#it sounds like a wizard slur
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“You can say no, obviously,” Draco sniffs primly, with the air of someone who isn’t currently hiding under his duvet reeking of pussy. “I know I called in a favour, but I’d never demand that—”
“I want to help,” Pansy insists. “Really. What else are friends for, if not this?”
Draco yanks the covers up to his chin, scowling. “If I had to make a list, I’d put quite a few things before ‘platonic shagging.’”
for @hpknotfest
Summary: Draco wants to get bred. Pansy just wants him to admit it.
Selected tags: Werewolf Draco, Service Top Pansy, Platonic Sex, One-Sided Drarry, Breeding Kink, Femdom, Awkward Sexual Situations, Kink acceptance
Read on AO3
#yes i'm posting this a week late ssshhhh#my stuff#draco malfoy#pansy parkinson#dransy#is that. the ship name#it sounds like a wizard slur#pansy x draco#hp fic
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Serendipity
chapter seven
summary: it was only meant to be a purely transactional relationship. he would help her strengthen her abilities in return for her getting his friends out of his father's nasty path. he didn't mean to fall for her, but loving her was the easiest thing in his dark world.
no use of y/n, but your general nickname is Meadow. all characters are aged up to be over 18.
pairings: mattheo riddle x fem!ravenclaw reader; platonic!slytherins x fem!reader; platonic!golden trio x fem!reader
warning(s): this is quite long, canonical voldemort style violence, use of one wizard slur (bloodtraitor), one mention of torture, parental death (minor mentions)
series masterlist; previous part; next part
The weeks flew by after that day in the Room of Requirement. In those weeks, you and Mattheo had gotten nowhere with researching your newfound siphon abilities, as most literature was just a regurgitation of previous works. The two of you grew closer, sessions usually ending in a spontaneous make out or sensual tryst, but he still refused to go any further than that. Refused to be completely vulnerable with you. Safe to say that your days were a lot more interesting, but it was becoming harder to hide your clear feelings from the prying eyes of your curious friends.
Harry had been frequently visiting Dumbledore's office for his own lessons of sorts and he had learned more about Mattheo's father, Tom Riddle, but nothing about why he needed one of Slughorn's specific memories.
The four of you were slaving away in one of the Herbology greenhouses when Hermione brought up the subject of Slughorn's illustrious dinner parties, which Harry had been avoiding.
"There's no way you'll be able to get out of this one because he actually asked me to check your free evenings, so he could be sure to have it on a night you can come." she said, wrestling with the weird pod-like creature that you were studying for that week.
Harry groaned as you snickered at his misfortune. Meanwhile, Ron, who was attempting to burst his pod in the bowl by putting both hands on it, standing up, and squashing it as hard as he could, shared a look with you and said angrily, "And this is another party just for Slughorn's favorites, is it?"
"Just for the Slug Club, yes," said Hermione, annoyance written on her face.
The pod flew out from under Ron's fingers and hit the green house glass, rebounding onto the back of Professor Sprout's head and knocking off her old, patched hat, causing you, Ron and Harry to let out loud laughs that died out at the Professor's unimpressed look sent your way.
Harry went to retrieve the pod while Hermione carried on, "Look, I didn't make up the name 'Slug Club'—"
"'Slug Club,'" repeated Ron with a sneer worthy of one of Malfoy's. "It's pathetic. Well, I hope you enjoy your party. Why don't you try hooking up with McLaggen, then Slughorn can make you King and Queen Slug—"
"You almost sound jealous, Won Won." you teased, using Lavender's cringe-worthy nickname that he clearly abhorred. Despite having a girlfriend, you just knew that somewhere deep down in his stupid, stupid brain, Ron still had feelings for Hermione.
"We're allowed to bring guests," Hermione, who had turned a bright, boiling scarlet, snapped, "I would have asked you, but I don't think your girlfriend would like that very much."
You turned to face Ron as he gufawed at your best friend. "Don't worry Ronald, I'm not one of his favourites either. Teddy's invited me as his plus one for this one, I'll let you know what we're definitely not missing out on." He only glared at you again in response.
Theodore had asked you to accompany him so that he wouldn't be stood alone as Blaise flirted his way through the other pureblood attendees. You had agreed and he gave you free reign of his Gringott's vault to choose a dress from a boutique that Pansy had graciously taken you to. It paid well to have a rich friend or two in this world.
It seemed that everyone knew of Slughorn's party and the chance of going as a guest with one of his members – you and Hermione caught Romilda Vane and her friends whispering about 'Harry' and 'Fred and George' and 'Love Potions' in one of the girls' toilets in the intermission between Transfiguration and Potions, and had watched in shock as they discreetly opened one of the twins' own Love Potions disguised as perfumes between them. You had both warned him to be wary of them, but of course Harry rarely listened to the two of you.
The three of you were walking out of the now-closed library, Ron off with Lavender Brown somewhere, when Romilda came up to him and offered him a bottle of Gilllywater. Hermione's i-told-you-so look had him declining it, but she seemed prepared and had shoved a pink heart shaped box of chocolates into his arms.
"Chocolate Cauldrons." the girl had said. "They have fire whiskey in them. My grandma sent them, but I don't like them."
Romilda smiled before walking away.
"Definitely firewhiskey in there," you say sarcastically. "Give it a whiff before you eat them. Make sure it's not Ginny you're smelling." you say before leaving the pair, laughing at Harry's disgruntled look and making your way to the Ravenclaw common room, intent on researching a book on Mermaids and Siphoners, but you weren't confident that you'd find information that wasn't in the books you'd already combed through.
~∞~
"I'm going with Luna." Harry said the next day. "To Slughorn's party. I'm going with Luna."
"That's wonderful, Harry." you say with a smile. "She really needs a pick-me-up bless her. Some idiot in her year keeps stealing all her things."
The girl came and told you not an hour later, an excited gleam in her pale blue eyes.
~∞~
A few days later, you were waiting outside the Slytherin common room, nervously smoothing out nonexistent creases from the fine silk of your deep green evening gown. You had agreed to meet Theo, Blaise and Pansy here before walking to Professor Slughorn's office together, where the dinner party was being held.
Hesitantly, you knocked on the door to the common room, not knowing the password for it, obviously. The person who answered it made you want to smite them immediately – Greggory Goyle was as nasty as they came.
"What do you want, bloodtraitor?" he spat as he glared down at you, before his beady eyes snapped to your body, namely your chest.
"Not that it concerns the likes of you," you say, voice full of venom, "But I'm waiting for my date to Slughorn's dinner party."
"What poor soul agreed to take you to something as sophisticated as a dinner party?" the boy sneered, his gaze beginning to become an uncomfortable hindrance before your friend's voice rung out into the empty corridor.
"I did, Goyle. Now kindly fuck off." Theodore snapped before his gaze softened on your form. "Tesoro, you look dazzling." his face lit up with a smile as he twirled you under his arm.
"Thank you, Teddy." you flushed, while giving him a once over. "My, my, don't you clean up nicely." he swatted away the hand that patted his cheek.
As you were greeting Theo, the rest of his friends exited the common room, Lorenzo announcing that you'd have to wait for Blaise to 'stop staring at his reflection' as he did. It was obvious that Theo and Pansy were regulars at illustrious dinner parties: Theo wore a tailored suit, with a crisp white shirt and a dark green silk waistcoat and tie (charmed to match the exact colour of your own dress); Pansy wore a sleek dress in a rich shade of deep plum and her face was painted exquisitely with makeup that accentuated her pretty siren eyes, her short black hair styled into a flattering bob. She had come right up to see you in the dress she'd helped you pick out: a dark green silky number that hugged your body in the most flattering way.
She was busy fawning over the way your hair fell over your shoulders gracefully, when the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end and you felt a familiar prickle in the back of your mind. You turned to find Mattheo, white shirt partly unbuttoned, hair disheveled and eyes slightly bloodshot as he admired you with no shame. The way his deep, onyx eyes took you in from head to toe made you feel hot all over, and the words he spoke into your mind, made you melt even further. If that was even possible.
You look beautiful, love.
You smile at him in gratitude which was sent in waves to the forefront of his mind – a new trick he had taught you. He nodded his head with a proud smirk which sent flutters right to your core.
You look much better in Slytherin green than Ravenclaw blue, darling. You should indulge more often.
The boy was actually flirting with you and he basked in the sight of your flustered expression.
Pansy was the only one of the surrounding group to see your interaction and she gave you a look that you understood was her way of telling you that the two of you would be discussing this later.
Finally Blaise, who had just stumbled out of the stonewall entrance, said with an exasperated breathe: "Let's get this over with, please. I want to get there so I can leave earlier. If Slughorn asks me about my mother's latest husband one more time I may explode."
You stifle a laugh behind your hand as the tallest Slytherin glares down at you. "Were you not the one making us all wait in favour of admiring yourself in the mirror, Zabini?"
"When you have a face like mine, it must be admired Meadow." he replied with a self-assured smirk. Lorenzo practically guffawed at this, which is when you notice that his eyes were bloodshot like Mattheo's. But he was always a cheerful boy, seeing him laugh was a regular occurrence within this group.
Soon after Blaise appeared, you hooked an arm in the crook of Theo's elbow and the four of you began your walk to the classroom, completely missing the glare that Mattheo was pointing at the back of his best friend's head.
Compared to other offices you'd seen, Slughorn's was namely the biggest. Drapes of emerald, crimson and gold were streamed about the ceilings and walls, creating a tent-like effect about the room and thousands of faeries fluttered about the golden glow of where the apex of the drapes met, the faint fluttering of their wings could be heard over the music and chatter. The moment the four of you entered you'd commented on how crowded and stuffy it was as a live classical band played over the loud conversation from older wizards all around the room.
"I didn't know he invited elders here." you mumble to Theo who hums at you.
"It's all networking. A way to secure future positions in the Ministry." he said, resentment dripping from his tongue.
"And you don't want that?" you ask, staring at his profile, thanking him when he gave you a flute of champagne.
"I wanted to be a professional quidditch player, but my father wants me to follow in his footsteps." he says, before dropping his voice to a mere whisper. "And I mean that in all senses of the word, tesoro. It's not something I particularly want."
You hummed at his answer but squeezed his arm all the same. He sent you a sideways glance full of warmth. You'd almost forgotten about what he would endure during the upcoming holidays; it made you feel inexplicably guilty that you'd be having fun with your friends and family while Theo would be suffering.
Blaise and Pansy had already found themselves at the table of food platters with Daphne Greengrass, which is where you also found Harry, Hermione, Luna and Cormac Mclaggen. You grabbed Theo's hand and dragged him towards them, ignoring his discontent with being within radius of Harry and Mclaggen.
"Hi guys! Mclaggen." you say as you reach the quartet. "Mione, Luna you both look gorgeous."
They both thank you before all four of them frown at the boy behind you. "Oh for Rowena's sake, he won't bite, will you Teddy?" You sent him a pointed look over you shoulder, which had him instantly agreeing, albeit reluctantly.
"Only if they don't bite first." he says, his deep, accented voice dripping with uninterest. "Let's go and dance, tesoro. Make the night a little less unbearable."
You agreed and spent a majority of the night sipping on expensive wine and laughing with your three Slytherin friends, mindful to avoid Harry's looks of something that you couldn't name that he sent your way.
~∞~
The four of you spent hours dancing, only interrupted when Harry asked to steal you away to dance with him, as Luna had become caught up in a conversation with Ginny, Dean Thomas namely absent from her side. While you and Harry were contently swaying, there was a disturbance at the entrance.
You watched in the corner of your eye as Harry's face lit up with a sinister smirk at the sight of Malfoy being dragged into the room by Filtch who had him by the scruff of his robes.
"Professor Slughorn!" he said in his typically slimy voice. "Found this one lurking in the corridors upstairs. Claims he was invited to your party but was delayed in attending. Did you issue an invitation?"
If looks could kill, Filtch would be six feet deep.
Malfoy was glaring at the man with distain and fury as he yanked himself free of the caretaker's grasp, brushing away imaginary flecks of dirt from his rumpled suit.
"All right, I wasn't invited!" he said angrily. "I was trying to gatecrash, happy?"
Filtch was evidently not happy about this, but the look of immense joy that crossed his face sent shivers down your spine.
"You're in trouble, you are! Didn't the Headmaster say that night-time prowling's out, unless you've got permission, eh?"
Slughorn dissipated the situation with drunken ease, inviting Malfoy to stay for the remainder of the dinner party. Harry's face was a picture of bewilderment, mirroring Filtch's one of overwhelming disappointment.
"He looks a bit ill doesn't he?" you say under your breathe as Hermione comes to stand beside you.
"Who?" Harry asked, dumbly. You stared at him with a deadpan expression on your face.
"Malfoy. He does look ghastly pale." Hermione mumbled while you all watched as he chatted away to Slughorn about his grandfather.
"He's up to something." Harry said obstinately. You and Hermione shared a look and simultaneously rolled your eyes.
"You've got to stop with this Harry. You don't know for certain that he's a Death Eater." Hermione muttered, keeping her voice low enough that others wouldn't hear. "It's bad enough that you outright accused him in front of Professor Mcgonagall and Professor Snape."
"I still can't believe you had the audacity, to do that." you say, but Harry wasn't listening to either of you. In fact he followed right out behind Snape and Malfoy when they exitted the room, not ten minutes after the latter's noisy arrival.
"Oh for fuck's sake." you grit your teeth at your friend's stubbornness. Hermione shook her head before dragging you over to where Luna and Ginny were stood, having watched Harry sneak out.
~∞~
With the Christmas holidays finally upon you, you were spending a few days at the Burrow with Ron's family before you floo'd home to your family.
Hermione's lack of presence seemed to lay heavily upon you as you sat next to the empty seat in the kitchen that she'd always sit in. You don't know how she puts up with Ron and Harry without you – a headache was slowly building up in your temples as Ron asked Harry to repeat what he'd heard when he followed Snape and Malfoy out, for the millionth time, as the three of you polished Mrs. Weasley's cutlery.
Finally reaching a breaking point of sorts you snap at the pair.
"If you defy the unbreakable vow, you die. It's a sacred pact, Harry. Are you certain that Snape accepted one?" they turn to look at you as if forgetting you were there.
Ron nodded in agreement. "Yeah. Fred and George almost convinced me to make one when I was five, but Dad went mental when he found us. Only time he's ever been scarier than mum." he pauses before adding an anecdote about Fred being punished pretty severely, which seems to summon the two giant twins into the kitchen, clad in expensive slacks, making fun of the fact that Ron and Harry were still not of age yet – unlike you. Fred turned to you then, a bright smile lighting up his face.
"Hello gorgeous, how are you coping with these ninnies without Mione?" he had a dazzling smirk on his face, which you would've fallen for once upon a time, had a polar opposite, wicked smirk not taken up your entire mind.
"Barely, as usual. How've you been, Freddie?" you smile up at him as he sits on the edge of the table, leg brushing your's.
Ron dramatically gagged, interpreting this as a flirtatious interaction. This turned the twins' attention onto him once more.
"We've heard through the grape vine that you have a new beau, Won Won." George said with a smirk. Ron turned to glare at you and you held your hands up in surrender. If you could use your legillimens abilities on him, you'd be screaming "it wasn't me, I swear!", but Ron would surely have a heart attack if you so much as whispered into his mind.
"Lavender Brown, was it? That's what Ginny said in her letters. How'd you manage to bag a girl, Ronniekins?" Fred chimed and they snickered as Ron's face went bright red.
"Piss off, will you." Ron mumbled, you and Harry smirked at his discomfort. "She's sweet."
