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fangswbenefits · 4 months

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The Arrangement (10) - A New Way

Chapter summary: Astarion always find a way back to you even in the midst of all the chaos.

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: 18+. Sexual frustration. Jealous Astarion. Protective Astarion. Fingering. Masturbation. Cumplay. Innuendo. Body worship.

Word count: 7.3k

Author's note: Tumblr isn't allowing me to reply to comments ever since I changed my @... already contacted support. I am not ignoring you guys *deep sigh*

Ao3

Series Masterlist

Rivington had its fair share of taverns and inns sprawled across its busy and lively streets. It was surely a welcome change from the grim and daunting sense of dread that loomed over you when travelling across the shadowlands.

As such, the group had split to indulge in some brief moments of well deserved and welcome repose before finally reaching Baldur’s Gate.

Astarion sat across from you, subtlety eyeing his surroundings as you happily sipped your apple juice.

The sun had yet to reach its peak but the tavern was already crawling with drunkards and unpleasant crowds.

“We shouldn’t linger.” Astarion mused with arms crossed.

You nodded. “I’m nearly done.”

As much as you wished to forget about the troubling matters that haunted you, it was evident that your presence was earning some unwanted curious stares from a few onlookers.

He suddenly reached for the pouch at his hip, withdrawing a piece of fabric before extending his hand to you.

“Here.”

You took it in your hand, briefly admiring its silky texture of the handkerchief as shades of teal and green swirled together in mesmerising patterns.

Then your fingers found golden letters sewn along one corner.

Your name.

Your heart was clenched tight as you traced each letter in absolute awe.

“Astarion, this is…”

He waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, think nothing of it, darling. You’re often covered in blood and sweat and Gods know what other fluids,” he said with a curt smile. “I figured you might as well look stylish whilst wiping that pretty face of yours.”

There he was.

So easily crawling under your skin with his words and now with such a thoughtful gift that fully displayed his artistry and exceptional needlework.

A lump in your throat held your words back.

Maybe he didn’t consider this gesture all that relevant or even worthy of a lingering thought, but you did.

This was a silent extension of him.

Now you’d have him by your heart at all times.

But the moment was cut short as a loud bang rippled across your table.

A man reeking of cheap mead cackled loudly at you. He was swaying so violently it was an incredible feat that he was able to stand on both feet without losing balance.

“Oi! Aren’t you that gal from a few years ago who did magic tricks?”

Your blood ran cold at once and your insides twisted into several knots.

“I don’t think so.” you said, focusing your gaze on the drink in front of you.

You didn’t recognise him, but you silently prayed he would just drop the matter and leave.

Instead, he hiccuped. “N-No! It is you! I would never forget such a face.”

Your eyes met Astarion’s momentarily as he narrowed his crimson eyes at the loud drunkard, and you reckoned he was close to intervening.

You mustered your strength. “No. It’s not me.”

But the man was insistent as he was drunk.

He banged a hand on the wooden surface once more. “What? You are the one whose mother–”

The flash of a dagger pierced through your field of vision, landing right between the man’s fingers, the blade pressed menacingly against his thumb.

“She said ‘no’,” he said through gritted teeth, eyes flaring with contempt. “Should I teach you the meaning of the word?”

The man shuddered and cowered in fear as he strolled away as fast as his wobbly steps would allow.

But Astarion had overdone it and had simultaneously caused many heads to turn your way, voices whispering as people tried to make out what the fuss was all about.

“We’ve overstayed our welcome,” he said, sheathing his dagger as he stood up.

You remained frozen in place, still taken aback by the words the man had spewed at you.

Your mind had been kept too busy to dive back into the memories of your mother, and to dwell on what had happened so many years ago.

A shudder spread across your entire body as the sense of dread gripped you.

You felt his hand nudge your shoulder. “Now’s not the time for daydreaming, sweetheart.”

And he quickly tugged at your arm, pulling you up on your feet before the two of you scurried along the tavern and earning heavy glares.

You made it out just in time as two Fists crossed paths with you on their way inside, trying to disperse the crowd that had gathered around the entryway.

“What was that all about?” Astarion asked as soon as you were able to blend in with the passers-by.

“Nothing.”

Your mouth had gone awfully dry even though you had downed most of your apple juice, replenishing your hydration level.

He stared at you, raising a brow inquisitively. “He did actually know you, didn’t he?”

You met his gaze in a silent warning. “He must have had me confused with someone else.”

He rolled his eyes. “You’re a terrible liar, but I will not pry. We all have secrets to bear.”

You nodded, thankful for his understanding remark.

There was no point in lying to him. He could always see right through your silly attempts at deception.

“Just know that you can come to me should you need to air them out,” he added. “I know all too well how buried secrets always find a way to crawl to the surface – one way or another.”

It was a glaring testament to how he had come to terms with opening up to someone else.

He had come far in that regard and you felt proud of him.

A faint smile settled on your lips, but it faded just as quickly once realisation hit you.

“Wait!” you said, gripping his arm. “The handkerchief – I left it there. Let me–”

He patted your back. “Leave it, darling. Unless you fancy starting a tavern brawl, that is.”

Your heart dropped.

“But…”

“I will embroider you a new one.”

But he never did.

There was no point in lying to Astarion.

You were very well aware of this.

He would spot your deceit faster than a hawk could tail its prey.

But the dreadful sense of impending doom had rooted you to the sofa.

This couldn’t all just be a coincidence.

By the time the two of you had reached the room, Gale and Lae’zel had already vanished through a portal to Waterdeep to assess the situation.

“All we can do for now is wait.” Astarion said, adjusting his shirt.

Shadowheart scoffed. “This is all very odd. It’s as if something is at work against us.”

You nodded. “I agree.”

“Are the two of you in some competition to see who’s the most dramatic?” he said with a click of his tongue. “Honestly, we know nothing about what happened. Maybe his contact succumbed to self-inflicted boredom – a running theme amongst wizards.”

His sense of humour would have been welcome under different circumstances, but you were on the brink of freaking out.

“Maybe I could cast Arcane Gate and help out…” you said in a restless tone, feeling nauseous.

But the mage slayer outside kept your magic levels too low for you to successfully cast a level six conjuration spell, so it was not even an option.

Astarion immediately snorted as he joined your side. “Perish the thought. I don’t think it’d be wise to do such a thing given your condition. You might open a portal to some place infested with murderous creatures, and then I’ll have to jump in to rescue you.”

Shadowheart, who had been pacing worriedly across the room, came to an immediate halt. “What condition?”

You rubbed your temples as if it would magically dissipate the gnawing headache.

“I had too much to drink last night.”

Shadowheart’s accusatory stare immediately landed on Astarion. “What did you do?”

He scoffed dramatically. “Excuse me? I am well aware that pinning the blame on me is a recurring activity in this group, but I had nothing to do with this.”

You groaned with a wince. “Please keep your voices down…”

Shadowheart rushed to lower herself by your feet until she could eye-level with you. “Are you all right?”

No.

And it had little to do with the aftermath of your alcohol consumption.

Ava.

Your intuition was pounding ceaselessly in your mind and you just couldn’t bring yourself to ignore it any longer.

Yes, she had told you she would talk to Astarion, but your nerves were being eaten raw and time wasn’t something you could afford to spare.

“I… think I need to talk about something…” you began as a shiver tore through your body.

Shadowheart gripped your knees, her face twisted in alarmed worry. “What is it?”

You exchanged a glare with Astarion who eyed you in confusion.

“I met up with Ava last night and…” You paused briefly, pondering your next words. “She made an offering.”

His brows furrowed together. “What offering?”

You felt sweat coat your palms as your heart rate quickened in distress. “She’s under the impression someone is after us,” you said, clutching your hands together. “That whoever it is might be responsible for that dead body and us getting wrongfully arrested.”

Shadowheart was now gripping your knees firmly. “And what did she offer?”

Your leg was visibly shaking now as you were finding it harder to keep your composure.

“Apparently, when Astarion feeds on me, our blood mixes together and…”

As far as you were aware, Shadowheart wasn’t aware of his deal with Ava, so you decided to hold that information.

