and jealousy and confusion. He just doesn't know the child is his yet.

— WARNINGS: angst, just a lot of angst (eventually there will be fluff and smut, but in later chapters)

— WORDCOUNT: 2.7k

— A/N: This fic is for a prompt by @pugsnotdrugs92, and I was also asked to write a similar fic by at least one anon.

Sadly, since she gave me that prompt, Pugs has deleted her blog. I have just learned this tonight and I am... pretty damn upset, I'll say that (not at her of course 💗, but at what caused it).

I will just say that if you get hate from anyone, block them, block indiscriminately until you have peace. I hope that Pugs (and anyone who deleted their blog as part of this mess) will make an account on this hellsite again one day <3

Anyway! On with the fic. Hope you enjoy it, my dears 🌺

Nobody had any idea who turned Sebastian in. It came so unexpectedly that they almost didn’t believe it when he happened. After all, it had been two years since Solomon’s death, and everyone in Feldcroft believed he died in his sleep.

“I know it isn’t me,” she said tearfully to Ominis one day, “and I know it isn’t you.”

“And it wasn’t Anne either,” said Ominis with a shake of his head.

“Are you sure? She still isn’t speaking to Sebastian.”

“She protected him this whole time, why would she report him to the ministry now? She might not forgive Sebastian, but she wouldn’t do this to him…”

Their suspicions fell on Leander, or the goblins, or any number of rivals Sebastian had made, but none of their suspects were likely to even know the truth about what happened that day in the catacomb. It therefore stood to reason that someone had overheard them speaking about it at some point, but that did little to narrow it down — for all they knew, one of the portraits had heard them and reported it to the Headmaster.

Ultimately, it didn’t matter who told the Aurors about it. The trio rushed through their N.E.W.T.S. half-heartedly, with Sebastian unsurprisingly scoring lower than he ever had, and in their spare time they spoke of nothing but the upcoming trial.

They’d even arranged for a solicitor for Sebastian, and visited him via floo in London, but he only spoke to his client in private. And every time Sebastian walked out of the wizard’s office, he looked more discouraged than the last.

The trial took place during summer, right after their 7th year ended. Both she and Ominis attended it every day. Imelda came sometimes as well, and Poppy, and Lucan — even Garreth attended on two occasions. He’d never liked Sebastian much, but he seemed to put aside his feelings throughout all of this.

“They don’t mean to send him there, do they?” he whispered as they sat outside the courtroom one sweltering afternoon.

“Where else?” said Imelda. “They closed all the other wizarding prisons centuries ago.”

“But he’s supposed to have done it while he was still a student…”

“What d’you expect? That they’ll give him detention for murder?”

“No, but…”

“You don’t think he really did it, do you, Imelda?” asked Poppy, leaning over Garreth.

“He didn’t,” said Ominis without even glancing their way.

“That’s right,” she said from beside Ominis. “Sebastian’s done nothing wrong.”

The trial went badly almost from the start. The judge was a grey old wizard in a funny wig, and there was no jury to speak of. He seemed to treat the death of a former Auror, even one of such ill repute as Solomon, quite seriously. The Prosecution leaned into that every chance they got.

Anne was called to give testimony in the first week, and she confessed under oath what she had found when she reached the catacombs, which was enough to shock the court. Sebastian’s friends took courage from the fact that she had not actually seen what killed Solomon, but it was only a matter of the judge drawing a line between a quick succession of events.

Ominis was called to the stand as well, but lied shamelessly. Even the threat of Veritaserum from the Prosecution didn’t sway him. He knew none of them would dare submit a Gaunt to that — a rare occasion of his family name amounting to something. However, him being Sebastian’s oldest friend cast doubt upon his entire deposition…

And then, she was called to give testimony as well. Unlike Ominis, she was not sure she could afford to lie, but nothing could get her to betray Sebastian.

All that she could remember was that Solomon attacked the both of them, and both she and Sebastian felt quite threatened by him, and then somehow, between the flying curses and roving Inferi, Uncle Solomon fell dead. But that happened, after all, more than two years ago, Your Honour, and it was in a dark and gloomy cave — and oh, what were they doing there? Objection. Relevance?

Ominis and the others congratulated her on well she held her own, but deep down, she felt like she had let her best friend down — her statement didn’t put the blame on Sebastian, but neither did it exonerate him.

By the time the trial was approaching the end, their former classmates had stopped coming, and only she and Ominis were left.