"And here I thought he and Mione would've overlooked their pride and gotten together by now." Fred murmured to you, his breathe hitting the shell of your ear. You turned to face him, finding his alluring blue eyes staring right into your own.
"I believe that means you owe me a galleon...or five. I recall a bet we made at the Yule Ball, Weasley. It's time to pay up." you say, your eyes glinting mischievously as you held out your palm expectantly.
"You and your memory will ruin me, woman." he mutters scornfully, but he gives you a stack of galleons, discreetly nonetheless. You smile victoriously.
"Good to know business is treating the two of you well, Freddie." he smiles and shares a look with George.
"When are you coming to visit the shop, Meadow?" George asks as he uses his wand to slow Ron's polishing down.
"Is that an official invitation, Weasley?" you ask, satisfied with the peace you feel by being in the Burrow again, despite Hermione not being there.
~∞~
Mattheo hates his father with a burning passion. Tom Riddle was a cold, manipulative and tyrannical man who was absolutely not fit for the role of 'dad'. It's ironic, he thinks, that he should have a father who was incapable of feeling love, in all senses of the word. But Tom had loved Mattheo's mother once, in some sick and twisted way. Maybe it wasn't love, but he had a sick devotion for the woman that Mattheo never got to meet. She died after giving birth to the Riddle heir.
When his father was defeated all those years ago, Mattheo was handed off to the first family that bothered to know of his existence. Theodore Nott Senior was even less of a good father, to both him and Theo. But Teddy's mother took on the responsibility of showing them what it is to be kind, loving and compassionate.
That all withered away upon her death when he was only eight years old. It broke him, but it broke little Theo even more to lose the only parent who ever cared for him. Over the years, the well-mannered, inquisitive little boy transitioned into a coldhearted, unfeeling person, but sometimes Mattheo wished that people saw him for who he truely was, instead of the person they painted because of who his father was.
It's the reason he feels so drawn to you, he summises.
Someone who should hate him, someone who should despise him for all that he is, looked past his carefully constructed armour and saw that broken boy within. He wondered how long that would last, when you found out how much of his facade was his true identity. In his eyes, Mattheo was a monster. A carbon copy of his father.
The vast dining room that he found himself seated in felt entirely too small. The atmosphere was ripe with anticipation as the Dark Lord himself stared down at them from his erected throne at the head of the table. Mattheo sat in the seat adjacent to him, as his 'right hand man'. Showing that he would never be anything more than a soldier to his father. Lucius Malfoy sat opposite him, Bellatrix Lestrange in the next seat as she nodded in rapt attention to whatever Voldemort was saying.
The doors to the entrance hall of Malfoy Manor swung open with a slow and menacing creak, inviting Draco to walk in, followed closely by Theo and Enzo.
This is the part of the holidays that Mattheo had been dreading the most.
"Thank you kindly for fetching me our guests, Draco. Please be seated boys, and let dinner be served." Voldemort's hand sweeped through the air and the three chairs beside Mattheo pushed out at their own accord; his friends took the seats wordlessly, Theo seating in the one opposite Bellatrix.
Shortly after, the family's house elves wordlessly clicked their fingers and a feast appeared before them all. Mattheo didn't touch a single piece of food on his plate. Neither did his three friends, his brothers. He was infinitely grateful that Blaise and Pansy were not here. He planned on maintaining that for as long as he possibly could.
After the food, some of which had barely been touched by the hoard of Death Eaters in attendance, had disappeared, Voldemort stood up, towering above them all like an angel of death.
"Now we indulge in my favourite part of the evening." he says, clapping his thin, boney hands together delicately. "Theodore, Lorenzo...please, join me."
He held out his hands, offering the 'stage' to his son's friends. Mattheo had to physically claw at the seat beneath him to refrain from stopping them as they obeyed. Theo's chest shook with uneven breathes and Enzo didn't dare look anyone in the eye. Draco shifted uncomfortably in his seat, unprepared to watch his friends submit to the same fate.
"Who wants to go first?" Voldemort asked the two boys, his snake-like voice coated in something akin to excitement and glee. When neither boy spoke up, he slammed a hand to the table, causing everyone in near viscinity to flinch. A vision of pure psychotic rage paints the monster's face.
"Fine." he snapped. "Mattheo, my son, come up here please."
Mattheo schooled his features and locked any thoughts of his friends, of you, up tight. When he was within reach of his father, Voldemort caressed his shoulders, strong from years of relentless Quidditch training, and whispered, his voice a mere hiss as he spoke in the tongue that only the two of them, and Harry Potter could understand.
Choose. He whispered. Who will go first? Choose and I'll spare you my wrath later.
Mattheo didn't know what to do, he was crumbling in front of his father's loyalist of followers, who were snickering and whispering amongst themselves. The insurmountable feeling of guilt festered in his stomach, a sick feeling persisting in his gut. How could he subject any of his friends to this?
CHOOSE! Or I will hunt down anything you hold dear. That is a promise, boy.
He couldn't let his father know about you. He knew the moment he discovered your abilities, Voldemort would seek you out and trap you with no hope of escape and use you for his own power hungry means. He couldn't let that happen.
"I'll go first." Theo's voice broke through his inner turmoil and Voldemort's sinister smirk travelled to his best friend's face. Theo was masking his terror well, but Mattheo saw right through him. Enzo visibly sagged in relief, no matter how short lived it was. He straightened when Mattheo entered his mind.
Don't show weakness. It'll be over soon, I promise brother. I'm sorry.
He gave an almost imperceptible nod. His features schooled into masked indifference.
"Theodore, my boy." Voldemort crooned. "What a good example you set for our young recruits. So...eager." a dig at Draco, who was yet to make headway in his task. "Come."
He beckoned Theo with a single come-hither motion. Theo moved with poised grace and knelt before the Dark Lord, staring up at the creature with stoney eyes. "Just like your mother." he tutted, and Mattheo clenched his fists tightly, fury painting his veins in vibrant fire. "It's a shame, truely."
Voldemort took hold of Theodore's left arm with bruising force but did the opposite of what Mattheo expected. "Mattheo, come. Since you failed to choose, you will do the honours for me. Mark him."
He began to protest, but Fenrir Greyback was behind him in seconds, pushing him to the ground with brute force. He struggled and fought until his father held a hand that physically stopped the fight with his magic.
"I won't do it." Mattheo spat. "No."
Voldemort's head contorted the way a snake's would when agitated and he shot a singular curse at his son with no hesitation.
Mattheo writhed as the effects of the Cruciatus curse overtook all his senses. Consumed in his agony he failed to acknowledge the sound of his best friends' grunts and screams as their skin was branded with the skull and snake of the Dark Mark, identical to the one festering on his scarred left arm.
There was no saving them now.
But at least Blaise and Pansy were safe in their own manors, not privvy to the price he would eventually pay in exchange for their own freedom and safety.
~∞~
hope everyone had a lovely christmas and a happy nye🫶🏼 thought i'd give you a long chapter by delving into a mattheo pov ;)
i love my degree but sometimes psychology makes me want to rip out my hair🙃🙂
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#mattheo riddle x you#mattheo riddle x reader#mattheo riddle#mattheo x you#mattheo x y/n#theodore nott x reader#theodore nott#blaise zabini#harry potter#fred weasley x reader#hermione granger#ron weasley#pansy parkinson#enzo berkshire#serendipity series
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Find Me in Between the Lines
“Would you teach me?”
“What?”
“To read as you do.”
“There are not a lot of wizards that suffer blindness,” he replied with a chilling intonation. “I suspect you can learn of other things that may be more useful than this.”
“Is it so bad I’d want an excuse to spend more time with you?”
Word count: 3.9k
Pairing: Ominis Gaunt x F!Reader
A/n: I only posted this story on AO3 and Tumblr, if you find this anywhere else- it wasn't me!! Link *here* for the rest of the series this story is from!!!
Ominis Gaunt couldn’t remember a time in his life where he was fond of people. Not even his family made it into his good graces, no matter how much effort he attempted to include them in his personal affairs. The only person he could think of that showed him the true meaning of familial love was his own aunt: Noctua Gaunt. He was told she was a great beauty with wits to match. She shared the pale blond hair of their father’s side and dark eyes that witnessed many of the Gaunt’s dark secrets. In his loneliest moments, Ominis tried to picture what Aunt Noctua would look like. Whenever she spoke to him, he always heard the smile in her voice and the lightness within her heart- a trait that was regrettably limited to only one of the Gaunts.
The rest of his family had not been so kind.
Noctua would often send him letters laden with treats local from wherever it was she was visiting; she would ask how he was, what he was up to, what were his current favorite books.. The letters stopped years ago and Ominis was left with silence. It took him weeks to work up the courage to write to his father about her and to his surprise he received a letter back, albeit with a short and curt response.
‘I do not know.’
He was left to guess what really happened, until a few days ago where an unfortunate event transpired.
Noctua Gaunt’s remains were laid to rest in a part of the school that hadn’t seen life in thousands of years. In the pursuit of truth did she perish within the confines of Salazar Slytherin’s scriptorium. A fate that Ominis himself had resigned to until Sebastian and his new friend found a way out.
“Ready?”
“I’m ready.”
A pause, then- “Crucio!”
The details were secured within his mind and rose to perfect clarity whenever he required. He remembered covering his ears as she screamed. He wondered if that’s what his siblings heard? With a sound that horrible- why didn’t they stop on their own accord? It didn’t help that her body was cold when he caught her, breaking her fall. Her speech had been slurred so much that he had a difficult time translating what she was saying. His worst fears had come to surface that day. There were stories of the Cruciatus Curse that haunted him late into the night. Stories that involved people losing their minds had the curse been inflicted on them long enough; that was if they survived the initial bouts of pain. Some had their bodies simply give up due to the duress.
They were the lucky ones.
The ones who survive would have their minds reduced to nothing. Not even a single thought would light up their heads, nor inspiration nor recognition could be formed ever again.
The House of Gaunt was naught but a shadow in his memory with mere ghosts that haunted its walls and called him ‘brother’ or ‘son’. Family was a foreign and strange concept; though of course, that all changed when Sebastian Sallow, and his sister Anne, came into his life. The days he spent with the two of them brought the most warmth to his days and he loved them for it; and despite Sebastian’s callous claims that Ominis didn’t care enough about Anne, he did. Though no cure was worth delving into whatever hole Sebastian found himself in.
A hole I helped him find. The quill in his hand had nearly snapped at the thought that intruded. He hated himself for allowing the secret of the Scriptorium to be leaked, but Sebastian’s friend had spoken such sweet promises and reassurances that he didn’t mind at the time. He was partially grateful that he finally learned the truth about Aunt Noctua and was given a chance to perform a proper send off near the lake where he stacked stones smoothed by the waters atop each other. He left a bouquet of her favorite flowers by the makeshift cairn and inhaled the familiar scent of Narcissus lilies that once resided within his aunt’s perfume bottles. There wasn’t anyone that comforted him the day he held a small ceremony to say farewell to the only blood relative that saw him more than a burden. He told not a soul, not even his closest friend, when he remained in the Undercroft and cried.
He straightened his back against the wooden chair and forced himself to refocus on the task at hand. Turning the page seemed achingly loud and he took more care to flip them apart as he fingered through. There was nothing quite like a location that forced people to be quiet no matter the circumstance. He found solace within one of the tables towards the back. From the cooler ambient, he knew it was one that lay concealed in shadows. This was one of the best spots where few bothered him, that is, until he heard someone walking his way.
A subtle waft of something floral snuck into his nose. “What are you doing here?”
“How did you know it was me?” The voice of the new student whispered softly to him.
“I have to recognize people from something besides looks.” She was quiet and he hastily added: “Don’t look too far into it.”
“How can you recognize Sebastian?”
“His walk. No one else could convincingly brandish that amount of swagger without making a fool of themselves.”
She laughed. “You’re right on that.” Something shifted that sounded a lot like heavily bound books. “May I sit with you?”
“Why?” his question shot out like a spell, quick and with reflex.
“I, er, I was looking for a quiet place.”
“It’s a library,” he responded coolly. “You may find quiet places almost anywhere that aren't occupied.”
There was no response for a few seconds and he imagined she had already left, until she spoke softly again. “I understand. It was nice seeing you, Ominis.” Her footsteps had begun to recede until he spoke up.
“Wait.” The footsteps stopped. “I.. I’m sorry. Please, take a seat.” A chair next to him moved and groaned as weight was introduced upon the cushion. The first time he had met her, he was rather sweet and welcoming. But the instant he learned that Sebastian introduced her to the Undercroft without alerting him had left sour grapes on his tongue. He also heard rumors of Sebastian spending time with Hogwart’s latest mystery out of school grounds. It was enough to send an ugly tendril of insecurity with no small part of jealousy added into the mix. Has Sebastian tired of him already?
“..How are you? I didn’t think I’ve asked yet.”
Ominis scoffed. “I should be the one asking that. Not you.” Her screams surfaced into his mind from memory. “You were out cold. Sebastian and I were nearly hysterical.”
“Is that so?” she chuckled softly. “I don’t remember a thing beyond closing my eyes and drifting off into sleep.”
“Quite so. We haven’t argued like that in a long while.”
“Regardless. I’m grateful to both of you for not leaving me in the Scriptorium.” She paused. “Whose idea was it to sneak me into your dorm?”
“Mine.”
There was stunned silence. “That’s not who I expected,” she admitted shyly. “The Slytherin Common Room is gorgeous, makes me wish I’d been sorted in.. Imagine my surprise when I woke up in bed with Sebastian. We were so close I could count the freckles on his face with ease.”
“I bet he would have enjoyed that.”
“You think so?”
“He fancies you.”
“I believe it’s more because he needs me for something than that.”
“You’re far too gracious. He’s been beside himself with worry. All he could talk about was how you looked when you sat limp in my arms..” Ominis trailed off, realization striking him. “Is that why you’ve been avoiding him?”
“He’s noticed, has he?”
“Yes. And he won’t stop pestering me about it. I would consider it a personal favor if you talked to him and requested that he stop.”
“I will. I just need some time to think about things.”
“Very well. I’m sure you and Sebastian have your own secrets.” He knew full well that there was a hint of jealousy in his voice. A part of him hated how quickly Sebastian took to the new fifth-year, while another part of him was merely curious.
“You and I could have some as well. I’ll confess something..” He heard her clothes rustling and assumed she was making herself more comfortable. “Yes. I’ve been avoiding Sebastian. I’ve been cursed before- by people far worse. But none of them scared me like he did.” She swallowed and continued, breathless. “I know you have to mean it when you cast you-know-what. But it’s a different sort of pain when it comes from someone you care about. I hope that makes sense.”
Ominis knew exactly how that felt.
“Never mind all of that,” she urged. “I’m more curious about that magic you were using earlier on one of your books.”
He felt hot behind the ears. How long was she standing there to watch him transcribe the letters inside his book into Braille? It was not as if she was working up the courage, surely? “It’s a spell my aunt helped me develop,” he started tentatively. “It changes letters into Braille and vice versa. Since not all of wizard kind suffers from my ailment, it’s rare that I find any book that suits my particular needs.”
“Your aunt sounds like a spectacular person.”
For the first time in a while, a warm smile lit up his face. “Yes. She was.”
“Would you teach me?”
“What?”
“To read as you do.”
At that moment he didn’t know how to react. Maybe he should be angry? Suspicious, perhaps? He settled for a probing question. “Why?”
“Because, it seems handy.”
“There are not a lot of wizards that suffer blindness,” he replied with a chilling intonation. “I suspect you can learn of other things that may be more useful than this.”