“She’s interested in that… mixture and wants access to it in exchange for information.”

The effect your words had was nearly catastrophic.

Shadowheart looked positively scandalised and Astarion immediately gripped your arm, snarling, “ What? ”

He was instantly on his feet and you followed suit.

“How would she even have access to that in the first place?” she asked in awe.

Astarion spoke before you could, “I’ve been giving her some of my blood as she researches ways to counter the effects of vampirism. But I wasn’t aware of this!”

“ Astarion! ” Shadowheart let out in sheer outrage. “What in the Hells is wrong with you?”

He ignored her remark, eyes fixed on you.

He was mad.

No.

He was furious.

Up until this point, you had only ever witnessed him protect Ava and vouched for her integrity, but it seemed that he was no longer interested in upholding his defence.

“She told me she would tell you of this as she only recently found out about it.”

“To Hells with that!” he snarled. “Did you agree to that arrangement?”

Silence

But that was answer enough.

“You should have told me!”

You swallowed the uncomfortable lump in your throat. “You never listen to me when it comes to her!”

He clicked his tongue in annoyance. “This is different!”

“How?!”

Crimson eyes locked with yours as he scowled deeply. “She involved you!”

His admission stunned you into silence.

It wasn’t all that common nowadays to witness Shadowheart succumb to her protective instinct to the point of no return.

But you could tell she was close to snapping when she approached Astarion, yellow flames dangerously swirled across her palms.

“Give me one good reason not to blast this Ava into oblivion,” she growled with ire. “Or you, for that matter.”

He gave her a mocking scoff. “Darling, I’d love to see you try.”

She smiled deviously and you knew it was time to intervene.

You carefully placed your hand on her arm. “Shadowheart.”

She glanced at you almost in disbelief. “‘Shadowheart’? He’s out here dealing with dodgy people and putting us all at risk! Now she’s also involved with murdering people in Waterdeep?”

Astarion let out an exasperated groan. “What connection is there between the two, then?”

In all honesty, you weren’t quite sure.

Not yet, at least.

At this point, you were allowing your gut feeling to guide you, and it could very well blow up in your face if she turned out to be innocent in all of this.

However… the warning signs were too loud to ignore.

“I… don’t know yet.”

Astarion was glaring at you with pursed lips, and you vaguely wondered if he was upset with you, or if he was actually upset that his judgement had failed him when it came to Ava.

“You can bleed yourself dry if you wish, but not her ,” Shadowheart pressed in a low voice.

“I know .” he shot back.

She took a step forward, her face dangerously close to his. “Then you’d do well to remember that my respect for you has its limits. Do not cross them.”

You tugged at her arm again, trying to put some distance in between them.

“Well, this conversation isn’t going anywhere,” he said after a while with a scoff before turning around to leave. “I’ll be in my room.”

You tried to go after him, but Shadowheart held you firmly in place. “Let him go.”

It was hard to do so, but you nodded as you sat on a nearby chair.

“I know you care deeply for him, but this is beyond ludicrous.” she said with a heavy sigh.

Her voice was that of reason, so you couldn’t fault her for being so apprehensive.

“He would never harm me.”

And you would always stand by this as sure as the sun is to rise.

“Not consciously, but by dealing with this woman, he might have opened a door to great peril.”

You nodded, avoiding her penetrating gaze. “Wyll is running a few checks on some information she gave me. I guess we’ll find an answer soon enough.”

Shadowheart’s face softened every so slightly.

“Please exert caution with Astarion,” she said, grabbing your hand. “And I’m not talking about this in particular.

Oh.

“I don’t doubt for a second that he cares for you, but I don’t want to see you bound to nightmares,” she said in a whisper. “That is no way of living.”

You took a deep breath. “Things are fine between us.”

Unexpectedly, she let out a chuckle. “Oh, I’m sure. My room is next to his and… well, let’s just say that I may have overheard him mumbling your name a few times…”

“What do you…”

Oh.

“So, just… be careful,” she pleaded as she gripped your hand fiercely. “I trust your judgement, but not his… especially not after this.

You felt your heart swell with affection for Shadowheart and you pulled her into a tight embrace, almost tearing up as you did so.

“Thank you.”

She rubbed your back affectionately and whispered, “I adore you.”

“So do I.”

It was becoming more and more apparent that standing outside Astarion’s room was almost part of a routine now.

After a few more seconds, she finally pulled back with a reassuring smile. “I’ll tell the Fists outside to inform Wyll of what’s happened.”

And it was also unnecessarily hard to reach out for that first knock.

You had waited a couple of hours before deciding on what to do.

Wyll hadn’t shown up yet and there was still no word from Waterdeep.

So, you took a deep breath and as you were about to rasp your knuckles against the door, a charming voice was heard, “I know you’re outside.”

Of course he did.

“Can I come in?”

A brief pause.“Be my guest.”

You turned the knob and rushed inside, clicking the door shut behind you.

As expected, the room was plunged in a candle-lit dimness as the curtains draped over the window kept the blazing sun at bay.

Astarion lay on his bed, resting against the headboard as he threaded his way along a piece of cloth with a needle, his eyes solely focused on the task at hand.

Your stomach turned and twisted in knots, and you realised you weren’t quite sure how to start the conversation.

A low chuckle was heard. “I’m assuming you didn’t come here to simply stare at me, darling.”

The lightheartedness in his voice made you feel slightly at ease and you shook your head. “No. I suppose not.”

This time, he did meet your eyes briefly and your heart skipped a beat.“As dashing as I am, I’d rather hear what you have to say instead.”

Right.

You cleared your throat, taking careful steps towards him before taking a seat at the feet of his bed, mindful to keep a certain respectful distance.

“I should have told you about Ava earlier on when you asked me.”

“Indeed.”

He didn’t sound upset in the slightest.

If anything, there was a faint hint of strange calmness to his voice.

“As for Shadowheart…”

He let out a snort. “Please. The day she stops worrying about you is the day I’ll find her in a casket.”

You couldn’t help out a short chuckle as he was absolutely right.

Still, you laced your hands in your lap, absentmindedly fidgeting with your fingers. “I…” you began, before drifting off as uncertainty took place. “I didn’t want to worry you.”

Astarion paused altogether and his crimson eyes were on you again.

“See, I do understand that reasoning,” he said, tugging at the thread that curled around one finger. “But considering the nature of your conversation with her, you should have told me right away.”

You nodded.

“As fruitful as my connection to her might prove to be, I cannot accept the deal you made with her.”

Your heart raced in your chest at how determined he seemed in his resolve.

However…

“If what she says is true and someone is after us, this feels like a small price to pay.”

Astarion snipped the thread with a pair of scissors before setting his handiwork on the bedside table.

The look on his face could easily make the bravest men cower in fear.

“Nothing that involves you is a ‘small price to pay’,” he said, voice low and heavy. “It’s one thing for me to willfully provide my blood, and another for her to take advantage of you so blatantly.”

You frowned deeply. “She is also taking advantage of you, then.”

“I can deal with her.”

Astarion had this tendency to sell himself short in terms of self-worth. At times, he was as confident as one could be, but the centuries of robbed autonomy and lack of genuine bond to others would often slip in and take hold.

He was probably not even aware of how easy it was for you to catch on to this, but you knew him well enough by now.

“You don’t have to.”

He rolled his eyes as he crossed his arms. “Don’t tell me what I can or can’t do.”

It nearly shattered you to hear him put up his defences around you so unbelievably fast.

There was no need for that.

“Don’t ,” you nearly pleaded. “Please don’t assume I am trying to tell you what to do.”

Just as rapidly, his features softened ever so slightly. “I apologise.”

You vehemently shook your head. “I also apologise if my words came across as condescending.”

An unsettling silence took place.

His eyes roamed across your face and you felt more exposed to him than you had ever been even when fully naked in his presence.

Even though you felt comfortable and safe with him, there were times when you wondered if it was reciprocal.

“Ava is not your concern,” he eventually said. “I will deal with her.”