“He looks so —”

“I know,” said Ominis, not wanting to hear her describe him. This was on the last day, and the judge would give the verdict.

Guilty. Six months in Azkaban.

The courtroom reverberated with murmurs from the crowd — some in approval, others in outrage.

It was a horrible sentence to hear, but it was not as bad as their worst fears — people were often given life imprisonment for the Unforgivables. Fortunately, in Sebastian’s case, there was not enough conclusive evidence either way. Still, if they were to appeal, it would take longer than six months to even have a new judge assigned to the case, so they were left with no choice but to accept it.

As the Aurors led Sebastian away, she and Ominis stood together and called out useless encouragements to their friend, telling him to have courage, to be strong, have faith that he would soon be free, but he went with the guards without looking back at them…

Most of their former classmates were shocked but seemed to think the six-month sentence would pass quickly. They knew Azkaban was pretty horrible and could remember a few things from their DADA class, but none of them was truly educated on the nature of Dementors. Ominis was. He’d been in their presence when he and his father went to visit an uncle of his who’d been sentenced for murdering a muggle. He claimed it was the worst experience he’d ever had in his life — worse than Crucio, in its own way. He still remembered how the despair lingered inside him for days.

And as time passed, she became aware of something lingering within herself as well…

By the fourth month, she had to use concealment charms around her waist when she went out in public. Ominis figured it out on his own — it was probably that echolocation spell he used to get around. He’d merely been suspicious at first, but by the fifth month…

“Can anyone else see?!”

“No, and they won’t if you just stop —”

“But this could ruin your reputation!”

“Don’t you think I know that?!”

“I can’t believe you! How c—”

“Ominis, shut up,” she hissed.

“But you —”

“It’s Sebastian’s!”

“… Oh. I suppose that makes it better, then.”

From then on, Ominis supported her and helped her in any way he could — which admittedly wasn’t much, as he was still getting used to living on his own after being freed from his family’s clutches. And either way, the first few months were gentle enough on her that she could cope well enough on her own. The only help she needed was preparing her small flat to host two people — and eventually three — which meant some creative furniture transfiguration to fit everything in too small a space.

Christmas arrived in the meanwhile, then the New Year. They had tried writing to him every month by then, but the authorities kept sending their letters back — none were allowed for fear of concealed enchantments, they said, and no visitations were allowed either for lower-class prisoners. It broke her heart to know him all alone throughout those rotten months and all through the holidays. Neither she nor Ominis found it in them to celebrate anything that year…

Sebastian was released in February. They wouldn’t be allowed on the island of Azkaban, but they could see him at the Ministry, where he would be transported before he was officially freed.

She and Ominis got there at sunrise, and waited for hours.

Sebastian’s assigned solicitor couldn’t be there, as he had another case, but he sent a house elf to sign the release form in his name. Anne hadn’t come either, but that was hardly a surprise…

The two of them sat alone in a busy hallway, watching witches and wizards pass through — some going in, some going out — until finally, late in the afternoon, the Auror at the front desk told them that inmate Sallow would be arriving within minutes.

“Here, here, they said this will be the exit,” she said, pulling on Ominis’ sleeve.

Two large wooden doors lay open out of which a long dark hallway extended like a neck, and on either side were doors being shut and open of ministry workers travelling through. There was constantly a small crowd of people darkening that space even further.

“I think that’s him,” she said, standing on the tips of her toes when she spotted a dark ruffled head of hair.

“Alright, stay calm,” said Ominis, taking her hand to settle her. Since he’d realised that she was pregnant, he was instinctively more protective.

“Oh, it is! It is him!” she said with tears in her happy voice.

Sebastian was led out of one of those side doors — dressed in a grey and black prisoner’s uniform, his hands and feet chained, terribly thin and tired and bent at the back, and looking as if he hadn’t slept for days…

“Sebastian!” she called out, waving to him with the hand that wasn’t in Ominis’ grasp. “Over here!”

He looked up slowly, as if doubting that he’d heard his name called. His eyes searched blearily through the crowd ahead, not really focusing anywhere, but then they fell on her. She grinned brightly when she caught his gaze.

“Y-you came?” he said, looking at the two of them like they were a dream come true.

“Of course,” she said.

“Surely you didn’t expect anything else,” grinned Ominis.

“I… I need to go somewhere, they’re taking me to… to…” He didn’t have time to explain before Aurors led him around the corner and to another room, for processing.