“Is it so bad I’d want an excuse to spend more time with you?”
And just like that, the ice had drained from him. Clearing the fields as the sun did for the frost-bitten valleys come spring. It was replaced with embarrassment and the irresistible urge to make up for the way he’d been treating her. Hesitantly, he slid over a book and began pointing out the alphabet in order. “This single dot means A.. These mean B.. When you put them together..” He appreciated that she was silent as he taught her each letter one-by-one with only a short hum to let him know that she memorized the latest letter down the row.
“This may take some time to get used to,” she whispered.
“It’s not so difficult,” he murmured back. “Just like with any concept you must learn. The symbols come first, then understanding.” Sliding the book over, he felt her arm move up, brushing against his as she passed her fingers to the page. Her movements were quick, unsure, and Ominis sighed. “Start from the left towards the right.”
His patience rescinded and without thinking, he searched until he found her hand. Only then did he realize how cold his skin was compared to hers. Ominis refocused on his task. Taking her through the motions, he showed her how he would usually read. Starting from the top left, skimming all the way to the right before shifting to the beginning of the next sentence.
There was surprise in her voice. “I don’t believe I can learn that fast.”
“Sebastian tells me otherwise. Now try again.” She mimicked his movements, going down the list with his finger close to hers.
She spoke as she read along. “The… Go..Goblin R.. Rebellion of… 1612..”
“You’re doing well.”
“Only because I’ve read this passage before and memorized it.”
“Then let’s do something you haven’t memorized.” He took another book entirely and flipped to a random page. His wand tapped the page. “ Intra Intellegentium! Try this- no peeking.” Her fingers found the page and he listened as she struggled to sound out the words.
“‘H’..h, right? Let’s see. ‘H..o..” She paused, her finger rubbing over a specific set of bump again. “Ominis-”
“Horklumps,” he confirmed after running his hand over it. “‘Horklumps can be found in varying numbers depending on humidity, light, and if someone had perished on the spot they sprouted on.’”
She laughed to herself. “I may need some practice.”
“Indeed you do.” He let her memorize the alphabet on her own just as curiosity burned through him. “In the Scriptorium, Sebastian mentioned that ‘between the two of us, he was starting to feel left out’. What did he mean?”
She was quiet for a bit, then- “I won’t lie to you again, Ominis. But that is something I must tell you about another day. I’m sorry. I can’t risk having you involved, too.”
'Too'? Is it another one of Sebastian’s games? “What are you talking about?”
“Ominis,” she insisted. “It isn’t wise that I involve more of my friends than I need to. Trust me. When it’s all over, I’ll tell you. I promise.” He heard her begin to pack up her things. “It was nice spending time with you.”
There was no time to respond as her hurried footsteps told him she was in a rush to head to whatever grand adventure she had waiting. He sat for a moment before packing up his things and departing himself until he stopped and blinked. Ominis felt as if he was hovering in a dream as his thoughts came as fast as someone who tried to run through muck. Did she just call him her ‘friend’?
***
“What does she look like?”
“Sorry?”
“Your friend. Describe her to me.”
He heard Sebastian shift his weight as he sat up in bed. “Why do you want to know?” Suspicion had made his voice lower in tone. “You never seemed to care much before.”
“I’m curious.”
“She looks like a girl.”
“Come off it, Sebastian.”
“She has a face.”
“Very well. If you insist on continuing this charade then I’ll ask her myself.”
Ominis pulled the sheets over him and turned his back to Sebastian’s voice.
“Wait-” he heard him sit up more. “Is she talking to you?” Ominis didn’t say anything. “Ominis. Has she said anything to you recently? Why isn’t she talking to me?” When he didn’t reply, he heard Sebastian let out a disgruntled sigh before he too pulled his cover over him.
The next day, she found him in the library once more. He memorized her hurried footsteps and found it amusing how they never seemed to slow down no matter where she was headed. Their spot was almost exclusive again as they both made themselves comfortable. Only the sounds of light tapping on an ink pot and quills scratching against paper accompanied the peace. Ominis reached forward to where his ink pot was and felt his fingers brush against something warm.
“Sorry,” came a low murmur.
“It’s alright.” Ominis set his quill down. “I must ask: why do you insist on spending time with me?”
“You’re the only one who doesn’t think to ask me anything besides peace,” she answered and sounded so earnest that he felt as if she was telling the honest truth.
“Are you leading me to believe that everyone you’ve met has thus asked you for a favor?”
“Yes. I don’t mind lending a helping hand, but it gets exhausting. Sometimes I would like to simply sit down and read and not be bothered-" her voice sounded muffled and he assumed she covered her face with her hands as he only caught tidbits that sounded like 'goblins', 'poachers', 'magic', and 'keepers'.
“You and I are alike in that regard then. I enjoy my silence.” Ominis thumbed through the pages of his copy of the ‘History of Magic: An Unabridged Guide’. “Actually, I may have to break that accord.”
“What is it?” There was a cautious edge to her voice.
This made him chuckle. “Don’t worry. I won’t ask you to delve into old ruins in search of a family heirloom or fight another troll. I simply wish to know what you look like.”
“I- hm.” She hummed. “I don’t know where to start. Shall I start describing the color of my hair?”
“Here-” he motioned for her to come closer. “This is much more simple and straightforward.” At first he hesitated, but when he felt her warmth come closer, he had a blossoming sense of bravery.
“What am I supposed to do?”
“Hold your face out,” he said with such simplicity and calmness that even the tone of his voice surprised him. Reaching forward, he felt around the air until he came into contact with skin. The flesh under his fingers went rigid under his touch and he quickly urged her. “Calm yourself. I simply wish to learn what you look like. I can’t say I fancy picturing myself talking to a mannequin for the entirety of our relationship.”
At his words, she relaxed and let his hands see her face.
His index trailed upwards to follow the hairline and felt her hair and how soft it felt, next, he accidentally brushed against her ears and didn’t reprimand her when she told him that it tickled. Her eyelashes tickled him back in revenge when he passed over her eye to the bridge of her nose to her other eye. His palm lay flat on her cheek with the rest of his fingers stopping there to let the thumb go on without them. Next came the tip of her nose before going down to press against her lips. His heart seemed to catch in his throat when his thumb grazed her bottom lip. For a second he believed that she pushed her lips against his finger and left a kiss there, but both of them said nothing to each other in that moment nor the one after. Ominis pulled back, a silent ‘thank you’ was uttered under his breath.
“Do you know what you look like?”
“I haven’t had the pleasure,” he stated curtly.
“May I do you the honor of describing you, then?”
“You may try.”
The sound of scraping wood grated his ears as her chair was being pushed closer to his. A presence was more noticeable at his side where she leaned in to get a better look. She hummed, tapping her fingers against the wood and seemed to take what felt like ages to decide where to attack first.
“You are very handsome,” she concluded.
Ominis felt he would sputter his words and kept his mouth clamped shut instead. “Your skin is pale. There are moles here-” her finger traced over his face and tapped where the marks were, “-here and here.” She traced down the bridge of his nose. “A pointed tip, and sharp lips that seem to always be fixed into a frown. You truly do have an air of austerity about you.”
“I do not-”
“Shh.”
The finger was placed against his lips and remained there until she was sure he wouldn’t open them again. She traced along his jaw now and in that moment he felt what she must have when he was examining her face. For lack of better description, he felt naked beneath her scrutinizing gaze.
“Rather sharp jaw,” he heard the frown in her voice. “It seems you were blessed with looks at birth. Are you aware of what the other Gaunts look like?”
“I’m told my family possesses some sort of allure. Mother always praised my older siblings on how handsome they were.”
“It’s an apt description. You are.” The bell tower announced the time somewhere in the far distance, a sound that was followed by a chair scraping against wood. Warmth left his face like the sun retreating behind a large mountainside. “I’ve got to go. I’ve an engagement I must hurry to.”
“I wasn’t aware you and Sebastian had something planned today.”
“Because we don’t. It’s.." she hesitated. "Complicated.” Her finger seemed to tap along the wood of the desk in a nervously paced rhythm.
“Will you keep another secret for me?”
“I suppose I can. What is it?”
“I’m meeting a goblin. He has information I need and working with him might prove beneficial. Just don’t tell Sebastian this yet.”
“I shan’t, but-” He raised his brows. “You’re aware he’s not overly fond of goblins after what happened to Anne, correct?”
“Yes, I know. I will tell him in time, just not now. I fear his reaction may be a bit too much to handle at the moment.” She sighed heavily. “Still, it feels good to get that off my chest. Thank you for listening. You’re a good friend, Ominis. We should spend more time together.” With that, he heard her take off towards the front of the library.
***
I hope my owl finds you well. I’ve transformed the letters into Braille and hope with sincerity that you cannot make sense of it. Should you ever find yourself in dire need of a reading partner, find comfort with the knowledge that you may ask me.
It’s also my displeasure to report that the time I spent with you in the library was not as bad as I previously imagined and that I do not mind repeating the experience.
Sincerely,
Ominis Gaunt
#ominis gaunt#ominis gaunt x mc#ominis gaunt x reader#ominis gaunt fanfiction#ominis gaunt x you#ominis gaunt x y/n#Ominis gaunt fic#ominis gaunt angst#Hogwarts Legacy#hogwarts legacy fanfiction
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Am I (F18) the asshole after my brother (M25) asked me to please shave my facial hair for his wedding and I refuse?
Ok, I know this sounds bad. But see, I have something known as Polycystic Ovarian Syndrom, (PCOS), and I have what is considered by my doctor a very rare version of it, such that I have 7x more the amount of testosterone I am meant to, so much more androgens, and i have had morning sickness since I was a baby.
This meant that by the time I was 11 I was growing facial hair. I attempted to wax it, as the many other women in my family do- but as it turns out I have an allergy to the wax, and I get hives to it. I tried every single other brand I could and eventually just gave up on that. I tried shaving, but it hurt my eczema, and my entire face would puff up like I was the marshmallow mascot to some brand, and I would turn cherry red for a month or more each time. It would hurt and I would itch it to blood and scarring regularly.
Eventually, i just settles for cutting the hair off with scissors every other day to every day, as my hair grows back to noticeable by the third day. However, over Covid, I came to love the hair.
It squares out my jaw, it keeps my face warm, I like how it looks! I like how it feels! I can stroke my beard like a wizard! I love how I look now, and I fought through the rest of high school and being called slurs and I would get dragged around in the hallways and tripped, and once I got hit by a car well they called me slurs. The school tried to ban me from the womens bathroom and the mens bathroom.
But I still keep it, because I like how I look. Without it, I look bald now, I look sad. I hate it when it’s gone.
I feel like I deserve to be allowed to keep my facial hair.
Am I the asshole? If it’s declared I am, I’ll use the scissors, but I really don’t want to.
What are these acronyms?
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grove magic (rolan x reader) pt. 1/2
part 2
reader is gender neutral
If only you’d been more guarded, perhaps you would have anticipated the insistent shove Astarion gives you from behind.
The force of the push sends you stumbling forward, and you find yourself suddenly wishing you hadn’t taken such a massive swig from your chalice (after much goading from your sly elven companion). Tripping over yourself, you find that you’re quite lacking in control of your motor functions. Still reeling, you find your shoulders firmly gripped by two concerned hands as you crash into a very solid figure. Oh… fuck… off. You can feel Astarion’s coy smirk burning through the back of your skull, the smug bastard. Steeling yourself as best you can from the effects of the alcohol, you steady yourself against Rolan’s biceps.
“Looks like someone’s had a few too many already,” he chides. You hope it’s as playful of a comment as it sounds to your ears. “Do you always get yourself gone as a drunkard as soon as you’re done saving the day?”
“Rolan!” Snaps Lia, who you could not be more grateful for at this time. As she ushers you to the bench to sit beside her and Cal, she begins to scold Rolan. You sit and sway lightly, watching them argue and smiling at quips from Cal. Lia and Cal don’t seem to see it, but when he rolls his eyes Rolan looks at you as if to say ‘can you believe I’m being reprimanded like this’. His teasing smile makes you giggle, and you return his exchange by jokingly shaking your head.
From eve to dusk, and dusk to night, you merry-make with Rolan and his siblings. You drink, and you laugh, trying not to focus (but undeniably noticing) the stolen glances and private smiles. By the end of the party, Cal and Lia had passed out on cots: you and Rolan had just about enough self-preservation to throw warm furs over each of them.
“Come,” Rolan slurs, stumbling in a way that is typically unbecoming of his stature, “I want to show you our place.” You follow Rolan as he grumbles something nonsensical about how it isn’t ‘their place’, but it is as much as they could find in the safety of the grove. The two of you stumble away from camp, and not without you noticing how Astarion gives you a sly look before ducking into his tent for the night. Still with a half-full bottle of wine in your grip, you make it through the front door of the small place Rolan and his siblings had been residing in. From what your spinning gaze could tell, it seemed quaint and quiet. Books lined the shelves- no doubt belonging to the wizard. Speaking of, said wizard had sprawled out on the sofa against one wall of the room. Smiling at his uncharacteristic demeanor, you saunter as well as you can over and join him to sit by his legs. He slaps a hand over his face and waves in the general direction of you and the bottle. “I don’t think we should have any more of that,” he groans. You nod, placing the bottle on the low table in front of you. He suddenly sits up, clearly regretting the speed at which he does so, and clutches his head in one hand. You laugh softly, amused at how little drunk Rolan seems to think about his actions before executing them. To be entirely fair, you weren’t much better in that department. On cue, you reach out with both your hands and hold the sides of his face, bringing the tiefling’s gaze up towards yours. His own hand falls from his face to rest on your wrist, and a comfortable silence blankets the two of you. “M’stilling your head,” you mutter, not really believing the excuse you give. “To help with the spinning.” He slowly nods, eyes not leaving yours. He gazes at you with an innocence you rarely get to see from him- the stress and gravity of the tiefling’s situation seemed to always loom over him. Rolan doesn’t move, save for the light and languid swishing of his tail as it hangs off the side of the sofa.
“It’s you.”
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Falls On Me
Day 4- Goblin Camp: Early Evening Part 1
Rating: Teen (For this preview)
Previous Chapters: Chapter One , Chapter Two , Chapter Three , Chapter Four , Chapter Five , Chapter Six
Characters: Gale Dekarios, Karlach, F!Tav: Copper, Wyll Ravengard, Astarion, Lae'zel, and Shadowheart.
Warning: Gale POV, Canon Typical Description of Goblins
I am breaking this chapter into two parts. The second half is being very finicky so it's taking longer to write. Please enjoy almost 1000 words of Gale's reactions to walking through the Goblin Camp.
---
Gale could hear the goblins before he could see them since there was no mistaking the sounds of a celebration. Goblins, Bugbears, and even an Ogre were gathered out in the courtyard having a loud feast and drinking merrily.
Music accompanied the festivities but the lyrics were so slurred that Gale could only make out part of the goblin bard's ballad set to heavy drums and singing about digging through the ditches and burning some witches.
Wyll remarks to Gale that the music was an improvement over the verses that Volo, the human bard they saved earlier was performing. But Gale doubted anybody else could do better surrounded by such an unpleasant crowd.
The noise, smell, and even the sight of seeing so many monsters in one place were overwhelming to the senses. Gale Dekarios’ first instinct was to run the other way as fast as he could. But the wizard conjured thoughts of his old self, the indomitable Gale of Waterdeep, to keep moving forward even if the smell of the goblins was nauseating.