You had no doubt he would.

It just saddened you that… “I know she was helping you out in more ways than one, even if I don’t particularly agree with the… method, so to speak.”

“Yet here you are, thinking that whatever bond I share with her is significant enough,” he said, voice dripping with amusement. “I am using her as much as she is using me. But I never allowed for that to extend to you. Ever .”

You swallowed as his harsh words hit you.

“That was her first mistake – involving you.”

“I took the deal freely.” you said.

“You didn’t have to at all,” he retorted impatiently. “She needs me more than I need her. So, if she knows anything about someone coming after us, she will tell me and I won’t be kind when I ask her to.”

Fair enough.

“Will you still give her your blood?”

“It depends.”

You blinked. “On what?”

“On how the conversation goes,” he said with a shrug. “Though what I do know for certain is that I will not give her blood after feeding on you.”

An impending sense of dread rose inside you and you vaguely wondered if you had just fucked up.

Information was power, and you worried that she might not take it well now that Astarion was openly against her proposal.

But to be fair, she did mention she would let him know about all of this. So, it wasn’t truly your fault that he didn’t take it well, was it?

In fact, it was very much on brand with Astarion.

His sense of loyalty to you was unwavering and transcended any arrangement the two of you had agreed to.

And that was a bond not easily severed, probably much to Ava’s dismay.

“You are off limits.”

It wasn’t a subtle warning by any means and it made your heart swell with warmth somehow. His protectiveness nearly rivalled that of Shadowheart, though you wouldn’t dare tell her this.

A faint smile curled his lips. “I have to thank you.”

You arched an eyebrow. “For what?”

He hesitated at first. “I know you mean well. I do know that.”

Oh, Astarion…

“You’re a better friend than I could ever have hoped for – or even deserve,” he went on. “It is hard at times to be vulnerable. I was never allowed to. For centuries I equated being vulnerable to being weak… even pathetic.”

You were unsure of how to respond, but you felt each word tug at your heartstrings in a way that you had only felt when he had confessed his feelings for you back in Moonrise Towers.

“I’m still getting used to this…” He paused abruptly as if pondering his next words. “Allowing myself to feel all these emotions, I suppose.”

“You are more deserving than you think,” you said truthfully. “Give yourself some credit. You used to be bound to your selfishness when we first met. You didn’t care for others because no one ever cared for you.”

His face held an expression akin to hurt, but it was the good kind of pain. Breaking one’s protective shell didn’t come without discomfort, but it was worth it in the long run.

Unconsciously, you shifted along the edge of the bed as the overwhelming urge to embrace him took over you at once.

Still, you didn’t want to push it, so you halted once you were sitting right next to him, which earned an amused smile from him.

“I have something for you.”

“Oh?”

He reached his hand to grab the piece of cloth on the nightstand. The very same he had just been embroidering moments ago.

“Come here.”

Your heart skipped a beat as he tapped his thigh twice.

Noticing your hesitancy, he repeated the motion until you gathered yourself, feeling a rush of heat pool at your cheeks.

“You do have a thing for keeping me waiting, darling.” he remarked playfully.

A chuckle made its way past your lips as you moved to settle on his lap, careful not to sit too close to his-

“Here you go,” he said, proffering what resembled a kerchief of some sort.

You took it in your hands, admiring its silky texture and mesmerising fusion of different shades of blue that swirled beautifully together until your eyes spotted the yellow-threaded embroidery sprawled along one corner.

Your name.

The needlework was impeccable as always.

Your eyes widened in sheer bewilderment as you remembered the last time he had offered you such a gift.“I – this is beautiful,” you managed to say. “The other one was a masterpiece as well.”

He chuckled tenderly. “The timing of my offering was rather inopportune on that day – I should have waited until we were back in camp.”

His words were sweet and caressed you like a lover, and you could feel yourself drawn more and more to him.

“May I?”

You nodded as he took the kerchief from your hands only to have it drape around your neck, his fingers tugging gently at both ends as his eyes met yours.

Oh.

Fuck.

You only had time to hastily hold on to the headboard with both hands for support as he pulled you in closer. “May I kiss you?”

It was an uncomfortable position to be in since you were trying to avoid his crotch at all costs.

“Where?”

His gaze dropped to your lips.

“Friends don’t do that.” you teased, but still inching closer to him.

“Darling ,” he began with a click of his tongue, rolling the edges of the fabric around each finger. “We haven’t been friends for quite a while now.”

And then he kissed you.

It was a hungry and urgent kiss and his tongue quickly slipped past your lips, causing you to instantly melt into him.

The softest moan escaped your throat as you felt a single fang nip teasingly at your lower lip.

Driven by pure instinct, you shifted along his thighs until you were pressed against his crotch.

He broke the kiss to let out a strained groan and you immediately lifted your hips, alarmed that you had gone too far.

But his hands immediately dropped to your waist, holding you in place. “Don’t.”

You met his lustful gaze. “I’m sorry…”

“Don’t. Please .”

He didn’t push you back against him, but you felt his fingers tease the waistband of your trousers.

“Astarion…” you said, unsure if this was a good idea.

He tugged again, but more gently this tme. “We don't have to do anything you don't feel comfortable with.”

Oh, you were more than eager to carry on. In fact, you were desperate .

You bit your lip, torn between listening to reason or giving in to the moment.

The latter won by a landslide.

You nodded and he masterfully undid the buttons and laces with one hand.

“Do you trust me?”

What an odd question from him. “You know I do.”

His thumb traced your jawline before grazing your lower lip and earning a sigh from you. “Can I trust you not to scream?”

“Scream? Why would I-”

Realisation hit you like a tidal wave and your eyes widened as words died in your mouth.

Oh.

Astarion smiled cheekily, patting your thigh, clearly urging you to slide off of his lap. “Lock the door.”

You were still taken aback and didn't move an inch, staring into his crimson eyes instead as your heart drummed rapidly in your chest.

“Lock the door .”

It resembled a plea, which caused you to clench involuntarily from how desperate he sounded.

Swiftly slipping off his lap, you hurried across his room to turn the key below the doorknob until a click was heard.

By the time you turned around, Astarion had removed his shirt and you were rooted in place, utterly speechless.

He was a work of art.

No words of praise would ever do him justice.

Your mouth had dropped slightly open and he chuckled deviously. “You’re free to stay there and gawk, but I’d rather have you on top of me.”

His teasing snapped you out of your trance-like state and you felt a stronger wave of heat flare across your face and rush down your body.

Your legs felt weak all of a sudden, but you found your way back to him as you always did.

In the end, all roads did lead back to him.

As if driven by an outside force, you quickly slipped out of your trousers, only leaving on your underwear which was already gathering a growing wet spot.

His stare was fixed on your lower half and you spotted the familiar outline of his cock strained in his own trousers.

He eased you back on his lap with a firm grip on your waist and a boyish grin on his lips. Your hands settled on his bare shoulders, still mindful to not lower your hips too much.

“So, my dearest friend… ” he said, adjusting the kerchief around your neck. “How often do you indulge in such activities with your other friends?”

You smirked playfully. “Not often enough.”

He mirrored your expression, fingers slowly undoing each button of your shirt. “Oh? I wonder who crosses your mind, then.”

You.

But he already knew that as his hands travelled down your chest, each breath allowing your shirt to part wide enough to expose your heaving breasts.

“Is it Wyll?”

“You and your obsession with Wyll,” you laughed as he slowly pulled the fabric to the side, exposing each breast at a time. “I’m starting to think you want him for yourself.”

His eyes left yours to gaze at a perky nipple. “The question is: would you be willing to share?”

You whimpered softly as his thumb traced the underside of one breast and you felt too tempted to press down against his erection just so you could comfort the throb in between your legs.

“Of course… I’m all for sharing friends.”

Once he began grazing your nipple, you had to grip his shoulders tighter to anchor yourself.

Your body undulated instinctively, earning a hum of approval from him.

“Would you let Wyll do this, then? As a friend, obviously.”

You were about to arch a brow at his question when you felt one finger pulling your underwear to the side, exposing yourself to him.