“We’ll be here,” she called out after him, “we’ll wait for you!”

“How does he look?” whispered Ominis. “He sounded quite weak.”

“He looks… the way he sounded,” she said, “but he’ll be alright… He has to be. We’ll make sure of it.”

Less than thirty minutes later, Sebastian stepped back outside. He was now dressed the way he was when they arrested him: a faded green sweater and black trousers with worn old leather shoes. The clothes hung on his lanky frame, his face was all angles and shadows, and he looked as if he hadn’t had a wash in the whole six months. He was, of course, without his wand as well — they’d broken that after his sentencing.

But there was a still little light still left in his eyes, and it shone when he saw his friends again. He called out her name and Ominis’, and walked toward them with feeble brisk steps.

“I can’t believe it,” he grinned weakly, his steps growing bolder the closer he got to his friends. “I never thought —”

But then he noticed their joined hands, and her swollen stomach, and it nearly stopped him in his tracks. He only caught the sight for a second before she let go of Ominis and rushed to embrace him.

“Seb,” she cried out as she jumped into his arms. She clung to his neck like a lifeline. “I’ve missed you so much…”

“I’ve… missed you too,” he said, his voice low and uncertain.

She buried her face in his neck while Sebastian’s eyes fell to Ominis — who embraced him too from the other side in an uncharacteristic display of affection, before he stood back timidly.

“How… erm, how are you?” he asked with a nervous smile, feeling more happy than he cared to admit, and relieved to have his friend back in one piece.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” said Sebastian. Gently, he dropped the girl from his arms and slowly pulled away.

“Of course,” she said, wiping her tears and stepping back, but keeping his hand clasped in hers. “You don’t have to. You don’t have to say anything. We just came to take you home. It’s alright now… You’re free, you’re finally back. We’ve missed you so much…”

“Home?” said Sebastian, looking between her and Ominis coolly. “Whose home is that?”

“Well… whichever one you want,” she said. “Yours or mine or…”

“I don’t think I’m ready to see Feldcroft again,” said Sebastian. “But I wouldn’t want to… impose on either of you.”

“What?” frowned Ominis. “Don’t be stup— I mean, don’t worry about that, Sebastian.”

“Oh, is there something to worry about?” he asked.

“Well —”

“We don’t need to discuss that —”

“— here.”

“— now.”

“… I see.”

“Don’t concern yourself with anything,” she smiled, stepping up to him again and embracing him loosely. “Let’s leave this horrible place first…”

They made their way out of the ministry building and through the cold London streets toward Diagon Alley, and his friends talked to him excitedly about the things that had happened: what their former classmates were doing, what they knew about Anne, even the latest Quidditch matches.

They probably felt less cheerful than they seemed, but their enthusiasm was overflowing as they prattled on about all the normal things people their age should care about, almost as if nothing bad had happened at all. They laughed, and smiled, and rubbed his back, and all the while there was in Sebastian’s gait much of the same imprisoned and defeated look as there had been when he was led out of the courtroom at his sentencing.

“We wrote to you while you were there,” she said as they approached the Leaky Cauldron.

“But the damned guards never delivered them,” said Ominis.

Sebastian listened in silence, and they tacitly agreed it was because of what he had been through. He would open up to both of them in time, they were certain…

They decided to have lunch at the Cauldron since neither of them had eaten anything since morning — and they didn’t even wish to think of the food in Azkaban. They ordered sausages and eggs and mashed potatoes and a great big serving of pickled pumpkin.

Sebastian ate the least out of the three of them — and what he didn’t finish, she devoured. Ominis hid his chuckle behind a cough, while Sebastian could barely look at her. If she noticed it, she didn’t say. She just kept smiling and laughing along with Ominis…

More than ever in Azkaban, he wished he could dig a hole for himself through which to disappear. The Leaky Cauldron was noisy and crowded, the smell of food made his stomach turn, and every scrape of a chair was like a scratch across his brain. Even sitting down was uncomfortable, his muscles too thin and his back too weak to hold him. He moved uncomfortably from one position to another, and let his friends prattle on to fill the emptiness between them.

After almost an hour, they decided to leave, and Sebastian nodded in agreement.

“I’m seeing someone at the ministry next Wednesday about a position,” said Ominis as they walked toward the fireplace. “But I can stop by afterwards if that’s alright.”

“Of course,” she said. “You’re always welcome, you know that.”