For the most part, the goblins were welcoming party hosts. Offering food of roasted dwarf and drink from a questionable booze trough, which Gale gracefully declined. It felt odd being treated so nicely by a creature well known for their self-serving nature but maybe the booze they were drinking by the barrelful was helping with their generosity.
On top of the merriment running wild, along with a harried chicken and a couple of naked goblins, the sight making Gale shudder. The goblins thought they were allies in the Absolute because of the tadpole lodged in their heads.
True Souls, they were being called.
Astarion even happily greeted some of the goblins, since he, Wyll, and Lae’zel visited the camp earlier as part of a scouting mission. Gale decided to mimic Astarion’s lead and started chatting with some (not naked) goblins in hopes he’d blend in and not draw attention to himself. He noticed everybody else but Lae’zel was pretending to be friendly as the group slowly moved inside the building leaving the noise behind.
Once inside the decimated temple, they were greeted by some guards and a horrendous stretch of burning flesh being masked by another large door. The guards recognizing Astarion, Wyll, and Lae'zel only slightly harassed the newcomers but quickly let everyone through since they were “True Souls”.
“I didn't think I would be grateful for the tadpoles in our brain,” Gale mutters under his breath, fighting the urge to breathe through his nose.
“I know,” Shadowheart whispers, wrinkling her nose at the stench. “It would be impossible to get in without an army otherwise.”
The room that greeted them next was large with a ramshackled altar in the middle. Gathered around it was a group of goblins getting burned by a large branding iron in the shape of a bloody hand sitting in an upturned triangle. Gale had a sneaky suspicion that he'd seen a mark like that before but couldn’t recall where. But he did recognize the goblin doing the branding was a priestess by her headdress and ceremonial clothes.
“That's one of the goblin leaders, Priestess Gut.” Astarion whispers in Gale's ear, causing the wizard to jump.
“Don't do that!” Gale hisses under his breath, clutching his orb and shooing the man away with his other hand.
“I thought you'd want to know.” Astarion smirks as he steps back. “You might want to talk to those three before they do anything stupid.”
Gale looks in the direction the elf was indicating and sees Karlach, Wyll, and Copper talking amongst themselves. The tiefling was even pointing up to the rafters which anybody with half a brain would find suspicious so Gale hurries over to them.
“What are you doing?” Gale gives the three a reprimanding stare like they were disobedient students.
“Admiring the architecture,” Wyll replies calmly with a shrug.
“It's not any of your business, wizard,” Karlach says as she sticks out her tongue like a bratty little kid.
“It is my business IF you guys decide to cause trouble that can affect ALL of us.” Indignation colors Gale’s voice as he gestures to the rest of the group before sighing in exasperation. “Remember the plan.”
“It's ok, Gale. We remember.” Copper reinsures, placing a firm hand on the wizard’s shoulder “We were just discussing the escape route for Halsin. Plus from our current position, the goblins don’t have a line of sight on us talking.”
The monk directs Gale to look around and sure enough, the goblins are blocked from view by the architecture around them. This knowledge helps ground Gale even further.
“Just be careful,” Gale whispers, his eyes darting around to make sure nothing wandered into view while they were talking. “We are in the belly of the beast while here.”
“Don’t worry.” Wyll smiles. “You are with the Blade of Frontiers, monster hunter extraordinaire and expert of staying out of trouble…unless I go looking for it.” Wyll chuckles at his own joke and Gale can’t help but smile at the lad.
“That’s good because I am sort of an expert at getting into trouble,” Gale confesses.
“G’lyck, get moving,” Lae’zel calls out, waving them over to join her, Shadowheart, and Astarion near the stairway on the right side of the altar. Once Gale and the others were within earshot, the Githyanki mutters. “You wanted to rescue the druid instead of going to the crèche, so stop dawdling around.”
“Sorry for the detour. We’ll be your little ducklings, lead the way,” Gale says with a smile which causes Lae’zel to pause in confusion before shaking her head, choosing not to follow up on the foreign turn of phrase. In another environment, Gale would have taken the time to explain what a duckling was to the young warrior. But it wasn’t the proper time for such a conversation and Lae’zel was already on the move towards the worg pens.
Author Note: To be continued. Hopefully sooner than later. I have around 2000 words already written for Part Two.
#bg3#bg3 fanfiction#gale dekarios#gale of waterdeep#shadowheart#wyll ravengard#astarion#lae'zel#karlach#oc: copper#gale x tav#bg3 tav
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★ Incorrect quotes (but by me and my friends)
— mentions of death, overbloting, therapy ((since some people like to avoid it as if it'd kill you)), sebek hate 😵💫, and male reader
[Name]: if you got killed by a flying banana how would you feel
Idia: A WHAT
[Name]: a flying banana
Idia: well do i know its going to kill me
[Name]: so true
Idia: YES OR N
[Name]: i read thay wro.
[Name]: umm
[Name]: ur choice
Idia: well
Idia: if i know its goung to kill me id cry
Idia: however if i was caught by surprise id peobably question everyrhing in that moment
Idia: why did i get killed by a flying banana? how did i get killed by a flying banana? why was the banana flying? how did it have enough strength to kill me? was it destined for me to be killed by a flying banana??? who threw the banana????
Jade: Azul said he'd feel betrayed
Azul: Well.. I mean I got killed by a banana
Azul: Was it because I ate your family
Azul: My fault.
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[Name]: LILLA HOW TF U SURVVING ALL THESE HURRICANES AND RAINPOURS
[Name]: LAWD
lilla: lol
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Sliver: im sos eleph
[Name]: sleep
Sliver 5 hours later: are u a wizard.
Sliver: i fell asleep :(
[Name], not looking up from his paper: idk probably
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[Name]: im doing therapeutic exercises 😠
Riddle: thera what
[Name]: therapeutic
[Name]: therapy exercises
[Name] who's slowly being covered in blot: (i dont have a therapist)
Overblot [Name]: ((i just remember this))
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Azul: sounds like me tbh
[Name] grabbing a gun: we are too alike, one of us gotta die.
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[Name]: wishing i was drowninf in a lake rn.
Ruggie: emo ahh
[Name]: YOU.
[Name]: this is my 19th reason
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Cater to [Name]: My favorite pookie wookie pie with whipped cream and sprinkles and those wafer things i forgot what they were called but they're like sticks filled with chocolate idk <3
Yuu looking horrified: Are you tired
Yuu: Is this why you're saying this stuff
Cater: no
Cater: I am tired but this is just me being me!
Yuu: I should've known....
[Name]: My eyes are teary up.
[Name] with tears running down his face: I feel like I've been violated in the worst way possible.
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Floyd: Bro said "its fine i can do it" and his jose grew
[Name]: I was about to say "bro lied too much"...
[Name]: bird beak.
Floyd: BHWJAHAH
Floyd: bro got that crane beak 💔
[Name]: traffic cone!
Floyd: ong!
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Idia: fi udbprays tofay 🗣🔥⁉️
[Name]: did u pray today?!
Lilla: fi i ibuprofen fowhsay
Idia: IBUPROFEN????
[Name]: so true honestly
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[Name] reading a sign saying "marry me": .
Austin: If you say yes I'll feel happy
Belphie: I can't say die to a child....
Neige: You say die to me
Belphie: Die.
Neige: See what I mean.
Neige: This is why I put a bomb in one of your drawers and hadn't set it off yet.
Belphie: U PUT A BOMB IN ONE OF MY DR.
* Belphie and Austin are my rsa ocs ! Beauty and the beast & Sleeping Beauty :3
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Ortho holding a sign to [Name]: I think your pretty
Ace: u used the wrong your
Ortho: YOU KNOW WHAT YOUR DAD SHOULD'VE USED? A CONDOM.
Ace: WHAT.
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Idia: is this justin bebiber???
Idia: beiber
Idia: beiber
Idia: be]
Idia: yeah
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[Name] talking about Sebek: Hope he trips and cracks open like an egg.
Ace: HELP ME.
Yuu: same ong
[Name]: sunnyside up for breakfast guys!
Deuce trying not to laugh: SUNNYSIDE UP US CRAZY.
[Name]: I'M RE-PURPOSING HIM.
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some screenshots for context 😵💫.... n word slur usage btw
#twisted wonderland x reader#twisted wonderland#twst x reader#twst#twst incorrect quotes#incorrect quotes#cw death mention#twst x male reader#twisted wonderland x male reader#x male reader#x reader#🪐:MaxWrites.exe#🪐: MaxTalks.exe
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Make Me (NaLu One Shot)
Summary: Fed up with his antics, Lucy plans to get Natsu to apologize. One way or another.
Rating: T
Word Count: 1057
A/N: This was originally meant to be posted on NaLu day but then my power with out. :) yay for me!
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Lucy took a deep breath as she closed her apartment door behind her. As much as she loved being a guild wizard, sometimes the work could get exhausting. She could really go for a warm, soothing bath and a day off.
As she made a beeline for her dresser so she could get her coziest pajamas ready, the sound of her bedside window opening almost went unnoticed.
Almost, had it not been for the noise of surprise she heard from the pink-haired intruder sliding in.
Lucy's eyes locked with Natsu's, and the blonde knew that scolding him would be futile at this point.
"Sure, Natsu, come on in. Thanks for asking politely and using the front door," She chirped sarcastically as she continued searching through her dresser, "You always impress me with your manners."
Natsu stretched nonchalantly as he settled on her bed, "Didn't know you were here already."
"What, so you planned to just break in while I was away?"
"Yeah, pretty much."
Lucy puffed out her cheeks and glared at him, to which a grin spread its way across his face. He couldn't help but to mess with her when she gave him cute reactions like that.
"You should really start locking your window," Kicking off his sandals, Natsu reclined on the bed and folded his arms behind his head, "'Might help."
"If I did that, you'd probably just end up breaking it open anyways," Lucy smiled to herself when she finally found the silk pajama set she'd been looking for, and turned to give him a pointed look, "Where's Happy? You normally commit your crimes with him with you."
"I think the job really wore him out. I didn't wanna wake him, but I'll be back at my place before he's up."
With an understanding hum, Lucy sat on the side of the bed and nodded, "Yeah, I'm tired too. I could imagine the toll it took on the little guy," She started to yawn, but choked halfway through when a thought struck her, "Wait, so you came to be alone with me..?"
Natsu's eyes widened, and he looked away. The color in his cheeks was a good indication of whatever was on his mind.
"You wanted to be alone? Together?" Lucy reiterated, shifting to face him and feigning innocence in the way her fingers grazed the side of his hip.
It looked like he had no intention of saying anything, but when Natsu's eyes flitted back to hers for a split second, he caved, "Obviously…"
Lucy could help the small laugh that escaped her. It was always so fascinating when he got like this, suddenly so coy. She never would have thought he could be so cute, and she definitely planned to milk this.
"Maybe I can forgive you for climbing through my window, then," Her hand came up to rest on his cheek, rendering him unable to look away. She glided her thumb along his lower lip, causing him to lean closer, his tongue poking out to swipe along where their skin met. The way her hand moved to grasp his jaw had him letting out a surprised whine. "Maybe. If you say you're sorry."
It took a second for Natsu to remember what she'd been talking about, and he glared at her, "What?"
"Apologize for breaking in unannounced! Then I will forgive you," Lucy smiled triumphantly as his frown depended, slowly caressing his jaw until he grabbed her by the wrist.
"No."
"No? Are you sure?" Ignoring his grip on her, Lucy squeezed his cheeks in her hand, giving him the cutest looking pout, "You're not gonna like it when I don't forgive you."
"Lushi," With his face smushed, Natsu's words came out slurred, "Lemme go."
"Apologize."
Her grasp tightened, but Natsu held his ground, "Make me."
Admittedly, Lucy was impressed by his ability to remain competitive in a position like this. It was to be expected, though.
She shifted so that she hovered over him, using her hold on his face to shove him down against her pillow. He had that surprised look on his face again, yet he made no move to overpower her. Perhaps this was what he wanted.
Planting her knee between his thighs and ducking her head so their noses were only centimeters apart, Lucy tried not to let the blush on her own face lower her resolve. "Last chance. Apologize."
Natsu's eyes flashed with something serious, like he wanted to challenge her. But with one look down at her lips, his eyebrows furrowed and he tried to turn his head away. "Okay, okay. Sorry."
Surprised that she actually got him to do as she said, Lucy slackened immediately and abruptly sat back in his lap, earning a strained hiss as she realized what she sat on a bit too late.
He looked positively annoyed, but was blushing brilliantly, and Lucy couldn't stop herself from leaning down and giving him a peck on his nose. "See? That wasn't so hard. I forgive you. This time," She winked, and squeaked in surprise when he grabbed her by the hips to lift her slightly off of him.
She bit her lip at the way his forehead creased as he slowly exhaled, and now it was her turn to avoid eye contact.
"I, um, was planning to take a bath…" She glanced at him for a second before turning to look at the wall, "Do you wanna… join me?"
"Yes," Suddenly, Natsu sat up, almost making her fall had it not been for his hold on her hips. He let go of her for long enough to slip his scarf off and hastily undo the first few buttons of his coat, earning a breathless laugh from the woman on top of him.
Lucy helped him with his buttons, and as she reached the last few, he grabbed onto one of her hands to get her to look at him.
Their eyes met in a silent stare-off, Natsu's eyes softening as they filled with desire. He raised an eyebrow, being clear enough about what he wanted for Lucy to be able to catch on.
With a humored roll of her eyes, she closed the distance between them to plant a kiss on his lips, his other hand at the base of her neck stopping her from pulling away too soon.
#fairy tail#lucy heartifilla#nalu#nalu fairytail#nalu fanfic#fanfic#oneshot#natsu x lucy#natsu dragneel#my wriring#nalu day#nalu fluff#fluff#kisses#banter#teasing#nalu fanfiction#fanfiction
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I was a Percy Jackson kid not only in the sense of being a fan of the book series but also in the sense that i was exactly like Percy and this is why i have zero sympathy for Harry Potter kids who still like the series or 'Marauder's Era' or whatever they're calling it now to excuse not growing up to care about other people
I'm autistic.I showed blatant symptoms my whole life but everyone around me denied them to reduce me down to a 'gifted kid' or 'an idiot' depending on the situation and my relathionships with other kids were always either complex at best or nonstop bullying on their side at worst.I'm black and queer in every direction too(in the sense that i am both a man and a woman both in a non-cis way,into all genders and aroacespec).All this lead to a lot of feelings of otherness and anger but i never let that stop me from still being nice to almost everyone and getting into fights at school from standing up to bullies that a lot the time weren't even targeting me but other kids i didn't even really know.This is why Percy is my all time favorite character,because he was the first time i saw someone like me be the protagonist and i still see myself in him as much as i did back then
Harry Potter is none of that and i mean the whole franchise.SO MANY of the people in the series are perpetrators of toxicity and even corruption and there was a whole sorted house at Hogwarts set out to opress the minority metaphors that nobody ever bothered to try to disband,not even the oh so precious 'Chosen One',and that includes the fandom.'Slytherins are discrimated for being ambitious' genuinely felt like microaggression to me back when i was in the fandom because 'discrimation'?Really? They called people slurs,they assaulted them too,they were a literal wizard fascist breeding machine that SPECIFICALLY AIMED TO DO THAT and their founder was a believer in eugenics who tried to kill kids via giant snake plus extra effects over it.I actually felt in danger of my mental health whenever my poor trans and mentally disabled black kid ass had to read that decades running baloney on how white kids are victims of child abuse too because their parents taught them to not think of me and my people as,well,people instead of inherently so below them that i'm obliged to forgive them dehumaizing me because they 'actually more alike than either us think'
And the scariest part was the people of all ages across the fandom were talking how much they relate to them and wanna be like them and got super upset and cruel in actions when irl minorities were mean to them over it as if they weren't drooling over bigotry motivated abusers and taking it like a personal attack every time.At the risk of sounding corny:You weren't a 'troubled kid',you were just an asshole and now you're a grown up asshole who thinks hating Taylor Swift is misogyny and has 'obsessed with dead gay wizards from the 70s' in their bio and call yourself punk because you dress edgy and have attitude problems you call being fluent in sarcasm
#gonna make a meme of this rq too hang on#anti harry potter#percy jackson#perseo jackson#persephone jackson#black percy#latino percy#punk!percy#trans(fem)percy jackson#bigender percy jackson#autistic percy jackson#team parent percy jackson#pjo#hoo#tods#the anomalies#anti taylor swift#pastel punk tag#actuallyautistic#summerposting#bi percy jackson#aroace percy jackson#racism cw#ableism#queerphobia
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UDLTTOM Worldbuilding rambles: UNFORGIVABLE CURSES—Why are the so unforgivable?