It was almost comical how soaked you already were.

You reckoned it was enough to take more than just his fingers.

“Would you let him, darling?”

“I–”

But your voice died in your throat as he ran a single cool finger along your folds, carefully avoiding the swell in between them much to your agony.

The shift in temperature was always something that took some time getting used to and you occasionally flinched as your body adjusted to his touch.

“Can I do this, then?” he asked in a low growl as he teased your entrance. “As a friend.”

You rolled your hips out of reflex and he sank into you with ease until he was knuckle-deep.

“Gods…” you moaned in sheer relief, instinctively clenching around him.

He then pressed his thumb between your folds, causing your hips to jerk as he teased the pulsing swell. It wasn’t long until you began to slowly ride him, your eyes nearly fluttering shut.

“You can take more, can’t you?” he cooed, moving his hand to tease your other nipple. “I remember how eager you used to be for my cock.”

At this rate, he would make you come from his teasing words alone and with a single finger buried inside you.

“Astarion… don’t…” you moaned as you rolled your hips, urging him on.

He needed to shut up…

You needed him to stop talking before-

He suddenly slipped a second finger and you lost your balance, pressing your breasts against his bare chest while seeking support from his shoulder as you buried your face in his neck.

“You have no idea how I longed to be inside you again,” he sighed, his fingers gripping your waist and guiding your sloppy rolls, eventually setting the pace. “My hands can never feel as divine as you do.”

Gods…

You shuddered violently as your moans quickly turned into sobs and whimpers, the wet lewd sounds filling your ears.

He pressed the heel of his palm against you, the delicious friction causing you to rake your hand down from his shoulder and along his chest until he caught your wrist, pressing your heated palm against his hardened nipple.

Astarion immediately groaned and you felt him arch into you.

“Darling…” he moaned, pumping his fingers faster inside you. “Please look down.”

You were so out of it, that his words didn’t register at first, so you kept on riding him in between sobs, further teasing his nipple under your touch.

“Look down,” he repeated more firmly, nearly slipping out of you. “I want you to see the mess you’ve made.”

“ No-no-no … please…” you nearly cried in exasperation, moving your hips desperately against him.

“Then look down.”

You growled in pure frustration, somehow managing to pull back enough to have your eyes land on the hand in between your legs.

It was soaked down to his wrist, and you could see some of it beginning to drip, staining his strained bulge.

You felt an overwhelming wave of embarrassment wash down over you and tried to bury your face in his neck again, but he gripped your chin with his fingers, halting you.

“Do not hide from me,” he said, slipping his fingers back inside as he stared into your half-hooded eyes. “This is one of the highest praises you can offer me.” And he proved his point by planting the softest kiss on your lips.

You immediately melted into his praise, realising just how lovely he could be…

The pent-up sexual frustration was at an all time high and you could feel the familiar coil in your lower abdomen reach the point of no return.

You wished you were strong enough to fight him back with snarky and witty replies, but your concentration was broken.

“What about a third one?”

You didn’t care anymore.

You just wanted release.

It had been too long since he had made you come and you'd take anything he gave you at this point.

“Just…” you began, chasing after that high relentlessly. “ Just… ”

He had the nerve to chuckle at your frustration and you felt a third finger prodding at your entrance.

You could take it.

You would take it.

The fullness would most surely remind you of his cock and you needed it.

You were wet enough to accommodate him as he pushed through, earning a gasp from you followed by a shudder and a strained groan.

“I don’t mean to brag, but I highly doubt dear Wyll would get this reaction from you.”

“Gods… stop talking about Wyll as you’re inside me,” you managed to string coherents words together in between your moans. “Just… please…”

He pressed a kiss to your flushed cheek. “You always take me so well.”

How you wished it was his cock instead, stretching you even more and filling you deeper.

You were nearly there.

“Don’t scream, darling.” he teased as you rode him desperately. “We wouldn't want dear Shadowheart to overhear your wanton cries.”

Well, Shadowheart was already privy to the nature of your relationship with Astarion thanks to him and how he clearly didn't shy away from taking care of himself with others around.

Your mind was about to blank and you slid the kerchief from your neck, feeling the need to bite down on something as you reached your peak.

A few more hip rolls did the trick and one last stroke of his thumb along your folds managed to push you right over the edge.

Your contractions were so violent and strong at first you thought you might die from how hard you were clenching around him, your legs wobbling dangerously as you were drained of lifeforce with each blinding wave of bliss.

The piece of cloth in your mouth didn’t do much to muffle you as your climax tore throughout your body, but it was better than having nothing.

Astarion only slid out once you had slumped into his chest, barely able to keep your breathing steady.

Your knees gave out and you sank down against his crotch, earning a guttural growl from deep within him.

Shit.

You instantly slid off of him, worrying you had accidentally gone too far. “Astarion… I’m…”

He shook his head, the hand that was soaked in your wetness clawing at the front of his trousers as his eyes were pressed shut.

Oh.

“I’ll take care of this…” he let out a pained hiss.

Oh.

“I can just leave,” you mumbled. “I’m…”

His trousers were now undone and you could see his clothes cock faintly throbbing.

And he shook his head once again. “You can stay – you can watch… if you want to.” His words were coated in urgent lust.

Your eyes widened at his proposition and you thought you might implode right there and then.

You had barely come down from your climax and the throbbing that had begun to subside was already about to match your quickened heartbeat.

“Or you can leave…” he said in a low and strained voice.

Oh, he was truly holding back…

“I… can stay.” you offered at once, sitting next to him and trying to ignore the lust that was building inside you once again.

This wasn't about you.

He quickly nodded and with a swift tug he freed his cock and you had to bite down hard on your lip at the mesmerising sight in front of you.

A single strand of precum dangled from the tip, already pooling on his lower abdomen.

“Gods above…” he let out a sigh of relief, hips lifting from the mattress as he wrapped the hand drenched in your wetness around him.

This was too hot to witness and you curled your hands into fists on your lap, wishing nothing more than to touch him again.

But you knew he needed this.

He needed to feel at ease with his body first.

His eyes met yours briefly before dropping to your chest and to your breasts as they heaved from your laboured breathing.

You removed your shirt, not wanting to obstruct his view and Astarion growled .

The pace was slow at first as he squeezed his cock, but he quickly picked up, mixing your wetness with his with each stroke.

He looked positively ethereal as his handsome face twisted in pleasure, lips parted and razor-sharp fangs peeking through.

Should you say something? Should you praise him? Encourage him? Or would it be too much?

From what you remembered, he seemed to revel in your teasing words in moments of shared bliss, but how much of that was an act back then? Was he ever able to fully enjoy being with you?

In doubt, you chose to remain silent as you watched him bring himself closer to his own climax.

It didn't take him long to start mumbling your name in between heated pants and there was no way back now.

You were throbbing hard again, wetness spilling from you with each involuntarily clench.

Your body was so ready for him… it was almost painful.

A thicker string of precum bridged his tip to his abdomen, and you nearly moaned, remembering its sweet taste.

He rolled his hips languidly, eyes never leaving you as he gripped the bedsheets under him with such force you reckoned me might tear right through the fabric.

That sparked newfound curiosity inside you.

Slowly, you leaned forward, shifting closer just to have your hand next to his without quite touching him, but close enough for him to feel your warmth.

I'm here… I'm with you, you wanted to whisper, but only heard the words echo in your head.

He groaned in response and, much to your surprise, he released the sheets and his fingers found you, intertwining them in yours as he held on to you.

Your heart might have skipped several beats, you were no longer sure at this rate.

You had seen him reach his peak a handful of times before, but there was something different about the way he toppled over the edge this time.

He threw his head back against the headboard, straining his neck as his mouth dropped open, your name being the only intelligible word you could make out in the midst of hisses and groans.

Your heart was hammering so fast in your chest that you feared you might not make it as he reached his peak.

His hips still momentarily and he covered his swollen tip with his hand and the first spurts of cum began to slip through his fingers before dribbling down to gather at the base and across his lower abdomen.