“Do you have enough chocolate at home? I can bring some more.”

“Shelves full of it,” she laughed. “But more is always a good idea. I suspect we’ll need it.”

“Well, I’ll bid you two goodbye for now, then,” said Ominis as he waved them off, blissfully oblivious to what was going through Sebastian’s mind.

“Goodbye,” she said with a tearful smile, letting go of Sebastian for a brief while to hug their friend once more.

“I’ll let you know before I arrive on Wednesday.”

“Not to worry, Ominis. We’ll be alright… Everything will be alright now.”

“I hope so…”

“And good luck with your interview!”

“Thank you… Although I’m not sure I want it.”

“Thank you, Ominis,” said Sebastian tiredly. “For… everything.”

“Don’t be silly,” he smiled. “I’m glad to have you back. We both are. Just focus on getting well again…”

Sebastian nodded, not feeling that any of their kind words were true. He disappeared in the green flames with her, wishing for once to not appear on the other end.

#Sebastian Sallow #Ominis Gaunt #hl #Sebastian Sallow fanfiction #Sebastian Sallow imagine #Sebastian Sallow x MC #Sebastian Sallow x reader #pugsnotdrugs92 #I miss you 😭#sswallow;made a thing #sswallow;fanfics #fanfic;memories

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confessionsofa-roleplayer · 1 month

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I miss the good old days when writing on tumblr was less of a hassle. You didn't need to follow the icon trends to be relevant and you could use gifs of any size on your posts and no one cared. Everything was just about writing and your editing skills didn't matter. And be ready to be accused of being racist, if you're writing a PoC, if you accidentally make a mistake while trying to brighten a picture that was in a dark room setting for an icon. The correct response to this would be to reach out to this person and try to give them some tips! Not to yell at them as a first response. I miss when the "trigger warnings" actually meant something and weren't used so lightly. Despite what you think kids may think, tw do not mean "this thing is something that I don't like", or "it makes me uncomfortable", or anything like that. It actually means something that can trigger you into having a panic or anxiety attack. I miss when anyone could write villains and no one batted an eye and no one attacked you for doing so. They seemed like any other character being written. But now fiction equals reality and if you don't put disclaimers all over your blog, you could get callouts and hate mail for writing them. And even when you do put disclaimers on your blog, you could still get the callouts and hatemail. I miss the days before pro-ship and anti-ship existed, especially since no one on this hellsite can tell you the actual definition of what those words even means. Because it seems most people use those words wrongly. I miss not having reblog karma, and before folks gets the pitchforks over this one. I understand why people feel the need for it, but I feel like some people have taken it too far. It went from "reblog from the source so it doesn't mess with my notes! I'm not a meme blog!" to "I know you're just reblogging it from the source so you don't have to send me anything!" Meaning you can't even reblog it from the source now, too. because apparently it's not really about, "messing up my notes!" I miss not having to fill out interest trackers. We used to just be able to talk and communicate with each other over what we want to write, and now it's like we have to fill out an application before we can write with each other, like it's some kind of job interview. I'd prefer just talking with my writing partners personally. I miss when people didn't complain about not getting memes, while also simultaneously complaining that people take on more than they can write. Which is it guys? Do you want us to send you memes or not? Will you complain, too, when I don't get your response out quickly enough because I took on another meme? I miss not constantly needing to worry about everyone's opinion on how we can all run our blogs. Everyone says, have fun, it's your blog! But is it really? You almost have to worry about it, at least to an extent, because you get unfollowed and blocked in the blink of an eye anymore. No communication. Just blocked. Leaving you with no clue as to what you did wrong or how you could fix it. The point? Tumblr has become a place where you have to jump through hoops just to write with each other these days. It's just a big hassle. Between all of the spoken and unspoken rules, the trends, and the people who are all addicted to outrage, ready to get a mob together for even the tiniest of offenses. It's no wonder people don't want to write on tumblr anymore. Everything we do seems to make people angry. It's like walking on broken glass. If y'all ever wonder why people are disappearing out of the rpc, this is probably a lot of the reasons why. Some of you guys really take this RP thing way too seriously. It's not real life. Just relax okay? We all need to relax…

#general #confessions

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farfromstrange · 11 months

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Lizzi's Kinktober 2023

Day 15: Mask Kink

October 30th, 2023

Main Masterlist | Kinktober Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Summary: Matt really loves to eat you out.