This is a thought that’s been bouncing around in my head for awhile. (It’s going to be a little rambling.) You know that saying that a person dies twice, first when they die, and second when the last time someone says their name. Well, this thought is sort of a mix of that and some sort of personal philosophical views on death that I have. I’ve reasoned to myself that there are 3 different sides to death, not just two. Essentially, when I think of death, I separate it into the following 3 parts:
Death of the Body: The most visceral and visible of the three, it’s the physical process of the body wearing out and shutting down. It’s a disconnecting from one’s own flesh, an inability to do what you once could, aches and pains, paralysis, etc.
Death of the Mind: Not as noticeable as the body shutting down, but the mind also shuts downs during death slurred speech, loss of awareness/memories, in ability to distinguish reality from disillusions, etc.
Death of the Soul/Spirit/Will-to-Live: Most common example of this I can think of is chronic depression or someone suffering through extreme, physical, emotional, or psychological trauma. Essentially it’s someone who’s given up on life spiritually, but might still mentally and physically still be able to function.
Over the last year, I’ve been thinking a lot about these 3 facets of death. I’ve watched my mother go through them as she battles terminal cancer. And I guess maybe I had a sort of epiphany when I started thinking about this in relation to the Unforgivables in HP.
Why are they so unforgivable?
At the surface level they seem like kind of basic spells, right? The killing curse kills, the torture curse causes pain, the mind control curse controls peoples’ minds, yada… And I think most people agree that killing, torturing, and controlling people is morally reprehensible and just on that context alone we as the reader can understand why they are illegal. But then you see other spells or potions that kill, and torture, and control people and you wonder why these sort of spells aren’t treated with the same severity as the Unforgivables.
So why? I asked myself: What makes the Unforgivables so Unforgivable? And then I thought about Neville’s parents and the after effects of the Cruciatus and how they had to be held in St. Mungos for the rest of their lives. On the surface my first assumption was that they were obviously driven to madness from the hours of torture, and suffering from severe PTSD, paranoia, etc. But what if the cruciatus has physical symptoms? What if the reason Neville’s parents had to be kept in a wizard equivalent to a psychiatric ward was not only because the trauma but because the spell altered something fundamentally about their bodies in relation to pain?
Which brings me to my first theory. That the cruciatus curse’s intention is not to cause pain. I propose that, in fact, it does the exact opposite under long durations. Cause think about it, the body can only handle so much pain before a person goes into shock or passes out, right? And a person’s tolerance to pain can also increase with repeated exposure to it. So following that logic, I think the cruciatus curse would only hurt for like a few minutes at most before the body would go into shock. And once the body is in shock I think something funny would happen with the pain and pleasure centers in the brain (I’m no neurologist btw, but what little I know of this sounds plausible to me) that the wires could get crossed and the body would start associating pain for pleasure. And afterwards I feel like when your nerves get fried in a fire and it creates a numbness in the body, a detachment from one’s own flesh that can only be relieved by experiencing intense pain. Except the person doesn’t actually associate the pain as being painful, but with pleasure and so they develop a compulsion for self-harm and self-mutilation. Which adds such a horrific context on to this curse. Because this compulsion is incurable. The brain has been irreversible rewired to associate pain in this way, so either you go through life being physically numb unable to feel your own body or chasing some kind of feeling through torturing yourself.
And jumping off of this thought, I then considered if the cruciatus disconnects you from your body, the Imperius curse has to disconnect you from your mind, right? I think you have some sort of awareness when you’re under the imperius to be able to resist it. But again maybe that’s only for the particularly resilient wizards? It makes sense to me that for most it would be like a total blackout, dissociative state. So prolonged exposure I think would not only effect short and long term memory, but also a persons ability to be fully present in their day to day life. I think of the after effects being similar to a dissociative disorder where the person is constantly being disconnected from their own conscious reality.
And finally there’s the Killing curse, which rips the soul from the body causing the person to just drop dead. And obviously because the person dies there’s no real after effect, right? But then I remember that scene with Slughorn and TMR discussing horcruxes:
TMR: And how does one split his soul, sir?
Slughorn: I think you already know the answer to that, Tom.
TMR: Murder.
Slughorn: Yes. Killing rips the soul apart. It’s a violation against nature.
Which my first thought seeing this scene is that if Slughorn thinks killing is a violation against nature, he’s clearly never watched a nature documentary. I mean if Casual Geographic has taught me anything is that the animal kingdom is naturally violent and the kind of shit animals get up to in their spare time is what would put any human in prison on a life sentence, but I digress. So I had to think about this from a different perspective. So then I think about what the purpose of Horcruxes is, to split the soul and place it into object and tether yourself to the physical world. And what curse do we know that severs the soul?
The killing curse. Slughorn says killing rips the soul. But I think Tom misinterprets this to mean murder, when the professors is in fact talking about the killing curse itself. And what we know from the Unforgivables is that you have to mean them to successfully cast them. So following that line of thought, in relation to LV’s horcruxes, Tom would’ve had to cast the killing curse on himself repeatedly. Which means that Tom Riddle had to have an incredible sense of self-loathing, and there had to be something—a personality trait or the like—that he despised so much that he wanted to kill it and cleave it from himself forever. Which in that context, suddenly Slughorn’s words make a bit more sense because suicide is going against that inate survival instinct that all animals have. And for Tom in particular, it squaring up and facing the one thing he is most afraid of (which might explain why it took him so long to make the first horcrux to begin with.)
And the degradation of Tom Riddle into Lord Voldemort as he makes more and more horcruxes is the effect of the killing curse & why it is so unforgivable.
I have so many thoughts on this topic of horcruxes & Tom’s deeply ingrained feelings of self-loathing, but I’ll probably save those for another post.
#udlttom#udlttom worldbuilding rambles#tom riddle#lord voldemort#unforgivable curses#horcrux#tomarry#harry potter#tomarrymort#hp fandom#harry potter meta#headcanon
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Day 8: Truth
Tickletober 2023 - Critical Role - C2 Mighty Nein - lee!Caleb
[see my other tickletober 2023 fics]
A/N: (based on the idea from this post that I'm going to find and link at some point) The Nein are drinking late one night at a tavern when Caleb drunkenly admits to Yasha that he doesn’t mind when the others tickle him and that it’s kind of fun and nice to laugh and smile openly and be close to people. Yasha isn't the only one who hears.
[read on AO3]
Words: 1.2k
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“Ah, ich weiß nicht, it’s-” Caleb slurs a bit between languages. “You all- there’s, you have a way about you all, or- or we, maybe, have it- and it.. It always pushes, challenges… subverts what I am expecting.”
Yasha watches him, listening intently and nodding along. “I get that..”
“Sometimes it’s- frightening or, not comfortable right away but-” Caleb’s mouth twists at the corner, his brow furrowing. “But- but good, too.”
“Yeah? Like what?” Yasha tilts her head curiously, smiling gently in a tipsy haze. (She is much bigger than Caleb, and she was already starting to feel something. So. She tries to do the math. Caleb’s probably pretty drunk.)
“Like, how um.. I guess..” Caleb trails off, a blush coming to his cheeks as he reminisces. “I’m not used to this much…” He pauses, eyes and mind searching for the right word. “Kindness, lightness. It’s, it’s nice being around people who go out of their way to make you happier.” His smile quirks up to one side, and he glances over at the tieflings. “Sometimes literally.. by force.”
Yasha chuckles at that. She understands exactly what he means having spent as much time as she has around Mollymauk, and now Jester too.
“They’re quite persistent, aren’t they.” Yasha acknowledges, talking in her hushed tone to the wizard. He nods, and she laughs, bumping shoulders with him and clinking her drink to his. She’s smiling when she reaches out and tweaks gently once or twice at his side. Caleb’s resulting laugh blends in harmoniously with the happy, amused noise coming from every seat at the table. His elbow twitches downward on instinct, a little delayed by the alcohol.
When she pulls her arm back, she runs her fingers over his neck. He lets out a sweet little giggle, scrunching up a bit. Unbeknownst to Caleb, this picks up the admiration and attention of more than just Yasha.
“Aww, that’s pretty cute.” She grins. “I can see how Jester and Molly get carried away. But, it’s kind of fun, huh?”
“Oh, ja it’s- ha, it’s- it’s really not that bad, but- it also kind of makes me want to teleport away sometimes.” Caleb sits back in his chair a moment, laughing. He takes another swig of his drink. “It’s not so bad - well, it was the first couple of times,” he laughs again, “but I think I’ve started to grow… more tolerant.” He shakes his head. “It’s- it’s kind of nice… Light, you know? It’s also terrible. But it is- it’s fun.” Caleb smiles sheepishly, ducking his head as he takes another drink.
“You don’t mind it?”
“Ah, no, like I said, it’s not so bad.” He pauses for a second to think, hiccups, and laughs a little. “It’s kind of fun to put up a bit of a fight though, a ruse. Heh, regardless, it’s- it’s new and.. nice to feel so light afterwards.”
Caleb startles at the feeling of warm breath near his ear opposite Yasha. “Is that so?”
Caleb turns, and in a drunken daze makes as though he’s going to just answer honestly. He starts to reply. “Ja, heh- there’s a lot I- um.” He stops. Molly is grinning at him. “Uh..” A shiver runs up his spine as his heart works double time to pump blood to his flushed cheeks. His eyes flicker between other members of the group, and he spots Jester and Beau looking his way with silly grins as well. “Um. I’m-” Caleb nearly leaps out of his seat, knees hitting the table as he bolts to a stand. “I’m- uh, I have to- I’m going to bed.” He spins on his heels as the sound of reassurance and protest breaks out behind him.
“Caleb, wait!” He hears Yasha call out, but he’s already halfway across the tavern room, the stairs up are in sight. He speed walks past and makes his way up the stairs, only stumbling a little in his drunken stupor.
Finally, he gets up to the bedroom he and Nott are sharing for the evening. He drops his face into his hands, sliding down the back of the door after having hurried it shut.
“Fuck.”
He takes a few deep breaths, tries to remember what he said, who heard him, how long they were listening. While at the same time, he tries to ignore just how embarrassed he feels. What was he thinking, talking to Yasha about something like that- and right next to everyone - exposing secrets, however mundane or silly. He sighs, letting out a weak groan. “Scheiße..”
Caleb jumps when there’s a quiet knock on his door. It’s quiet for a few long moments before Jester’s voice, soft and quiet, comes through the door “Hey, Caleb…”
Caleb groans into his hands again. “…Ja?”
“…Can I come in?” She asks, and her voice is gentle, hesitant.
It’s quiet for a long moment. “…Is it just-”
“Just me.” She adds quickly.
Caleb sighs, wipes a hand over his face, and gets up to open the door.
“Ja, what is it?” He tries to banish the heat from his cheeks as he runs a hand through his hair.
Jester looks kind of wilted, and it makes his heart ache just a little bit.
“I-” She bites her lip. “Look, I don’t want you to come up here and be all sad and alone. - we weren’t trying to eavesdrop. And like, I get it- I looooove being tickled. So, I- we don’t think it’s embarrassing or anything so don’t worry, okay?” She perks up and watches him anxiously like a nervous cat.
He fails to stop the blush from growing on his cheeks as she speaks. He tears his eyes away to look at the floor. “Um.” He swallows. “Okay.” He says slowly, a bit dizzy from the drinks. He moves out of the doorway and gestures, inviting her into the room. Jester leads him over to sit down on the bed and takes his hands in hers.
“Will you come back downstairs with me?” She asks after they sit for a little while. “I’ll buy you a drink, and we can get some water?” She giggles, rubbing her thumb over his hands.
Caleb groans out a bit of a whine, letting his head fall back. “Verdammt- I don’t think I should..” He sighs.
“Come onnnnnnn.” Jester sing-songs, trying her best to tease but encourage. “Or I can try convincing you some other way, hmm?”
Caleb pulls his hands out of her grasp and wraps them around himself. “Heh, nooo-”
Jester wiggles her fingers at him and Caleb lets out a crackle of a laugh. “Come on, Caleb. Come with me.” She says as dramatically as possible. She starts poking at a few spots along his middle that he tries to protect but keeps up with very poorly. They’re both giggling within a few seconds.
“Okay, okahay. Fine.” Caleb pushes at her shoulder. “Let’s go.”
“Yay!” Jester claps her hands together and stands with a little jump. Then, she leads him back out of the room and down to their friends.
#tickletober 2023#tickletober23#ticklish!caleb#critickle role#tickle fic#fluff#shy lil caleb bb#critical role#cr#tickling#mine#fic#truth#day 8#caleb widogast#mighty nein#m9#jester lavorre#yasha nydoorin#beauregard lionett#sweet bb caleb just likes being silly and laughing ok he loves lightness and brightness he just doesnt think he deserves it#so sometimes its nice when his friends make him ok
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Can't believe she's gone - sirius black x reader meet cute scenario?
Xx
No seriously…marry me
Sirius Black x fem! reader
Summary: Sirius and y/n’s first meeting is as chaotic as them
Warnings: swearing, one wizard slur, first meeting, reader and sirius' shamlessly flirting, stangers to love interests
A/n: 0.4k words, muggleborn reader, the phrase meet cute always makes me think of the movie the holiday, anyway thank you for the request, enjoy xx
Navigation | Sirius Black Masterlist | Celebration
Sirius was running pretty quickly through the library, he had dipped in after getting spilt off from his fellow Marauders. In his rush to hide from Lastrange and his goons however, he turns the corner looking backwards and crashes straight into someone
He heard a whine and quickly shifted off of them “Merlin are you okay?” he asks, blinking a little quickly to get his eyes to focus and when they do, he sees a girl rubbing her elbow
“Way to sweep a gal off her feet” you let out a small giggle
He laughs too, happy that you weren’t mad “Does it hurt?” he checks nodding at your arm
You shake your head “Arms fine...I think you broke my arse though” you joke and he chuckles
“Y/n” you hold out your hand
Smiling he accept it “Sirius, pleasure to meet you, cutie” he winks
“Pleasures all mine handsome” you wink back
I like her, he thinks before his eyes widen at the sound of his pursuers closing in “Oh fuck” he cringes looking around for somewhere to hide
You seem to somewhat understand what’s happening, quickly standing up “Come on handsome” you grab his hand, pulling the boy to his feet before leading him through the library
Sirius didn’t have time to say or think as he was dragged over towards a set of windows and ushered up on top of them before you climbed up as well, drawing the curtains around you both, chests pretty much touching as you panted
“Hello” he whispers with a wicked grin and you shush him, placing a finger over his lips and making his grin shifts to that of amusement
Sighing in relief, you remove your finger, hearing Lastrange and his friends continue running past the widow and their footsteps receding
“Hi” you smile up at him not making an attempt to move
“You know usually I take a girl on a date before letting her drag me into a dark, rather secuded corner” he smirks leaning down, pressing you into the wall behind you just a little
You don’t get flustered that easily though “I’d say hiding from a bunch of mean snakes constitutes as a decent first date” you lean in letting your noses touch teasingly
He looks surprised but smiles “You in my year?” he wonders and you hum in confirmation “How have I never noticed you?” he says softly, eyes glancing down your figure
“I’m good at keeping under the radar” you say smugly “You remember in last year when Snape was all disorganised and he fucked up that potion?”