You held his hand formçy through his climax. Perhaps the first genuine one you had ever witnessed, which invoked an odd feeling of… delight?

For the second time in just a mere couple of days, the two of you held hands albeit seeking varying degrees of comfort and relief.

Beads of sweat rolled down his temple and covered his bare torso as he descended from his high and that was when his eyes met yours.

Your stomach turned and you felt the throb between your legs begin to ease with each passing second.

“Will you kiss me?”

His request took you by surprise, but you promptly shifted next to him until your face was close enough that your lips grazed his.

Only then did he let go of your hand and merely because he meant to hold your chin as he kissed you softly.

It carried neither urgency nor lust.

Just a pure display of silent intimacy that strummed at your heartstrings more effectively than any other praise he could ever offer you.

You melted into his sweet touch and allowed your kiss to express the unspoken words you had yet to tell him.

I love you…

Whichever form of love it was, all you knew was that it felt right and love overdue.

You could feel him occasionally smile against your lips and there was not a single drop of doubt in you.

I love you.

After what felt like an eternity, you pulled away, already mourning his touch.

“Shadowheart knows.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Oh?”

You had to hold back a chuckle. “She heard you – well, when you were… handling things after feeding on me.”

The most mischievous of smiles settled on his lips.

“I thought you said you were quiet…”

“I was, darling,” he said before pecking your cheek. “For the most part, that is.”

You giggled and then stared at him in awe as his beauty increased tenfold from where you sat.

He was impossibly handsome.

“You’re so…”

“Charming?”

You rolled your eyes as he pressed his cool lips to your other cheek.

“Beautiful?”

Another kiss.

“You’re so… you.” you blurted out almost feeling embarrassed from how basic your praise was.

But it drew the biggest smile from him, and you mirrored it instantly.

“Well…”

You watched as his eyes dropped to his lower half and yours widened slightly at the obscene amount of cum was now dribbling down his sides in thick beads. His hand was still holding his now softening cock, fingers drenched in his own spend.

“That’s a lot…” you said.

He nodded, looking almost as perplexed as you were. “I don’t think I’ve ever…” and his voice trailed down.

And you knew exactly what he meant.

With a warm smile, you extended your hand, offering him the kerchief he had gifted you moments before.

He visibly winced. “No, darling. It would be nigh criminal to use such delicate fabric on this .”

Your smile widened. “Can I fetch you a towel then?”

“Please,” he said with an exasperated sigh. “It’s rather messy here.”

You pressed a fleeting kiss to his lips before sliding off the bed and hurriedly slipping into your shirt and trousers and crossing the room.

The key turned in one swift move and you quickly left the room.

You were only able to take a few steps before a silhouette startled you.

Shadowheart.

She was leaning against the railing by the top of the staircase with folded arms and a quirked brow.

“Gods! You scared me,” you said, clutching at your chest.

“Glad some of us are able to enjoy ourselves in such times.”

You swallowed hard. “Uh… we were just talking.”

She snickered humorously. “I suppose it’s a form of communication.”

An overwhelming heatwave spread across your face. Had you been that loud? Or had he?

Then her expression turned serious. “Pull yourself together. We have visitors.”

TBC

#astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x female tav #astarion x you #astarion x female reader #astarion x f!tav #astarion x oc #astarion x f!reader #the arrangement #astarion smut

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familyvideostevie · 5 months

Text

steel drum weight of me

joel miller x fem!reader, 18+ mdni

summary: joel comes back from his wall shift with hands in need of some serious tlc. but why stop there? | 3.2k

warnings: fem!reader, fluff turned to smut, a tender blowjob, p in v sex, unprotected sex, riding, creampie

a/n: this could be in the same universe as come care about me and watching you with wonder but who knows. what matters is it's a post-part i jackson au and all is well. this is my first fic in a while and i hammered it out today so hopefully it's coherent. <3 series masterlist here.

Jackson looks its best in the winter.

You've always thought so with its endless skies gone white, blending in with the grey clouds carrying the constant threat of snow. The peaks you never tire of, such ethereal beauty in a world otherwise gone to shit, looming over town with a steadfastness that you can fool yourself into thinking means protection, means safety. In reality, they're just something nice to look at when you have a free moment.

It's also fucking cold.

But you can deal with that. You've spent more winters in the last twenty years than you'd like to remember mostly outside, freezing your ass off, fingers so numb you could barely pull the trigger. But when it counted, you did.

Winter now means a town full of children laughing and having snowball fights. It means big pots of stew and your pick of hats, scarves, and a good pair of boots. It means a warm house to go back to every night, a bed to crawl into, and a man you love to hold you.

Things could be worse.

You're home first today. Joel and Ellie are on the wall and have been since mid-morning. The light is already going, the sun dipping behind the Tetons, sky that winter mix of purple and pink that makes the breath catch in your throat no matter how many times you see it. There's a flu going around and taking people out for a few days at most but it means fewer bodies free for the wall and for patrol. You're pulling a double tomorrow and you're already looking forward to the hot bath you'll take after.

Today, though, you change from your work clothes to something softer, a sweater that travels between your drawer and Joel's, thick socks Dina gave you for your birthday last year. It's hard to heat houses like yours the way you used to but it works well enough to fight the chill so long as you layer. That's the name of the game these days: adapting.

You set the kettle to boil and forgo thinking about dinner for a few hours. Joel won't drink tea with you but if Ellie stops by she'll have some. Maybe you can convince her to watch the movie you pulled from the library this week. You love him, but Joel just doesn't appreciate comedies.

The front door creaks, the bell you have hanging from the doorknob jingling.

"S'me," Joel calls into the house. "You home?"

"Making tea." The kettle isn't steaming yet so you lean against the counter and wait.

The sounds of his return are familiar even though you can't see him. He locks the door with a click, shrugs his jacket off with a sigh. He sits down on the bench you put in the entryway so he can take his boots off. The thunk of one and then the other. He'll tuck them next to yours under the coat rack. When the weather is bad you try to come in the back door so not as to track snow through the house but you don't want his back to get any worse so a bench in front makes sense.

The kettle screams. You pull it off quick and pour the water into your mug -- a chipped green one with a dinosaur holding a cookie that you find endlessly amusing -- and leave it to steep. The floor creaks under your socked feet as you make your way into the hall. Joel still sits on the bench digging into the meat of one palm with his thumb like he's working the feeling back into them.

He looks up and his jaw softens a little. His cheeks are rosy from the cold and his hair a mess from the wind. "Evenin," he says.

"How was the wall?"

"Fine." He stops messing with his hands and rolls his shoulders back with a grunt. "Ellie swears she saw a moose on her last patrol. Said to tell you. I think she's fuckin' with me. How was your shift?"

"Fine," you echo. "Is she coming for dinner?"

He shakes his head. "Game night at Jesse's."

You cross the remaining distance between you and he parts his legs automatically so you can stand between his knees. You run a hand through his hair, pushing the greying fringe back from his eyes. He looks up at you and finally smiles, just a little. You drag your hand down the side of his face and enjoy the feel of his beard on your skin.

"Maybe she did see a moose." He rolls his eyes and brings a hand up to cover yours. You lean down to kiss him but something catches your eye and you pull back, tugging your hand from beneath his to circle his wrist.

"Jesus, Joel." He makes a surprised sound.

"Hey now, what --"

You pull his other hand from his knee and hold them both close to your face, turning them over in the light of the entryway. "You didn't wear gloves, did you?"

He just shrugs. That means someone else on the wall -- probably Ellie -- forgot theirs and he handed his own over.

The skin of his knuckles is dry and cracked, the rest of his palm dry and cold to the touch. You've seen them bloody, broken and bruised, and compared to that, this is tame. Welcome, almost. But you know he won't do a damn thing about it, let himself bleed rather than take a second to make things better.

And you've never minded this part. Taking care of him, making him slow down and rest for even just a little bit. You both know you'd get your hands dirty or worse for him and he for you, but this is the part he has trouble with. So you take the reigns.

It's part of how you fit together -- part of how you look after each other.