Warnings: EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT (18+ MINORS DNI), black suit Matt supremacy, Dom!Matt, mask kink, unprotected p in v, fingering, orgasm denial, slight spanking, bondage (use of ropes), use of "good girl", praise, not proofread

Word Count: ~2.5k

A/n: This is dedicated to @sunaspotato because her mask kink made my mask kink worse. And since she’s on this hellsite too now and wanted to read this, here you go. (Also, I hope you can still look me in the eyes after this. If not, I sincerely apologize. It’s different when one of the people reading this is someone I know irl so I hope I didn’t disappoint with this.)

The air coming in through the half-open bedroom window brushes coldly against your heated skin.

You never thought you would end up in this position. So… vulnerable. Hunted like prey. It was never your intention. And yet, here you are now. Your wrists are tied to the bedpost with a harsh, greyish rope that isn’t yours, your sheer nightgown torn to shreds and discarded somewhere in the room.

You’re helpless. Hopeless, also. Your friends have told you time and time again that you trust too easily, and maybe that is true. You can be colorblind to the existence of red flags. When you look danger in the eyes, you tend to gravitate toward it and not away, which has put you in trouble more times than you can count. You have shit judgment, to say the least, so it should come as no surprise that you are in this position.

He has walked you home before. A few nights ago, a man tried to mug you after you missed the last bus of the night on your way home from work, and even though you cooperated, you had a bad feeling you weren’t going to make it out of this alive. He was about to steal all the money you had left in your purse, your phone, and everything else dear to you.

Out of nowhere though, a dark figure emerged. He wore a mask made out of some sort of used fabric, a little white peeking through where it kept his eyes hidden from the world. His lips caught your attention right away. They were curled up into a smirk. He looked as if he had no emotions left in him, he only saw red where you saw none, and he beat the man trying to steal from you to a bloody pulp right at your feet.

You should have been terrified, but the fear turned into a quick thrill, and it made you more careless than it made you careful.

“You shouldn’t be out here on your own,” he said to you.

Foolish of him to think he could tell you what to do, but he was right. He shouldn’t have been out there on your own.

Next thing you knew, he offered to walk you home. Him on the rooftops of the city, you below. And you felt safer. You agreed; you talked to him, and you let the danger right into your life.

From the second you first laid your wide eyes on the stranger, there has been something so forbiddingly arousing about the image in your head. His plump lips, his tongue, his sharp jawline, and the chiseled chest that he keeps hidden away underneath a tight, black shirt. Not to mention his thighs and the ass he is definitely not hiding in those pants.

It is so arousing, you have not uttered a word about it to anyone. If you told anyone the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen saved your life and belongings a few nights ago and has walked you home from work every night since then, they would surely call you crazy. Perhaps you are, but you have no shame about it. You are ashamed that he does something to your neglected soul, something a stranger in a mask should not do, but you are not ashamed that you haven’t told him off. Maybe you should be, but you can’t possibly find an ounce in your that cares.

Even though it wasn’t planned and it took you off guard, you let him in when he knocked on your windows tonight, begging you to stitch him up. His panting and the way he groaned whenever the needle threaded through his skin didn’t help with this strange attraction you have been harboring.

He noticed. You’re not sure how, but he noticed that you were getting turned on by his presence, and it was only a question of time until he would snap. In the end, he did about half an hour into your putting bandages on his battle scars.

Now you’re tied to the bed, naked and vulnerable to the man in the mask at the foot of your bed, but your heart is not beating out of your chest out of fear. It’s the pulse between your legs that is the most prominent, and the danger only sends the pleasure you’re experiencing to new pinnacles.

He isn’t going to show you his face, he told you as much. Lucky for you, you do not want or need him to. The thought of getting fucked by a man you have no idea what he looks like is as arousing as it is exciting. The mask on his face only enhances the feeling of being completely exposed to the prying eyes of danger, and you don’t want to miss this feeling again for the world. If that makes you perverted or mentally deranged, you don’t have a problem with that. You’ve been told that your delusions will be the death of you one day, so maybe it’s time to live your truth.

The man paces around your bed. Eventually, he opens those plump lips again. He asks, “Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?”

“What I’m doing to you?” you question, your voice barely above a broken whisper. He’s got you right where he wants you.

“You’re supposed to be scared of me.”

You want to sit up, but the ropes keep you locked in place.

“You were supposed to run away,” he says. “But you didn’t.”