“Yeah?” he extends the syllables beginning to smile
“Well I moved his favourite desk a couple of millimetres back every week, as well as his ingredients subtly when he wasn’t looking to make him think he’s going crazy. Eventually causing him think two of the ingredients were around the wrong way around and made his potion blow up because that’s what you get for calling me a mudblood” you explain with a proud look, yes it was petty but revenge tasted so sweet
His mouth drops open “Marry me” he whispers and you laugh “No seriously…marry me”
#sirius black and reader#sirius black and you#sirius black x reader#sirius black x y/n#sirius black x you#sirius x reader#sirius black#sirius and reader#sirius x y/n#marauders era#siriusblack#marauders#robyns1kcelebration#sirius black fanfiction
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"So I'm praying for some rain (like a young man finally praying to get laid)" [BF]
is there a Boomerflash discord server, or somewhere where ppl just chat about them? Or is there not enough peeps? hm...
Anyhow, Boomer gets caught in some heavy ass rain, as in practically a storm, and gets to Flash to get warm, without expecting Barry to be there, actually.
Me, trying to shorten Digger to smth that sounds sweet: ,,,digimon,,, (also, ye, Digi is supposed to be read as in Digimon)
Was going to make it smutty, but deemed it okay rn (i might edit it later just to add smut, beware!)
---
In Digger's defense, Central City wasn't exactly known for weird weather. Of course, when you have two elemental-specialists as Rouges and one goddamn Weather Wizard, it can get a little confusing, not even adding the Speedstorm fiasco to the whole equation, but nothing ever was close to what was happening now.
So here he was, his skin lightly tanned and full of freckles (and he means FULL, like he didn't even know they could get low enough to reach his thighs!) after three weeks of something so close to a drought that in the middle of Central City's second week, people started manically buying water. Now, suddenly, halfway through a warm and sunny day, it started pouring - not raining because that'd mean that water wasn't falling from the sky with enough strength to actually hurt him.
Somewhere in his mind, while he was rushing from the shop back home, he wishes his lover wasn't so busy lately, even if he knows it's a thought only from a selfish need to get home quicker, all he can do is focus on it. He can't see ahead when the water hurts his eyes, his clothes so heavy from moisture that he wants to slow down against himself. The cold gets worse, he's shaking while running, and he honestly hopes it's a villain attack because then it won't last too long.
Flash was usually so warm it shook people, his body full of excessive energy. If not his job - two jobs technically - Boomer would come home, lose his wet clothes and just cuddle up with him, maybe without putting something on if the speedster wouldn't mind. His thoughts turned bitter when he remembered that his partner was still out on the mission.
When he finally got inside, his eyes hurting and his whole body shaking, all the energy slowly leaked out of him with every drip of the water coming from him. He just let go of the groceries and shook off his boots, lazily moving towards the couch. His mind whined to him about the cleaning later, but everything else already gave up.
The couch wasn't comfortable, actually far from it, but it was enough - the second he hit it, he couldn't help a peaceful groan and dozed off.
He woke up hot, too hot to do anything but whine deeply, while his dizzy mind caught the fact that someone was tearing off his shirt and pants, still as wet as they were before. He tried to move one of his hands to wack away the person who did it, but a hollow ache in his joints made a good argument against it.
"Shh, you're okay Digi, I gotcha." a soft voice of his lover rang in his ears.
Boomer slowly opened his eyes, his vision swimming a bit, but not enough to not catch the blond hair and blue eyes.
"Can't be, Barry's at work..." he slurred, while trying to push away the skinny hands. Pain swiftly run through his whole body, starting at his fingertips, while the other grabbed his wrists lightly.
"Just let me help love, it's alright, you're burning..."
He never noticed before how quickly Barry's voice made him fall asleep.
This time, when he woke up, a warm body was pressed against his, while there was a wet towel on his forehead. He tried to move slightly around, but the grip tightened, while Barry groaned.
"Stay put, you had a fever all night, Digi." a pair of soft lips found its way onto his forehead, while a hand under his neck moved higher to brush his probably disgustingly sweaty hair. "You feel... better."
He answered with a delicate hum, before slowly moving his face towards the others. Barry had a slight 5 o'clock shadow, his eyes worried, but also happy. He looked somewhere between tired and excited, which made Boomer's heart throb a little.
"Ya alrighty love? Ya don't look all that hot yourself" he mumbled next to his lips, while all the speedster did was smile back at him.
"I wanted to make you a surprise that I'm home quicker than expected, but well- you didn't even believe I was home."
The Australian noticed the change in tone, Flashes voice slightly sadder. He knew that Barry blamed himself a lot over things he didn't have control of. He understood it a little after the bracelet changed a few things in his natural biology* and he also had a better taste of being a speedster - always too late, not enough.
"But ya were." his own tone is steady, more serious than normally. "Ya were here in the end, an' if ya'll beat yourself over it, I'll beat ya with the closest stick."
He ended the sentence with a soft kiss, deeming it distracting enough. Barry moved even closer, his whole body clinging to the other, while his hands slowly moved around, just feeling him up - like he was checking if he's still here. His body relaxed into the touch, his mind swimming lightly when the kiss got more passionate, when Flash finally decided that his hands could stay on the other's hips.
He found somewhere in his head enough IQ to ask himself why the Speedster was acting like that only because of some sickness, but hey - he got kisses and attention, so that question would have to wait.
#idk#probably bad english#bsing trough life#<3#ssktjl#flash x captain boomerang#boomerflash#captain boomerang#sickfic#kinda
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Rugan likes the puss
Pairing - Rugan/ oc m/f
Summary - Rugan tries to be a gentleman but Leah Keene has other ideas.
Warnings - age difference, m/f, penetration,
18+
The chill of the night air on her face was a welcome relief from the overwhelming noise of the packed tavern. Too many people was fine if you were working in a crowd, you could make a decent living from their pockets but when it came to socialising Leah preferred something a little more subdued. The Blushing Mermaid was anything but. She stumbled out into the darkness, quietly slipping away from the small group of friends that she had been drinking with when she saw a tiny speck of burning pipeweed glowed weakly in the darkness. Someone must have had the same idea and sought a little solitude on the bow of the ship that gave the dingy little grief hole its name.
“Who goes?” the smoker called out into the night. Wary of the intrusion. The night concealed the man like a cloak, only the small ember casting its meagre light lit his lips as he pulled the smoke into his lungs. “I'm not looking for company, so fuck off”
Leah smiled, recognising Rugans voice instantly “What's it to you, Zhent? I’ll go where I damn well please.” she slurred. She liked Rugan, he was a good laugh. They got along well on the rare occasions that their paths crossed. Though their respective organisations would not be too thrilled that they were on friendly terms.
“Sounds like someone had a good night!” he chuckled from his perch, “hows tricks, kid?” he hopped down from the table and headed towards the light of a flaming torch. The creaking of his leather armour was almost imperceptible as he passed her.
“Can’t complain. You?” She answered in a friendly tone as she followed him into the small ring of light. Rugan was smiling warmly, Gods that smile. He was fucking gorgeous. The bastard.
“Same shit different day, mate.” The light of the rolled pipeweed cigarette moved towards her in the dark as he offered Leah a drag. She took a long pull then handed it back, letting the smoke escape from her nose. “I'd ask you if you fancied a pint but I think you might have had enough.” he teased, watching her sway in the shadows.
“I'm not that drunk but I'm not going back in there, too many dickheads. Might just go home.”
“I’m headed that way. I’ll walk with you.” he spoke casually but he didn't like the thought of her walking through the docks at night drunk and alone.
“Alright but I am definitely not drunk enough to drop my knickers for you, Zhent. So don't even try.” she warned as she teetered towards the ramp that led down to the road.
“You wear knickers?” he ribbed, following along behind her, ready to catch her should she take a tumble.
“…metaphorical knickers,” she shrugged, eliciting a chuckle from her companion.
They walked back through the lower city toward Heapside Strand, chatting about everything and nothing, just enjoying each other's company as they slowly headed towards Leah's loft. Even breaking into song at one point much to the annoyance of the sleeping residents of the Lower City. They definitely didn’t want to hear “A wizard’s staff has a knob at the end” in the middle of the night. Finally they arrived at her door.
“Do you fancy a nightcap?” She slurred, leaning against the door fumbling with the keys as she tried and failed to find the keyhole.
“I shouldn't…shipping out at dawn,” he stepped closer, “but I want you to know, there is nothing I would like more.”
“Really?” she whispered, trying her very best to sound alluring. “Seems to me if you're that thirsty…you should drink.”
Their lips met softly, tentatively. Briefly. Rugan pulled away, “You are way too drunk for this,” he said with a rueful smile, “get yourself to bed. I’ll come find you when I get back.”
Leah groaned with disappointment “Oh come on…” she started to complain, losing her footing and taking a tumble into some crates. “Oww,” she sobbed dejectedly.
“Woah,” Rugan picked her up, “come here.” He shook his head with a smirk and took her door keys. He carried her up the narrow staircase and across the room to her bed, which was currently occupied by the fluffiest cat he had ever seen.
Leah turned to see him scratching Crumbs forehead. “Straight to the pussy…” she shook her head, chiding him mockingly.
“Well you know me, lass. I don’t waste time.” He smiled and shooed Crumbs from the bed.
Leah stared at him sleepily in the low light that emanated from a lantern she had forgotten to put out before she left. He was a handsome bastard. Strong and sweet in equal measure. “Stay,” she whispered, reaching out for him as he pulled off her boots and threw them onto the floor.
Rugan froze, mired in indecision. “You are in no fit state, little lady.” He said, full of regret as the words left his mouth, “and Nine Fingers will have my head - both of em.”
“I am a womanly woman, I will have you know! And just because I've had a drink doesn’t mean I can’t make my own decisions. Now get them pants off!”
He took off his boots and unbuckled his cuirass then climbed onto the bed. “You’ll be the death of me, Leah Keene. I swear.”
“Shut up,” she giggled softly as he settled between her thighs. Wrapping her arms around his neck she pulled him in for a kiss. Their tongues pressed and glided over each other in a sinuous dance, their kiss became more and more urgent as they stripped away the rest of their clothing. Rugan's mouth slid sloppily down her neck, dragging his soft lips to her tightened nipples. Her back arched and her fingers tangled in his blonde hair, urging him on with gasps and groans as he suckled gently on each. He began to move lower, aiming to use his skilled tongue on her aching clit but she clutched his hair and pulled him back to her lips. Her other hand reached for his stiff, dripping cock. Pressing the tip into her warmth impatiently. Rugan took the hint and dipped his hips, sheathing himself in her heat with a soul deep groan. Pulling out and slamming into her again and again as she moaned and cursed loudly beneath him. Clawing desperately at his muscular back as she tried to hold on to something as he destroyed her body and mind. Deep red trophies that he would later show off to his fellow Zhentarim.
Their sweat slicked bodies moved together, chasing the high. It coiled low in her belly, the prickly heat behind her trembling knees uncomfortably itchy. The pressure building until it consumed her in an aching release. Exhilarating and electrifying. She sobbed his name lustily into the night as she shuddered with pleasure as the walls of her cunt rhythmically fluttered around his dick.
Leah trembled beneath him, coming down from her peak, breathless and glowing. “Give me a minute,” she pleaded, flinching from overstimulation every time he moved.
Rugan reined himself in not without difficulty. Leaning to claim her lips in a lingering kiss that threatened to become so much more.
He pulled himself up to his knees and looked down upon her, gloriously messy and dishevelled. Her beautiful tits heaving with every breath.
His hands slid down her narrow waist, pulling her hips into his, burying his throbbing cock to the hilt. Her moan sending a thrill straight through him.
“Yes…” she gasped quietly, covering his hands with hers.
He pulled out, repeating his last stroke. Slowly building up speed as he used her to pump his cock. Absolute filth poured from her lips between ragged screams of exhilarated desperation. It was all too much for him.
“Ugh… I’m gonna come” he groaned, warning her of his imminent release, “Leah…oh Gods!”
“Do it! Do it!” Leah looked down between them watching his cock as he fucked her. “Don’t stop, I need it…” she threw her head back with a rapturous groan, clenching tightly around his thick cock as she came for him.
Rugan wanted to pull out, he really did but…fuck it.
Every fibre of his being tensed, deliciously teetering on the edge before following her down deep into complete bliss. It was over far too fast. He slumped into the crook of her neck, breathless and shuddering and a little bit sad.
Leah ghosted her fingertips up and down his back as came to. “You alright?” She asked, nuzzling into his cheek.
“Yeah…that was...” He raised himself up on shaky arms, “better than I imagined.”
“Than you imagined?” She teased gently. “Do you think about this a lot?”
“There were nights I'd go to sleep thinking about this, out there on the road,” he confessed in a soft whisper, his cock still sheathed within her delicate walls. “What it would feel like to have Leah Keene wrapped around my dick.”
She gasped “Rugan! You're old enough to be my…” Leah caught a fit of the giggles. “My…”
“Don’t you dare say it!” He chuckled along with her.
She sniggered and raised her hands cupping his stubbly cheeks and trying to kiss him with taught smiling lips.
Rugan turned his face in faux petulance, “Nah. No kisses for you.”
“Aww no! I prefer older men, Roogs. Someone my age couldn’t fuck me like you just did.” Her palms slid down to his hairy chest, “I just got railed.”
“Yeah, you did,” he pressed his forehead to hers, “and if you're not careful it’ll happen again, little girl.”
Leah squealed with delight “Is that a threat or a promise?”
A heavy silence laced with affection settled over them both and Rugan lowered his lips to hers. Barely feeling the tickle of their mingled breath before the gulls squabbling outside rudely interrupted. He turned to see a sliver of light cutting its way through the gap in the shutters.
“Ugh,” Rugan groaned, “I'm late!”
He hopped out of bed and grabbed his trousers, pulling them on, “I’ve gotta go, princess. Zarys will have my balls.”
Leah turned on her side and watched him dress, mourning the loss of his perfect body, “I thought she already had em,” she jabbed with a smile. “I heard she keeps em in a little pouch round her neck, gives em a little jiggle when she wants you - it’s got tinkly little bells on it.”
“Very funny,” he retorted sarcastically, “You’ve sobered up quick.” He narrowed his eyes suspiciously as he buckled his belt.
Leah shrugged, smirking as she held his gaze. “I might have exaggerated a bit,”
“We’ll have words about this, young lady. Just you wait.” He gave her a quick kiss then jogged down the stairs. It would be a good long while before she saw him again and when she did her whole life had been turned upside down.
#bg3 rugan#rugan#rugan bg3#baldur’s gate 3#bg3#fanfiction#ao3#fanfic#archive of our own#rugan/oc#zhentarim#my wriitng
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Dog whistles and you: why the words you use matter.
You've probably heard of them, but you have definitely heard them. Dog whistles are a problem in the modern internet, with our hyper focus on respectability politics and social media's aggressive push to simplify all concepts and erode all sort of nuance.