"We've got something for this." Joel looks unamused. You press a light kiss to one of his knuckles and his nostrils flare. "Go sit on the couch," you say.

"I'm fine --"

"Joel, they'll bleed if you don't let me --"

"I said I'm --"

"Hey," you say. He hears the finality of your tone and lets you have it, sighing your name in one long breath.

"Alright," he says. "Move, then."

You press a quick kiss to his lips and release his hands to step back. He stands with his usual grunt and you have to stop yourself from leaning into the width of him, from wrapping your arms around him and slotting your nose in his neck and never letting go.

"It's that salve Dina brought over last week," you tell him. "The new one for the winter. Smells nice. Good for this kind of stuff."

Joel makes his way to the couch and you fetch the tin from the kitchen.

"What's it made of?"

"Uh -- oil? And some flowers, I think? Wax, maybe."

He's settled into the cushions when you return, smirking. "It's okay to say you don't fuckin' know."

You sit next to him and unscrew the top, folding your legs so you're facing him. "Well then, I don't fuckin' know." You're sure to imitate his drawl.

"Cute."

"Gimme those hands, big guy."

The salve smells faintly of lavender and it's cold on your fingertips. Joel extends his right hand and you work it into his skin slowly, extra careful around where it's cracked and split. You feel his eyes on you but you let him look.

"Feels good, huh?" He hums. "If you'd wear your gloves then --"

"What was I gonna do, let her freeze?" So it was Ellie, then. You flick your gaze up and find his brow furrowed. If you have a free hand you'd smooth the crease with your thumb.

"No," you say. "Guess it's a damn good thing you have me here, then."

He chuckles, a throaty, rusty sound. "Guess so."

You finish the first hand and motion for his second. He gives it to you and you dig your thumbs into the meat of his palm. Joel lets you touch him whenever you like, for the most part. Pressing into his side when you walk down the street in town, trailing your lips down his neck until he whines just a little in your bedroom. You've worked knots out of his shoulders and cleaned blood from surface wounds. You can never get enough of him, of his warmth, the expanse of his tanned skin all yours for the taking.

And, boy, he touches you back.

So you take your time. You rub the salve between his fingers, over the ridges of knuckles split so many times you don't even know about. His hands are rough even when they're not dry and cracking, callused from years of hard work. From years of violence and playing guitar, shooting a gun and holding the people he loves. Dotted with scars and nicks, hands that have touched every part of you.

Joel's slightly slimy finger taps your chin. "You okay?" You've been stroking the same bit of his hand for who knows how long.

"Yeah," you say and mean it. You rub your own hands together to soak in some of the salve before putting the lid back on the tin and standing. "Need to let it soak in."

"Feels soaked in already," he grumbles.

"Stay there." He purses his lips. "I mean it, Joel."

"Bossy today," he says. "There's wood that needs choppin'." You ignore him since he's just being annoying. The salve goes back in the kitchen and his voice trails after you. "And I told Tommy I'd --"

You turn on the tap. "You gotta let that soak in," you say again from the sink.

"What? Can't hear over the water."

You turn off the tap and dry your hands. Joel is still on the couch when you return. "Sorry," you say. You run your hand through his hair again and settle back down next to him. "I said be patient."

"Don't think that's what you said."

"It's what I meant."

And he looks at you in that way that always makes your face feel hot. Like he's seeing right to the bone of you, like he's laying you bare on the floor in his mind. Like he never wants to stop looking at you, next to him on the couch, leg pressed to yours. Like he loves you.

"Alright," he says.

You get an idea, the flames licking at your belly and your hands itching to touch him again, to touch him differently than before. That idea has you grabbing a pillow and tossing it to the floor, has you getting up and drawing the curtains before you sink to your knees before him.

Joel only looks mildly surprised, eyebrows raised, mouth tugging up at the corner. "Now, I ain't gonna complain but --"

"Then don't," you say. You tug his shirt from his waistband and start working on his belt. "Gotta pass the time somehow. And I don't know what we're doing for dinner yet, so maybe I'm just stalling."

"Hell of a way to stall." He reaches for you to touch your face, maybe, or help you with his belt, when you click your tongue. "We can just go to the community hall--"

"Don't touch," you remind him. "You have to let it--"

"Soak, Jesus, yeah, yeah." Joel tips his head back along the sofa and takes one deep breath. If he really wanted to he could ignore you and you'd let him get away with it, but if there's one thing you and Joel have solidified, it's trust. He trusts you to take care of him, to handle him with hands that love him.

So you do. He lifts his hips just a little so you can tug his jeans down, zipper undone and button popped. You pull out his cock, already half-hard at the promise of what's to come. You spit into your palm and stroke him once root to tip and he hisses. More blood flows and he stiffens in your hand.

"You just gonna look at it?"

You give him a squeeze for being a shit. He laughs but it sounds punched out, on the edge. Frankly it's an effort not to take him in your mouth right away. You've always loved this -- the exchange of power, the trust. You're the one on your knees but you're calling the shots. And he's mouthwatering. The way his cock curves a little, the vein that runs along the underside. The mushroom head a little pinker than the rest, the wiry hair at his base. The hefty weight of his balls in your hand, on your tongue. You know how to make it good for him and it's good for you, too.

Joel opens his mouth to no doubt say something else annoying so you finally drag your tongue along the vein, swirling a little at the top before taking just the tip of him in your mouth. His precome is salty. You work your hand along the rest of him as you start to suck in earnest, hollowing your cheeks and taking a little more each time.

"Look so pretty, baby," Joel says. His voice is gravely, broken in his throat. You manage to take almost all of him and you swallow, just once. Your reward is your name spilling from his mouth in a groan.

It's messy. Spit beads at the corner of your mouth and drips a little as you work him, breathing through your nose when you take him all the way. So good, takin' all of me, keep goin'.

Joel has clearly forgotten your directive as he winds one hand in your hair and pulls just a little, just enough to make you moan around him. You don't scold him for it, instead keeping your eyes on his face. His head is tipped back just a little, lips parted at he gazes down at you. His other arm is stretched along the length of the couch, his fingers digging into the fabric as you bob on his cock.

You know he's close. You can feel how he's trying hard to keep his hips down, trying not to fuck your throat cause usually he asks first. So it's only a little surprising when he pulls you off him, eyes a little glazed and some color high on his cheeks.

He wipes spit from the corner of your mouth with the pad of his thumb. "Why don't you c'mere?" he says. "Let me fill you up."

"Joel." This was supposed to be about making him feel good. You know even if he comes in your mouth he'll ask you let him touch you, so frankly you don't mind if he fucks you or not.

He smirks, presses his fingers into the side of your neck a little. You swallow so he can feel it. "We both know you can take it," he drawls, eyes dark. "Always gets you goin', my cock in your mouth."

You can feel the heat between your legs, the arousal pooling in your gut. He's right but he's also an asshole. "You're annoying," you tell him.

"So is that a no?"

You drag the flat of your tongue up his shaft one last time as punishment before standing, using his knees as leverage to get off your own. He shucks off his jeans the rest of the way as you drag down your pants, letting them pool with your underwear at your feet before stepping out. Joel holds out a hand for you to balance on and you take it, putting your other on his shoulder.

"Feels softer already," you mutter. Joel snickers and you straddle him. He uses one hand to drag his fingers through your cunt and you fail to swallow a gasp.

"Well, look at that," he says. "I was right." He pushes two fingers into you and they go easily, your hips jerking as he pumps them in and out once, twice, and then you're empty again.

"Smug bastard," you manage. He brings his hand to his mouth and takes a long lick before surging forward to kiss you. You can taste yourself on his tongue and it makes you even wetter.

Joel licks into your mouth and you kiss him back sloppily, desperately, in the way you know he likes. You're so busy with that hands on his face, his beard scratching your skin deliciously, that you don't notice what else he's doing. His hand presses into the bare skin of your back under your shirt and you lift up a little on instinct and then --

The head of his cock nudges at your entrance and his hand presses again and you meet the movement of his hips with your own and he fills you with just one stroke.