“I don’t scare easily,” you tell him.

He chuckles. “Yeah, I’ve noticed.” Why he sounds so bitter all of a sudden, you’re not sure.

You let out a shaky breath. “I’m not scared of you,” you say, a lot surer this time.

The stranger bares his teeth for a moment, then closes his mouth again. God, those lips. He hasn’t even kissed you yet, and somehow you already miss him.

“I can smell you, you know. I can smell how fucking wet you are for me. Do you have any idea how hard it is for me to control myself when you’re so wet?” he says. It’s a rhetorical question. “You want me to fuck you so badly, and you don’t even know me.”

You blush beet red. You’re not sure how he can smell that you’re wet, even with your thighs clenched so tightly together. There are a lot of things you ask yourself, and for a second you wonder if you made a mistake, but if he knows that you are desperate to be touched by him, there is no chance in hell you will be able to lie your way out of this.

You want this. You want him. And there is no denying the obvious; he wants you, too.

His cock is straining against his pants. He is packed, you can tell. You wish you could see him, even just a small glimpse of skin, but he keeps himself hidden away. That’s how it’s going to be. He’s not going to give himself away, and you’re not going to protest, no matter how wrong this may be.

You want him to fuck you, and he wants to fuck you. There is only one way this is going to end.

The bed creaks. His gloved hand meets your bare thigh, and you shudder. Your mouth falls open. The rough texture hiding his fingertips rubs against the sensitive hairs on your body. It makes your toes curl.

“Don’t move away from me,” his mouth is suddenly so close to your ear.

“I’m sorry, Sir,” you choke out. He has a chokehold on your lungs and the oxygen that is supposed to pass through them.

His teeth show when he chuckles this time. It’s a breathless chuckle that sends even more shivers down your spine until you can’t feel anything but him. His breath, his hand, his body—you are completely consumed by him.

“Matthew,” he whispers in your ear. “My name’s Matthew.”

He told you his name. Does he trust you enough not to ask questions? Not that you have it in you to do so, but it throws you off for a moment.

He told you his name. The masked stranger who refuses to even take his gloves off told you his name. Your mind reels. You’re interpreting too much into this, but how can you not? You are completely infatuated.

You’re infatuated with the devil.

The heavy leather of his gloves thuds to the ground next to the bed. When his bare fingers touch you, you’re almost halfway on your way to heaven.

You let out a soft moan that sends the heat to your cheeks. Your heartbeat pulsates in your ear. You can hear your blood rushing. Can he hear it too?

“Tell me it’s okay.”

You blink at his demand.

“Tell me it’s okay to touch you,” he says. “I need to hear you say it.”

The words elude you for a moment. “I–” You swallow as you look at his covered face. “Yes,” the consent rolls off your lips softly but surely. “I want you to…touch me.”

He lets out a sigh of relief. This is the most human you have seen him. “Thank you,” he says.

You open your mouth again to respond, to tell him that he has nothing to thank you for, but he shuts you up by thrusting two of his thick fingers into your tight cunt all at once.

Your words turn into a loud moan that bounces off your apartment walls. You struggle against the restraints, wanting to wrap around his wrist, but you have nowhere to go. Your walls clench around the intrusion, but he pushes through, his fingertips brushing over that one sweet spot that has you seeing stars within seconds. And once he has found that spot, there is no going back.

The lewdest cacophony of wetness and heady moans turns into a crescendo. He is playing your keys so delicately, your entire body locks up. The wave keeps on building until it has turned into the size of a tsunami, ready to destroy whatever is in its path.

He moves his digits in and out of you, brushing against that spot every time he thrusts back in, and he pushes even deeper until he’s filled you up completely to the brim. He reaches parts of you that you never knew existed, and he does it over and over and over again until there is not much more you can take.

His free hand grabs your chin, forcing your eyes to meet the darkness of his mask. Somehow, that makes your walls clench ever harder around him. He smirks. Oh, that shit-eating smirk is going to be the death of you, you’re sure. At the same time though, you want to wipe it off his face.

“Look at me,” he says.

You have no choice but to comply, as ironic as it sounds.

“Good girl.”

The subtle praise makes your nails draw blood from your palms, the robe rubbing against the sensitive skin of your wrists and probably doing just the same. You’re going to be bloody and bruised tomorrow. You’re going to carry his marks.

You’re his now.

“Are you gonna come?” his breath tickles your ear.