When people use them and when people point it out, people get really fucking angry, both ways, and it can be a little hard to understand why and what people are actually angry about. So let's try and untangle that a bit.
Content warnings! We're gonna be talking about Nazis and other genocidal groups, so that's always fun. We're also gonna tangentially discuss misogyny, antiblackness, antisemitism and sexual assault, sexual abuse, pedophilia and zoophilia. The tangential warnings are only applicable to non-explicit discussions of dog whistles in section 3. Sections 1 and 2 do not go into detail about specific dog whistles. I will reiterate the content warnings in section 3.
1. What are dog whistles?
Dog whistles are not actual, literal dog whistles, but it does help to know what an actual, literal dog whistle is, to understand the metaphor. A dog whistle is a whistle designed to be heard by a dog, but crucially and most importantly, not by a person. When you toot on the thing, it makes a quiet, almost imperceptible sound, but if you've trained a dog with it, the dog will go fucking bonkers. The science of it is actually really cool and has to do with the range of intensity of stimuli that different animals can perceive. You know how dogs have an infinitely better smelling sense than you or me? Their hearing is different. That whistle you and I can't really hear, they hear loud and clear.
So what are the metaphorical dog whistles about then? They follow the same principle. Metaphorical dog whistles (I'm gonna call them just dog whistles for the rest of this thing, because I'm lazy, but you're smart and we already defined the terms, so I trust you to keep up) are words with different meanings depending on the audience. That's not inherently malicious, or unique to dog whistles. 99% of the crude humor of humanity comes from that sort of thing: cock is a male bird of a domestic fowl species, and also a bad word that will get you demonetized from Corporate controlled internet if you say/type it anywhere a payment processor can see. So there has to be more to them, than having multiple meanings.
Specifically, dog whistles have "Jekill and Hyde" style meanings. One of them is pretty harmless, benign even. Completely innocent and not at all suspicious. The meaning equivalent of that scene in Snow White with the forest animals being all cute and soft and nice. But then there's the other meaning, and that meaning is not so nice. It can be a shorthand for a slur, or one of the highlights of a conspiracy theory, or represent a shorthand for something genocidal in nature. I'll go in more detail in the next section.
This is where most people stop talking about dog whistles, but I'm not gonna do that, because I think the next two things, that are also required for a dog whistle to be a dog whistle, are actually the most important. And the fact most people never stop to think about them is why dog whistles are so effective. So let's say the quiet part out loud now.
The third characteristic of dog whistles is that their nefarious meaning is in fact a nefarious secret meaning. That means this meaning is part of a closed system of belief. It's like the secret wizard password to enter the forbidden tree house club, except the wizards are Nazis, members of the KKK and other assorted genocidal fucktwits. It's not a nice club to be in, is what I'm trying to say, and the people in that club are generally acknowledged to be not very nice themselves. You might think I'm being glib here, but this is the important bit. Socially speaking, these clubs for genocidal dickheads are considered bad to some degree. There's at least a modicum of societal pressure to discourage people from belonging to these groups. If you're a Nazi and your boss finds out, they will fire you. If you're a Nazi and you walk into a bar, you're likely to get beaten up and told to never come back. Blatant, open membership to these groups is discouraged*, and therefore they need to come up with language and symbols that they understand to be supporting their ideology, but which might not get immediately recognized by outsiders, thus prompting that social retribution they're trying to avoid.
*This is why people are really freaked out by the rise of extremist social and political movements in today's world, because every time an alt-right dudebro feels comfortable just spouting the N word or beating a random trans person in the subway, and they're not immediately and swiftly punished by anyone from bystanders to the actual legal system, those social pressures start letting up and the scum starts to float up into the surface. This is why the punching Nazis rhetoric works. It's a 0 tolerance policy that keeps genocidal ideologies marginalized and out of public consideration.
And let me just say this on its own, yes, genocidal ideologies should be marginalized and kept out of public consideration. Because they're genocidal. There is nothing of value to be found in genocidal ideologies, and extending them any kind of consideration makes you complicit in the very real, actual genocide they're working towards. Yes, really.
The last characteristic of a dog whistle is also the most important and the one people get tripped by the most: It refers to a dog whistle's ability to launder the philosophy of the group that created it, planting the seeds of it in the public sphere and priming people to be radicalized. One of the most common, and frankly distressing, reactions I see whenever someone gets called out for using dog whistles is "it's okay, I'm not a [insert relevant genocidal group here], it's okay if I use it, because the idea behind the word is actually useful!" Intent does not change the nature of a dog whistle. Dog whistles are in fact designed to trick you into doing their work for them. Dog whistles are bad, because when you use them, you lend your credibility to them. So the next time your friends/family/followers see an actual Nazi use them, they will use you as a frame of reference, and give the Nazi a pass. "My friend/relative/fave uses this word all the time, and THEY aren't a Nazi, so what are the chances that this guy is? Besides, all Nazis wear swastikas and like, shaved heads or something. Nah." Congratulations, you have become complicit in the breakdown of the system that's supposed to keep those Nazis out and allowed one of them to walk in and make themselves at home in your community.
Hearing people constantly use dog whistles desensitizes people and erodes their ability to see them for what they are. It makes it normal to use loaded language - and all dog whistles are loaded language - and makes it hard to police and expel those who use that loaded language for its actual nefarious intent.
It's also important to know a lot of dog whistles are "ship of Theseus"'d into sounding reasonable, for the purpose of making people more receptive to extremist ideas and concepts. By that I mean, they start from their very obviously genocidal talking point, and then slowly replace bits and pieces, laundering it until it sounds... you know, reasonable. Understandable. Most of the time they achieve this by targeting strong emotional responses and priming people to accept concepts that are fundamentally against their best interests, but presented in a way that appeals to emotionality and discourages thinking through the implications.
2. "If you hear the whistle, you're the dog" and other bad takes that need to go die in a fire.
So now that we're all on the same page about what dog whistles are and what purpose they serve, we need to talk about what to do about them. Yes, I'm gonna go into that before going into a not extensive and definitely not exhaustive list of dog whistles, because I love you and also because this is tumblr and you guys have a habit of trying to turn everything into a fucking standard rule to then beat up people with. No-nuance, all-outrage mentality in social media is the thing dog whistles are designed to exploit. So let's do our part to not... you know. Do that.
My least favorite rule that people have come up with to try and deal with dog whistles while doing the least amount of critical thinking ever is the infamous witticism "if you hear the whistle, you're the dog." This means that if you understand the dog whistle, you must be its target audience (you know, the Nazi one) and therefore you're a bad person. This is extremely stupid if you spend two seconds thinking about it, so let's do that: if the ideal is for people to "not be the dog", ie, "not hear the whistle" and therefore not understand the second, hidden meaning of the dog whistle, that would mean the ideal is for the dog whistle to work just as intended. Which is a bad thing, need I remind you, since the thing dog whistles are working towards is normalizing and encouraging the acceptance of explicitly genocidal ideologies. Which are bad! And you know they're bad! Because they're explicitly aiming for genocide! But this stupid nugget of stupidity goes one step further and also penalizes those who are being targeted by the dog whistle's users. Remember, genocides target people. Groups of people, to be precise, that the genocide promoters have built an entire ideology to justify why they get to commit genocide against this specific group of people. The justifications and reasons don't have to be very good - they can't, in fact, be good at all, because genocide is never okay, and if you find yourself trying to argue, you might want to take a few steps back and figure out when you got poisoned by genocide ideologies - in the sense that they don't need to be logical or reasonable. They just fill in a gap in the thought process. Whenever people do something, someone will ask them why, and genocide is surprisingly no different in that regard. So the justifications and reasonings are all salad dressing. They're all bad and meaningless and stupid, because they're being used to justify genocide, and genocide is unjustifiable by definition. The point is don't try to argue about the reasons, the reasons are fake and don't matter and they're there only to trap people into perpetual argumentative sinkholes which often only create more net harm by virtue of putting all that genocidal rhetoric in your public space. Incidentally, this is why deplatforming and denying the space to defend/argue/discuss genocidal ideologies is the preferred method to deal with them, exposure to them is in itself inherently harmful and there's nothing productive to come with allowing them the chance to explain why they think genocide is actually a good idea.
ANYWAY, the point is: if you're a group that has been targeted by these genocidal ideologies, you need to be able to decode and understand the secret, hidden meaning behind those dog whistles. You have to. Otherwise you're gonna end up a gruesome statistic some dipshit politician will try to use to two-side the issue on Fox News. You can then see how it's incredibly stupid, not to mention unspeakably offensive, to tell people who are being targeted by genocidal dipshits, that if they understand what the genocidal dipshits are really trying to say (remember, that THEY specifically should be genocided), they might in fact be the genocidal dipshits themselves.
Yes, "if you hear the whistle, you're the dog" is a very witty, very snappy, very catchy phrase. It's also incredibly fucking stupid and also goddamn insulting. Stop using it. Stop rewarding people who use it. Be fucking better.
Okay, so. What now? What to do if you catch someone using a dog whistle? Well, the most important thing to do is to not immediately accuse them of being a Nazi or belonging to the assorted genocidal dipshit group of choice. Super not do that in public. I know, it sounds counterintuitive, specially since we just affirmed that "punch the Nazi" is a perfectly valid and effective rhetorical device to get rid of Nazis. But the thing with dog whistles is that they're also bait. They're juicy, tender bait almost lab designed to get normal people - you know, people who don't hold genocidal beliefs and in fact think genocide is super bad and forever unjustifiable - frothing mad. Remember that dog whistles have two meanings, and that allows the genocidal dipshits to go "see? These people are mad! They're insane! They are the real reactionaries, they see malicious evil in every little thing!" and they will use every single dogpile to punctuate their statement and justify themselves. That's what dog whistles are designed to do, remember? They condition people to find genocidal ideology acceptable even when they rationally would not.
Ideally, if you know this person and you have the emotional and psychological bandwidth to do some education, you should reach out in private and offer to explain why the seemingly innocent thing the person posted is actually super bad. And I do mean explain. You need to explain on the history of the dog whistle, the purpose of the dog whistle, and emphasize that it's not an indictment of their character or an attempt to imply they're nefarious or malicious themselves, but rather that they've fallen prey to a scam by literal genocidal dipshits. This is... a lot. It's hard. People are very defensive at the smallest insinuation that they might be spewing Nazi talking points. It's often demeaning and exasperating work, and while it does work, it's just a sinkhole of resources that could be better spent in other, more pressing causes that also need attention because we have a bit of an epidemic and these genocidal dipshits keep popping up everywhere. It's also very exhausting for actual targets of the genocidal dipshits to have to argue with people that "that thing you said is used to call for the genocide of people like me, no really, please stop" and have to spend time pampering and reassuring people who go into literal hysterics trying to prove THEY are not the bad ones, how DARE you.
So what DO you do? Realistically? No one knows for sure. There isn't a wide-spread, peer-reviewed, fits-all-sizes solution. This is exactly the kind of thing dog whistles are designed to get around: there's no dogmatic, stringent rule that will make it so you can always tell if something is a dog whistle and how to make people stop using them. But that doesn't mean there's nothing you can do. You can be critical and thoughtful about the content you consume and platform in your spaces*. You can prioritize the voices of those being targeted by the openly genocidal dipshits and listen and pay attention when they tell you "hey, this thing? this thing is BAD." Encourage self-reflection in yourself and your social circle. When you foster a culture that welcomes people making mistakes and being corrected/nudged into being better about things, the emotional tax of finding out you've been platforming hate speech in disguise is significantly less.
*Being critical and thoughtful about the content you consume doesn't mean falling into purity culture rabbit holes where you must only consume and platform THE PUREST AND MOST UNPROBLEMATIC OF THINGS, but rather understand that the framing of content is important and you can do your part to minimize harm by extending simple courtesies like adding trigger or content warnings, and being critical about the sort of thing you platform and put in your followers' feed. Sometimes the Nazis are being obtuse on purpose, hoping you will get angry enough to dunk on them in public and therefore grant them and their toxic rhetoric access to your entire platform. Their bait is very tempting, but you're better than that.
And when private/polite/off-screen attempts to get someone to stop using a dog whistle inevitably fail, stop engaging with that person entirely, and instead platform the fact the dog whistle is a dog whistle and why. I don't mean "cut that person off your life entirely", though you might have to, if you eventually realize that not only did they knew they were using a dog whistle, they were doing so purposefully all this time. And that's heartbreaking and awful, because no one likes to find out someone in their social circle is a literal genocidal dipshit. But that's not what I'm talking about here. I'm talking about larger scale education that robs the dog whistle of its most valuable asset: plausible deniability. When you make a post explaining that a certain word or a certain phrase is a dog whistle, and explain the history and weight of it, you break the dog whistle. The more people know to recognize it, the less it works for its intended purpose. And the most effective way of doing this is by focusing on the dog whistle itself, and not the people who use them. Don't single out individuals, because then your informative post has become a call out and be dismissed as drama or grudge wank. Focus on the fact that it's not the people who say these words that are the problem, it's the people who keep insisting they should use those words.
See, the thing about fighting genocidal ideologies is that you're not targeting individual people. Or even groups of people. This is not about starting a morality crusade against X or Y. It's about dismantling the tools of genocide. It's about reinforcing those societal pressures that keep them hidden in the corners and denies them power and influence to actually enact their genocidal goals.
They are a fucking fringe minority at the very edges of society, is the point, and they should never be allowed to forget it.
3. What are some dog whistles you should keep an eye out for?
So there's a lot of them and there's not enough time in the actual universe to cover all of them. That's the shitty thing about genocidal dipshits and their dog whistles. As soon as you demystify one, they've come up with another one. Any list will by necessity be incomplete. Resist the urge to turn this urge to categorize things into your personal white whale, and remember a dogmatic, rigid approach of "acceptable vs unacceptable words" is precisely the kind of system dog whistles are designed to get around.
I will not be covering anti-black or antisemitic dog whistles. Because I'm neither black nor Jewish, and as we just discussed, you should be listening and platforming THOSE voices whenever attacks at them come up. I'm going to focus on the dog whistles in this post, which is what sent me down this rabbit hole in the first place. I replied to that post to comment on an unrelated situation but I made a point to mention the dog whistles and several people came back and asked me about it.
I'm linking to my own reblog chain of it, because OP has deleted the original post. I wanna make clear this is not an accusation or an attack on OP. I don't know OP from Adam and I don't feel qualified to say if they're using these dog whistles in any harmful way, beyond the inherent harm that comes with giving credibility to dog whistles at all. I can't believe I have to say this explicitly in this year of our lord 2022, but please do not harass, abuse or otherwise inconvenience OP. We literally just went over how that doesn't work when it comes to deplatforming dog whistles. I'm just giving context and full disclosure, okay?
Okay.
Let's go.
Content warnings! Again!
We're gonna be talking about Nazis and other genocidal groups, so that's always fun. We're also gonna tangentially discuss misogyny, antiblackness, antisemitism and sexual assault, sexual abuse, pedophilia and zoophilia.