You moan in unison, Joel's arm wrapping around your back as you curl yours around his neck, mouths not so much pressed together as hovering as you pant, as you adjust. Even with how wet you are Joel is a stretch, a welcome one, but a stretch regardless. You shift your hips, roll them back and forth a little.

"Go on, then," you tell him. "Fuck me."

He laughs.

His lips leave yours and trail down your chin, sucking spots onto your neck and on that spot that makes you keen as he does what you ask. He goes slow at first, letting you meet him thrust for thrust. One hand snakes up your shirt, thumbs at your nipple when he finds no bra in the way. You wing your fingers in his hair and tug, tug until he picks up the pace, until all you can hear is the smack of his flesh against yours.

"Joel -- Joel -- right there --"

"M'not gonna -- I -- fuck --"

"Said you were gonna fill me up, didn't you?" you pant, managing to find a bit of cheek in the haze of your fucking. "C'mon, Miller. Don't keep a lady wait--"

His hips pick up the pace, his hands pressing into you hard enough to bruise. You give up trying to tease him and hang on for dear life, managing to snake a hand between your legs to rub at your clit as he pounds into you. The only thing you can say is his name over and over as you feel the hook pull taught, feel the head of his cock brush against and then pound that spot that makes your vision blur.

Joel comes just before you do, his thrusts stuttering and his name on your lips. You feel it, the heat inside you and it's enough to send you over the edge, your cunt squeezing him as he empties inside you.

You press your forehead to his and catch your breath. He palms your neck, your jaw, slides his thumb lazily under your eye and kisses the corner of your mouth.

"Hell of a salve," he manages.

You slot your lips over his. "Wear your damn gloves." Joel laughs and it shifts him inside you. Even softening it makes you both hiss a little. "Just gimme a second."

His hand drags up and down your back, pressing into your spine. "Take your time," he says. "M'clearly not goin' anywhere."

"You never stop, do you?"

Joel kisses you again. "'fraid not."

You laugh into his neck. "Good."

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here!

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller fanfiction

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disneyprincemuke · 2 months

Text

it was only a kiss * fem!driver

it's just a kiss. surely, it isn't that big of a deal, right?

pairings: logan sargeant x fem!driver

notes: LOL i'll write her race win and post it this week i swear!!

(series masterlist) | (📂 the sophomore year)

logan does not know when he started to go against his better judgment. it could have been the shots they were taking with dalton earlier in the evening, or perhaps it was when they locked themselves away in her room to eat the birthday pancakes she had gotten him.

maybe it’s a thing that just consumed him at the moment — the fireworks as the new year came and greeted them was an atmosphere he simply could not resist her in.

because he kissed her– no, he’s kissing her. right now. against all his rationalisation, without warning, without permission. without even thinking about it.

the last thing he remembers is her turning to him with a wide smile wishing him a happy new year and suddenly he was hunched over with their lips locked. everything seems to go slowly now like he was trying to savour the moment and remember the way she tastes for the rest of his life.

he didn’t know how long it took her back to start kissing him back, but she did, eventually. she put her hands on either side of his face and everything else just fell away. logan had never been the type to get so lost in a kiss before. his heart is skipping beats as he tries her damnest to pull her closer to him, as if their bodies are not already pressed up on one another.

suddenly all the things he’s spent the past 3 years worrying about didn’t matter. not one thought about how their friendship is too great to risk it for pops up currently, and definitely nothing about the neverending excuses about their jobs and their places in their lives now.

and it’s nothing less for her. when he bent down and crashed his lips onto hers, suddenly they were the only 2 people in the house. she barely heard the fireworks crack the sky apart or the way dalton looked up from the backyard to greet them, only to raise his eyebrows and giggle to himself as he went away to get more drinks.

nothing matters. just the fact that she and logan are finally kissing. after 9 years of friendship and 3 long years pining over him, this is their first kiss and the first time she’s getting to know his mouth.

it’s devastating — they should have been kissing the moment they realised they had feelings for one another, she thinks. her lips feel so at home against his like it was a match made in heaven.

it just feels so right.

logan doesn’t want to be the one to pull away. he’s been wanting to do this ever since he saw her snuggled in his bed 3 years ago and realised that he no longer saw her as a best friend. and neither does she; the feel of his lips against hers is not one that she wants to forget.

yet, the world is cruel that way.

they pull away at the same time, stumbling back with swollen lips and heaving chests. their eyes are wide, and she blinks rapidly as if she still can’t believe what had just happened.

how long were they kissing? he glances over the balcony and notices that the crowd once gathered for the fireworks has now dispersed into different areas of the backyard.

“i’m sorry,” logan says immediately, sensing the hesitation coming from her. he shakes his head, trying to rid himself of the intensity of the moment they’d just shared. “oh, god. i’m so sorry.”

“i,” she trails off, looking down at her hands. she’s yearned to have this feeling for years; she’s afraid that one sudden move might reveal that it’s just another dream and she’d wake up by herself in her bed. she looks up again with a soft sigh. “logan.”

she says his name and he feels all his defenses crumbling down in an instant. his name only ever sounds good when it rolls off her tongue.

“i don’t know what came over me,” logan starts to explain, still shaking his head. “i’m so so sorry. i didn’t–“

she shakes her head and takes a step forward, hands in the air in an attempt to calm him down. “logan. relax.” she takes another step forward with caution and grins very slightly as she takes his hand into hers. “do you wanna go get a drink first?”

truthfully, logan wants to kind of kiss her again. he’d waited this long, held himself back from the urge to want his best friend wholeheartedly only for him to realise that kissing her was just as dreamy as he imagined it would be.

he looks up from the ground when she squeezes his hand. she doesn’t say anything else, but there is something about the way she smiles up at him that compels his brain to quiet down for a minute. he nods and lets her pull him towards the door, he’s assuming to make an appearance at the party downstairs.

but oh, god, someone needs to tell him how to resist the urge to do the same thing again.

so they don’t talk about the kiss all night. instead of actually talking about it, they decided to join the party downstairs and drown themselves in alcohol until the sun rose. you know, doing the one thing they’re actually not foreign to.

even worse when she briefly remembered the way they’ve — at one point or another — said ‘i love you’ to one another while drunk off their minds at least once in the past 3 years.

and instead of talking about it after the party, stumbling back into her guest bedroom, they climbed under the covers and slept instead. next to one another. which wouldn’t be an issue since they’ve slept in the same bed multiple times, but this time was different.

it’s different because they’re tangled in one another with the blankets strewn over their bodies.

all logan can think of after he opens his eyes is how he’s finally where he's wanted to be after years of dancing around the thought of them. he looks down and is immediately enamoured by the way her arm is slung over his body, face nuzzled into the side of his body as her chest rises and falls steadily.

it feels surreal to finally get the girl he wants for a change. but he knows — and he knows that she knows — the reason they kept dancing around the possibility of them, and it’s still gnawing at him annoyingly from the back of his head. he’s tried to ignore it all night but it’s there.

all night, looking across the lawn as she interacted with his family, he found himself wishing things were different.

she moves very slightly, nuzzling her face further into him and stretches an arm out. for a moment, his heart drops at the thought that she would wake up. because that means that this would all be over and all rationalisation would hit her as well once more.

he doesn’t know though that she’d been awake for the better part of the past 15 minutes, frozen in her spot next to him, refusing to let it end. you never know for sure that you’re made for somebody until you fit perfectly along the crevices of their body every single time.

sure, they’ve hugged and shared beds before, but never this way. it’s an eye-opening experience to spend the night with someone innocently and suddenly realise that soulmates may actually exist in one form or another. it’s just upsetting that sometimes they come in the form of a best friend you’ve known for half your life, making it all the more damaging to keep thinking of them as somebody more.

but staying in this position any longer might cause logan to explode. she lifts her head slightly when she felt him rubbing her arm gently, met by a soft smile and she knew that the events of the night before would only bode disaster than anything else.