All you can muster is a weak nod.

“Good,” he says. “Don’t.”

You must have misheard him. “What?!” you stammer. “But–”

“No.”

Fucking with danger is as hot as it is frustrating, it seems.

His fingers pull out of you suddenly, roughly—you are left with a gaping emptiness that makes your thighs clench, and your throat emits a whine that you are not used to hearing from yourself.

“Please,” you beg. You never beg. Not like this. “Please, Matthew, I… I’m sorry.”

What are you sorry for? You haven’t done anything wrong. But he makes you feel like you did. He makes you feel like you deserve to feel so pathetic, and that he owns your orgasms.

He owns you.

Well, shit.

The ropes around your wrists disappear for a moment. A moment of mercy, you think, but he is quick to flip you onto your stomach. The bed creaks again. You catch a glimpse of his smirk again. His mask. His body. His cock. It looks like he touched himself while he fingered you, his cock pink and weeping as it stands tall against his stomach. You want to reach out and touch it, a rare beauty, a rare sight, but once again, you are disappointed.

He flips you over, and he ties your hands back to the headboard. You’re once again trapped.

A series of cries, “Please, please, please!” Passes your lips. You kick your feet, you say his name, and you moan when his lips travel down your exposed back. You would do anything for more, and you try to, but he won’t let up.

This is what you get for making foolish choices.

“Patience, sweetheart,” he rasps. His hand collides with your backside, and you cry out. The pain turns into the sweetest pleasure, making your clit throb in need. You can’t withstand him. “I’m far from done with you. You asked for this, remember?”

The way he says it sends shivers down your spine.

When his thick cock penetrates your tight walls, forcing your legs to stay together as he pushes his way forward, you surrender. Your jaw slacks in a needy moan. He’s got you wrapped around his finger and his cock, and the feelings he elicits in you are so inhuman, you get addicted. He’s a drug. He’s dangerous.

But danger has never looked so fucking good before.

Besides, you brought this upon yourself when you let him into your bed. When you asked him to fuck you like no one has ever fucked you before. When you gave him consent to touch you. And when you let him take you like this, you surrendered yourself to him all over again. All of you. Your mind, body, and soul. You gave it all to him. You’re his now.

His. His. His. It keeps repeating in your mind as he pounds into you, and God, it is good. It is so good, you lose yourself, and you never want to go back.

The stranger in the mask is what you need. He is all you will ever need.

You asked for this.

You made a deal with the devil and now you have to pay your dues.

Matt Murdock Smut Tag List: @acharliecoxedfan @gpenguin666 @linamarr @mcugeekposts @itwasthereaminuteago @ravenclaw617 @mattkinsella @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @etanordoesbullsh1t @thychuvaluswife @harleycao @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch

Also tagging: @blackshadowswriter @1988-fiend

#matt murdock #daredevil #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock smut #daredevil x reader #daredevil smut #black suit supremacy #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #lizzi writes #charlie cox

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qqueenofhades · 7 months

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Last anon here -- I'm sorry for sending that message through. I don't know what is and isn't true anymore.

I deleted what I presume was your first ask (the one accusing me of not condemning the Gaza genocide and calling me a "DNC shill and a liar") because it was rude, uncalled for, and I couldn't see any good to come of engaging with it. However, because you've returned and apologized and sent this followup, I am willing to answer it, because I am aware that we can all do stupid things (especially on the internet) that we regret. So there is that.

Once again: I have strictly limited my posts/reblogs on this topic because it is so inflammatory, there are reams of people willing to attack you on every side, and none of it is actually constructive (this is the blue hellsite where we have two whole jokes about Ea-Nasir and color theory in children's hospitals. We are not doing important social justice work here and expecting this to be the main/only forum in which we post the Correct Opinions is not going to work out for anyone). But I would like, for the record, to point out that I have condemned the situation in Gaza and explicitly called it a genocide and Netanyahu and co. war criminals. Often and repeatedly:

Ask from October 28, 2023:

What’s happening to the Gazans right now is no qualification or equivocation, a genocide. It should rightfully be opposed and called what it is. But unfortunately, I have spent too much time around Western Online Leftists to believe they actually care a whit about stopping genocide as a fundamental principle, and only want to be seen to loudly care about what their Ideology has told them to care about. [...] To put it bluntly, those genocides are being committed by nation-states that Online Leftists like for being “anti-Western,” and therefore their activities are actually fine and should even need to be defended.