"Cancel Culture." Cancel culture began - and this is extremely common - as a term within the black community to refer to the tactic of using social pressure to force racist bigots to face consequences for their racist bigotry. It was also in use within the #MeToo movement, to sort of crowdfund consequences for people with too much social, political or financial capital, which allowed them to just... not face consequences for their behavior. And yeah, ostracizing bigots is an excellent way to get rid of bigots or at least minimize the effects of their bigotry. It's so effective that's what dog whistles are for. The thing is, Cancel Culture has now been appropriated by the very people it was meant to be used again. Racist white people decry Cancel Culture when they are faced with the consequences of their actions, labeling them instead as abusive or unwarranted. The term has been thoroughly poisoned and the only people you hear talking about it seriously, phrasing it as this big, evil thing that must be stopped, are the right wing pundits who make their money out of making people feel threatened by changing social mores. Most people think that "less net bigotry in the world" is a good thing. But if your entire grift is based on bigotry, then this is a personal attack on you. Cancel culture is being used now as a short hand to express how very obvious consequences to one's actions are in fact malicious targeted abuse. This prioritizes the bigots over their victims, makes it nearly impossible to have conversations about actual reparations and presents the notion of "hey, if you're a bigot people won't like you" as if it were an outlandish, unnatural position to take. You can tell OP is actually using the dog whistle version of this in their post, because they're not talking about consequences to someone's actions, but explicitly framing a disproportionate, malicious and unwarranted harassment campaign as "Cancel Culture." OP themselves defines "Cancel Culture" in their post, and this is actually a huge problem when it comes to the proliferation of dog whistles. When you assume you know the root of an idiom and you define it in the context of your own usage, you may be inadvertently mainstreaming something that you shouldn't. Maybe you heard this from a trusted youtuber or a friend, and you understand the way THEY use it, and you use it THAT way, you don't mean it in the weirdo way. But you should make a habit to track down the history of idioms before you use them. For one, because everyone could stand to use their words more precisely and make sure that the words they're using actually mean what they want them to mean. But for another, because understanding the history of idioms is a very good way of avoiding boot in mouth syndrome.
"Purity Culture." This is also a dog whistle! And I used it in the text of this post! Except not really. In this post I'm using the original sense of the phrase, OP is using the dog whistle version. (Are you starting to see why if you look too hard at dog whistles you're gonna end up going a little bit insane?) Purity culture originally refers to misguided, reactionary rejection of the slippery slope fallacy that "nothing is pure, therefore, there's no point." Purity culture refers to this idea of treating every single slight, infraction or "taint" equally across the board, without any space for nuance or context. There's two dog whistles around this term, actually! One of them is from the pro-censorship camp, who treats purity culture as an ideal and dresses it up in "responsible media consumption" and "child-appropriate spaces" to try and gloss over the fact they're pro-fascist censorship tools and restrictions, they just think the problem is they're not targeting the right people and concepts. You can identify this lot very quickly because they love to use the word "freak" in a derogatory fashion. They're also real bad at nuance and super fond of historical revisionism. The other dog whistle is, hilariously, the exact opposite of this. This is coming from the actual, no joke, pro-sexual abuse corner of the internet (think, pedophilia, zoophilia, incest, etc, anything that it's reasonably considered indefensible because it's predicated on forcing sexual concepts and acts upon people and living creatures who do not and cannot consent to it). Their version of purity culture is framing any negative criticism of their actions and interests as an attempt to censor and unjustly ostracize them. I need to be very clear here that I'm definitely not talking about fiction here. We're not talking about people who like to read stories about this sort of content. We're talking about people who are actually committing these acts in real life, to real people, children and animals. We need to make that distinction, because that's what the dog whistle is arguing. They infiltrate groups that are staunchly anti-censorship and frame themselves as victims of prosecution but the things they're being prosecuted for are not art, text or other materials rooted in trasgressive fiction. They're really annoying and really detrimental to the fight against censorship, because every time one of these idiots is outed for the miserable fucking monster they are, pro-censorship folk immediately rush in to reframe the conversation as if anti-censorship groups are unquestionably supporting and defending the indefensible.
"Virtue Signaling." I unironically love this dog whistle, personally, because it betrays the massive chasm within the worldview of the people who use it. Virtue signaling is the concept of doing good things, for the sake of other people thinking you're good. It's the cry of alt-right pseudointellectuals who posit that people don't actually care about racism and sexism and transphobia and homophobia and xenophobia and religious intolerance and any of the other social evils they've decided they want to champion instead. No! People secretly support these things, it's just that it's socially unacceptable to do so, so they must pretend. They must play their part in the social farce, and make sure everybody knows they have done so, waving a flag that signals all who see it that they are one of them. I genuinely love this one because they always use "virtue signaling" as a derogatory term, it is always framed in a negative way, like this is evidence of the social contract falling to pieces. The thing is, this is a feature, not a bug. Yeah, you have to publicly decry bigotry and fall in step with the social mores of your community, and yeah, we want communities that see bigotry as some sort of social suicide. Society should actually ostracize and push out bigoted, disruptive individuals, because bigotry itself is a betrayal of the social contract. If you refuse to participate in society by abiding its rules, yeah, you don't get to be part of society. And yeah, we don't care about thought crime. Be a bigot in your head all you want, I want a society that punishes you severely if you ever decide to ACT on those thoughts, tho. That's a functional society. That's a good thing. The people who use "virtue signaling" unironically are trying to grapple with their own hypocrisy, with the fact they spew out hateful, genocidal nonsense but they know damn well they would be utterly destroyed if they tried to act out on it, so instead they've come up with a way to say "society decries and rejects everything I stand for, and I refuse to be a martyr to my ideals so I'm just going to be a cowardly, hateful idiot and pretend that makes me better than everyone else."
The post itself is pushing a fairly reasonable message: harassment = bad. The problem is that in utilizing dog whistles the message is muddled, and a pretty straightforward message becomes twisted enough to allow spaces for the beneficiaries of those dog whistles to misappropriate and excuse their actions. That's literally what @jabberwockypie and myself were doing in that post, in response to Flamethrower's reply.
Notice how Flamethrower conveniently used the definition of "cancel culture" that matches the dog whistle, in an attempt to shield herself from criticism and then frame the consequences of her actions as abuse and harassment. THAT is why dog whistles matter and why it's important not to engage with them. Because they open the door for bad actors to justify themselves and skirt responsibility for their actions.
Don't let them.
4. Yeah, okay, Rie, but that's like 5K worth of words, do you have any sources for all that?
I'm so fucking glad you asked!
What’s wrong with dogwhistles
https://www.washingtonpost.com/outlook/2020/08/21/racist-roots-dog-whistle/
https://www.jstor.org/stable/26529439
@innuendostudios's The Alt-Right Playbook is an excellent resource in identifying the tools of radicalization, but most importantly his sources are an excellent way to familiarize yourself with all this nonsense.
5. Now what?
IDK, do your best. Keep trying. Forgive yourself for fucking up and commit to learning from it.
Mostly, be kind. To yourself and to others, but specially those who are being targeted by genocidal dipshits.
And remember, if someone tells you the solution to your problems is the complete extermination of a group of people... that person is not your friend, that's an asshole looking for an alibi. You deserve better than that.
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The chill of the night air on her face was a welcome relief from the overwhelming noise of the packed tavern. Too many people was fine if you were working in a crowd, you could make a decent living from their pockets but when it came to socialising Leah preferred something a little more subdued. The Blushing Mermaid was anything but. She stumbled out into the darkness, quietly slipping away from the small group of friends that she had been drinking with when she saw a tiny speck of burning pipeweed glowed weakly in the darkness. Someone must have had the same idea and sought a little solitude on the bow of the ship that gave the dingy little grief hole its name.
“Who goes?” the smoker called out into the night. Wary of the intrusion. The night concealed the man like a cloak, only the small ember casting its meagre light lit his lips as he pulled the smoke into his lungs. “I'm not looking for company, so fuck off”
Leah smiled, recognising Rugans voice instantly “What's it to you, Zhent? I’ll go where I damn well please.” she slurred. She liked Rugan, he was a good laugh. They got along well on the rare occasions that their paths crossed. Though their respective organisations would not be too thrilled that they were on friendly terms.
“Sounds like someone had a good night!” he chuckled from his perch, “hows tricks, kid?” he hopped down from the table and headed towards the light of a flaming torch. The creaking of his leather armour was almost imperceptible as he passed her.
“Can’t complain. You?” She answered in a friendly tone as she followed him into the small ring of light. Rugan was smiling warmly, Gods that smile. He was fucking gorgeous. The bastard.
“Same shit different day, mate.” The light of the rolled pipeweed cigarette moved towards her in the dark as he offered Leah a drag. She took a long pull then handed it back, letting the smoke escape from her nose. “I'd ask you if you fancied a pint but I think you might have had enough.” he teased, watching her sway in the shadows.
“I'm not that drunk but I'm not going back in there, too many dickheads. Might just go home.”
“I’m headed that way. I’ll walk with you.” he spoke casually but he didn't like the thought of her walking through the docks at night drunk and alone.
“Alright but I am definitely not drunk enough to drop my knickers for you, Zhent. So don't even try.” she warned as she teetered towards the ramp that led down to the road.
“You wear knickers?” he ribbed, following along behind her, ready to catch her should she take a tumble.
“…metaphorical knickers,” she shrugged, eliciting a chuckle from her companion.
They walked back through the lower city toward Heapside Strand, chatting about everything and nothing, just enjoying each other's company as they slowly headed towards Leah's loft. Even breaking into song at one point much to the annoyance of the sleeping residents of the Lower City. They definitely didn’t want to hear “A wizard’s staff has a knob at the end” in the middle of the night. Finally they arrived at her door.
“Do you fancy a nightcap?” She slurred, leaning against the door fumbling with the keys as she tried and failed to find the keyhole.
“I shouldn't…shipping out at dawn,” he stepped closer, “but I want you to know, there is nothing I would like more.”
“Really?” she whispered, trying her very best to sound alluring. “Seems to me if you're that thirsty…you should drink.”
Their lips met softly, tentatively. Briefly. Rugan pulled away, “You are way too drunk for this,” he said with a rueful smile, “get yourself to bed. I’ll come find you when I get back.”
Leah groaned with disappointment “Oh come on…” she started to complain, losing her footing and taking a tumble into some crates. “Oww,” she sobbed dejectedly.
“Woah,” Rugan picked her up, “come here.” He shook his head with a smirk and took her door keys. He carried her up the narrow staircase and across the room to her bed, which was currently occupied by the fluffiest cat he had ever seen.
Leah turned to see him scratching Crumbs forehead. “Straight to the pussy…” she shook her head, chiding him mockingly.
“Well you know me, lass. I don’t waste time.” He smiled and shooed Crumbs from the bed.
Leah stared at him sleepily in the low light that emanated from a lantern she had forgotten to put out before she left. He was a handsome bastard. Strong and sweet in equal measure. “Stay,” she whispered, reaching out for him as he pulled off her boots and threw them onto the floor.
Rugan froze, mired in indecision. “You are in no fit state, little lady.” He said, full of regret as the words left his mouth, “and Nine Fingers will have my head - both of em.”
“I am a womanly woman, I will have you know! And just because I've had a drink doesn’t mean I can’t make my own decisions. Now get them pants off!”
He took off his boots and unbuckled his cuirass then climbed onto the bed. “You’ll be the death of me, Leah Keene. I swear.”
“Shut up,” she giggled softly as he settled between her thighs. Wrapping her arms around his neck she pulled him in for a kiss. Their tongues pressed and glided over each other in a sinuous dance, their kiss became more and more urgent as they stripped away the rest of their clothing. Rugan's mouth slid sloppily down her neck, dragging his soft lips to her tightened nipples. Her back arched and her fingers tangled in his blonde hair, urging him on with gasps and groans as he suckled gently on each. He began to move lower, aiming to use his skilled tongue on her aching clit but she clutched his hair and pulled him back to her lips. Her other hand reached for his stiff, dripping cock. Pressing the tip into her warmth impatiently. Rugan took the hint and dipped his hips, sheathing himself in her heat with a soul deep groan. Pulling out and slamming into her again and again as she moaned and cursed loudly beneath him. Clawing desperately at his muscular back as she tried to hold on to something as he destroyed her body and mind. Deep red trophies that he would later show off to his fellow Zhentarim.
Their sweat slicked bodies moved together, chasing the high. It coiled low in her belly, the prickly heat behind her trembling knees uncomfortably itchy. The pressure building until it consumed her in an aching release. Exhilarating and electrifying. She sobbed his name lustily into the night as she shuddered with pleasure as the walls of her cunt rhythmically fluttered around his dick.
Leah trembled beneath him, coming down from her peak, breathless and glowing. “Give me a minute,” she pleaded, flinching from overstimulation every time he moved.
Rugan reined himself in not without difficulty. Leaning to claim her lips in a lingering kiss that threatened to become so much more.
He pulled himself up to his knees and looked down upon her, gloriously messy and dishevelled. Her beautiful tits heaving with every breath.
His hands slid down her narrow waist, pulling her hips into his, burying his throbbing cock to the hilt. Her moan sending a thrill straight through him.
“Yes…” she gasped quietly, covering his hands with hers.
He pulled out, repeating his last stroke. Slowly building up speed as he used her to pump his cock. Absolute filth poured from her lips between ragged screams of exhilarated desperation. It was all too much for him.
“Ugh… I’m gonna come” he groaned, warning her of his imminent release, “Leah…oh Gods!”
“Do it! Do it!” Leah looked down between them watching his cock as he fucked her. “Don’t stop, I need it…” she threw her head back with a rapturous groan, clenching tightly around his thick cock as she came for him.
Rugan wanted to pull out, he really did but…fuck it.
Every fibre of his being tensed, deliciously teetering on the edge before following her down deep into complete bliss. It was over far too fast. He slumped into the crook of her neck, breathless and shuddering and a little bit sad.
Leah ghosted her fingertips up and down his back as came to. “You alright?” She asked, nuzzling into his cheek.
“Yeah…that was...” He raised himself up on shaky arms, “better than I imagined.”
“Than you imagined?” She teased gently. “Do you think about this a lot?”
“There were nights I'd go to sleep thinking about this, out there on the road,” he confessed in a soft whisper, his cock still sheathed within her delicate walls. “What it would feel like to have Leah Keene wrapped around my dick.”
She gasped “Rugan! You're old enough to be my…” Leah caught a fit of the giggles. “My…”
“Don’t you dare say it!” He chuckled along with her.
She sniggered and raised her hands cupping his stubbly cheeks and trying to kiss him with taught smiling lips.
Rugan turned his face in faux petulance, “Nah. No kisses for you.”
“Aww no! I prefer older men, Roogs. Someone my age couldn’t fuck me like you just did.” Her palms slid down to his hairy chest, “I just got railed.”
“Yeah, you did,” he pressed his forehead to hers, “and if you're not careful it’ll happen again, little girl.”
Leah squealed with delight “Is that a threat or a promise?”
A heavy silence laced with affection settled over them both and Rugan lowered his lips to hers. Barely feeling the tickle of their mingled breath before the gulls squabbling outside rudely interrupted. He turned to see a sliver of light cutting its way through the gap in the shutters.
“Ugh,” Rugan groaned, “I'm late!”
He hopped out of bed and grabbed his trousers, pulling them on, “I’ve gotta go, princess. Zarys will have my balls.”
Leah turned on her side and watched him dress, mourning the loss of his perfect body, “I thought she already had em,” she jabbed with a smile. “I heard she keeps em in a little pouch round her neck, gives em a little jiggle when she wants you - it’s got tinkly little bells on it.”
“Very funny,” he retorted sarcastically, “You’ve sobered up quick.” He narrowed his eyes suspiciously as he buckled his belt.
Leah shrugged, smirking as she held his gaze. “I might have exaggerated a bit,”
“We’ll have words about this, young lady. Just you wait.” He gave her a quick kiss then jogged down the stairs. It would be a good long while before she saw him again and when she did her whole life had been turned upside down.
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