Another post from December 2023 explicitly calling out Netanyahu and his cabinet, while also pointing out that Tumblr's response now mostly consisted of antisemitic dogwhistles and rampant political misinformation:

[...] the way Netanyahu is personally a genocidal maniac with a far-right cabinet of war criminals and is bent on continuing the war in order to escape his own criminal prosecutions (and yes, he is HIGHLY affiliated with Trump and Putin) but this somehow still does not remotely justify or excuse the rampant frothingly mindless and generalized anti-Semitism seen everywhere on leftist spaces these days [....]

An ask from January 10th, 2024 (worth probably reading in full) where I once more say that nobody wants this to be happening, but that once again, the criticism in Western leftist forums (particularly Tumblr/Twitter) is not made equally or in good faith :

Nobody of basic good sense and decency wants to see Gaza leveled while the Israeli state continues to apply a number of violently cruel collective punishments even outside the actual daily bombing of civilians. But for the love of god, let’s get rid of the idea that the continued mindless violence doesn’t benefit Hamas (because it does; unsurprisingly, sympathy for their cause has soared in Gaza) as much as it does Israel, or that Hamas is some kind of benevolent peacemaker that is being thwarted by the cruel imperialist US/West.

This post, also from January 2024, explains why the kind of stunt-trick "pro Palestinian" activism that just relies on publicly hassling Jews is a) antisemitic and b) actively harming the people of Gaza, while once again pointing out whose fault this whole mess actually is:

If these people actually wanted to advocate constructively for Palestine in a good-faith way and not just punish random Jews or people who might have once met a Jew (which they don’t), they would take a look at that, go “hmm, this isn’t really getting the right result” and listen to the people who are telling them that by generating this bad publicity, they are doing far more harm to the cause than good. They are going to make the cause look foolish, they will drive away anyone who isn’t already radicalized, they will shut down any possibility of discussion and dialogue, and their efforts will be picked up in the Israeli nationalist right-wing media/Netanyahu and his war criminal advisors to insist to left-wing or anti-zionist Jews that (one of the, you know, big fucking reasons Israel was founded in the first place) they aren’t safe in any other country in the world, and they need to support the Israeli government’s actions, no matter how heinous.

A follow-up from January 31, 2024, discussing (again) the problems with insisting that Biden personally/the American power apparatus is just giving Israel a blank check and therefore Biden Iz Bad And This is All His Fault:

Once again: I strongly disagree with the idea of just giving Israel/Netanyahu a blank check to keep committing atrocities, but I also need to repeatedly point out that Biden isn’t doing that. His initial unconditional support of Israel after October 7 (which at the time was the correct response) has shifted to a much more measured and conditional approach where he has muted the overtly pro-Israel statements and started talking about a two-state solution and the need to protect the lives of civilians and trying to keep a lid on what could become a REALLY bad situation with all kinds of war-hungry powers eager to jump into the Middle East and blow it completely to hell.

I am a historian. This does not mean that I always know The Greatest Things Ever, but it does mean that I default toward long, cautious, and qualified responses where I try to consider multiple perspectives and nuances, rather than just posting pithy soundbites or black-and-white statements. (Yes, I know; I am doomed on social media.) Thus when I do discuss the situation, I tend toward trying to put it in broader context, to push back sharply against the idea that being "pro Palestine" is just being wildly antisemitic on social media and nothing else, and to call out those bad actors who are using this situation to continue to imperil American democracy and deliberately try to get Trump (who openly hankers to be a genocidal fascist dictator for everyone, not just Israel/Palestine) back into office.

I know that this is a situation which provokes (to say the least) strong emotions from everyone. I know that it's infuriating to feel totally helpless and just to have to watch it from afar. I know that we all wish we could stop it and that leads us to create meaning or assign importance to our own actions where there actually is none. But that does not mean that people have total liberty to spread antisemitic conspiracy theories, wild political misinformation, narratives designed whether unwittingly or deliberately to help Trump and other far-right fascists, and otherwise anonymously dogpile on people who haven't Posted The Correct Opinion on Tumblr (once again, Tumblr, where we get our news via Destiel meme). So I hope this has helped you, if this is what you wanted to get out of contacting me today, and hope also that you'll continue to think about what to do and how to act. It's hard, I know, and you have my sympathy. But so it is for us all.

#anonymous #ask #history #politics for ts #israel hamas war

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