“you can’t keep avoiding me all day,” a voice follows him down the hall of the second floor of his home, “we’re in the same house for an entire week.”

logan doesn’t respond, just keeps walking further down the hall and down the stairs as if he hadn’t heard her pleas for the last minute.

they didn’t speak of anything either when they got out of bed. only excused themselves to freshen up for breakfast with his family before avoiding one another’s eyes and darting to different parts of the room: her to the toilet and him back to his bedroom.

“hey, what is your problem!” she shrieks. her footsteps echo down the stairs, grabbing logan’s shoulder to turn him around to face her. “you can’t just kiss me and then not say anything! what the fuck, logan!”

he looks up at her, standing two steps above him, furrowing his eyebrows slightly. he can’t possibly be the only one who can clearly see the implications of what transpired, right? “i don’t know what to say to you.”

she throws your head back slightly, blinking at him as she tries raking her brain for a response. what– what the fuck does that even mean? “what?”

logan huffs, lips pursed. “i want you,” he lays it down for her, shocked at the way that it had come out. frustration laces his every word as he speaks, simply because it’s… it’s frustrating to be this close to the person you want but can’t have. “it is as simple and as complicated as that. you know that, come on!”

“it doesn’t have to be.” he tilts his head, shaking his head before he turns around and walks the stairs again. she throws her arms into the air in frustration as she chases him again. “mate!”

“i told you,” logan huffs, turning around at the bottom of the stairs, “i’m sorry that i kissed you. i don’t know what came over me — i did it without thinking. i’ve wanted to kiss you for years, so i’m sorry i couldn’t hold myself back.”

“why are you apologising? did you hit your head and forget that i kissed you back?” she meets him at the bottom step and puts her hands on her hips. she closes her eyes and sucks in a breath, letting it out shakily as she says his name softly.

he shakes his head. “don’t even do that. that’s not fair.”

“don’t do what?”

“don’t do that shakey breath and then say my name whenever you don’t get what you want! this is different — this is not something as superficial as you not getting ice cream when you ask for it!” logan rambles, rolling his eyes. “it’s not the same!”

“then how do you suppose we should deal with this then?” she leans back on the railing of the stairs and raises an eyebrow. “you started the whole mess, i believe you should have an answer.”

“nothing can change. in fact, nothing’s gonna change,” he sighs, suddenly hoping that he can take his words back when she melts in her position and her frown grows. “not for me and you. you already know this, please, don’t be like that.”

she glares up at him, mirroring the frustration he’d been feeling all morning. simply for the fact that she knows logan is right. there are many reasons they pushed their feelings back but being in f1 together is the most prominent one.

“i know.” her voice barely comes out in a whisper, clenching her jaw as she looks away. it shouldn’t have to be this complicated, right?

love shouldn’t be this complicated.

“i just wish it was easier than this,” she admits, dropping her head as tears rush into her eyes. “i thought because we k–“

“me too.” he takes several steps forward, wrapping his arms around her. “but this is our reality. you didn’t work this hard to get where you are just for you to be reduced to the person you’re dating. we’ve had this conversation before 2 years ago.”

she freezes. as far as she’s concerned, he was blackout drunk that night they had the conversation. “you remember that?”

he hums. “‘course, i do.” he rests his chin on her head and starts to rub circles on her back. “i’m sorry it has to be this complicated.”

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kaciebello · 3 months

Text

Delivery fees

Slytherin boys x Hufflepuff! reader (use of she/her, no use of y/n)

Masterlist

Delivery Express ✿

Summary: The reader sees an opportunity to run an untapped market in Hogwarts. Business opportunities arise and brands need to be made.

warnings: mention cigarettes, nothing else really

Authors note: English is not my first language, so I apologize for any mistakes beforehand. I want to spread this into a one-shot series. Proofread by me and me only :(

Previously: Don’t shoot the messenger

Next part: Left on delivered

Word count: 1262

Notes to deliver - 14

The group of boys was relaxing in the courtyard, some sitting on the uncomfortable stone benches, one individual was leaning against a tree that provided them shade and two more sat on the floor forming a semi-circle of their friend group. Nobody dares to approach the ‘ dangerous’ group of individuals for their own sake. Well, nobody but a certain Hufflepuff girl with a bright yellow bow in her hair.

Who, coincidentally, was making her way over to them. As fast as she appeared she sat down and made herself comfortable between her friend's legs who was sitting on a bench. A string of greetings could be heard from the group but the girl paid them no mind. She had business to take care of.

“ Hello, Sunshine. All good?” Asked Lorenzo leaning over the girl nested between his legs hoping to catch a glimpse of her face. She shook her head and dug out her trust notebook from her bag. “ I can't come up with a name.” she just says and ignores the stares the group gives her. Lorenzo gives up and just plays with the bow in her hair.

“ Name for what?” Asks The boy leaning on the tree, Theodor. Now too, sitting down at the base of it. She looks up from her notebook with a sigh. “Isn't it obvious? My delivery business. I can’t go nameless for long.” Nods and hums of agreement sound from the boys yet no suggestion in sight so she continues. “ I was going to name it Badger Express, but my muggle friends informed me that something called Panda Express exists and that they deliver Chinese food. I simply can not rival that.” She whines and crosses something out of her notebook.

“ You talk to muggles?” Asked Draco, seemingly offended by even being in the existence of the word. To his dismay no answer just a pencil is thrown his way. “Royal Mail is also taken, so that's that one crossed out.” A huff makes them all turn their heads to Blaise, making his eyes widen with all the attention. “ Hogwarts express?” He suggests with a sheepish shoulder shrug. “ You mean like the train that takes us here and back every year?” argues Mattheo on behalf of the girl. “ What else was I supposed to say?” Snaps back Blaise. “ A better idea” whispers Draco and some heads turn to him immediately. A laugh can be heard leaving Theodor as a playful argument breaks out between the boys.

The girl just sighed and turned her head up to look at Lorenzo. “ Your friends lack creativity love, we shall find you new ones.” Lorenzo just nods wordlessly after observing them himself. “ I think badger delivery could work nicely.” He suggests, the girl just nods, as this is as good as it’s gonna get from any of them.

“ The name does not matter right now. I have gotten complaints about the charge.” She announces effectively stopping the fight as all the heads turn to her. Confusion on their faces and pure despair of hers. “ How much do you charge?” Asks Mattheo opening his cigarette packet and passing it over to Theodor.

“ 5 galleons.”

“Pocket change.” Ignoring his remark and declining the cigarette Theo was offering to her. “ I think I am going to charge depending on what they want. Because if I have to deliver one more love note dosed in amortentia my head will burst” She wonders aloud, not looking for an answer from them. Her hand searches for a pencil that now rests behind Malfoy's ear and immediately gives up when she notices its place.” What does it smell like to you?” Asks her Theodor as if they were girls at a sleepover doing facemasks and sharing who their crushes are. “Wouldn't you like to know.” She answers her eyes narrowing at the boy.

“ I bet I can guess who it smells like.” Says Mattheo with way more confidence than needed. A sigh leaves her, fully aware she can no longer stop teenage boy shenanigans. Wild-named queues are thrown into the circle as it looks more like a game of Guess Who at this point. “ I guess it's one of us.” Answers Blaise who, in the meantime, managed to pull out a book and actually read some words. ‘ This tomfoolery…’ she whispered and leaned into her friend sitting behind her.

Silence falls upon the group, the sun decides to peek from behind the could blanket and expose them to direct sunlight for a few seconds. Lorenzo declines a cigarette from Matthew as he continues to play with the girl's hair. A little ‘aha’ from her breaks the silence and they all turn to her like lazy cats disturbed from their sunbathing.

“I can ask the twins if they wanna partner up!” She says with excitement, almost jumping from her spot with it. “ The twins?” Asks Blaise. “ Weasely Twins.” Scoff can be heard from the blond of the group before he lays down to soak up more of the sun, seeming not aware of what sunburn is. “ No think about it, I can distribute their little trinkets and get some money from it! It's a brilliant idea!” The girl gets up and brushes her skirt with newfound determination. Few eyes followed her, some didn't even bother to pick up their gaze from a book or opening their eyes.

Taking a few steps to the blond she snatches her pencil back before he even registers a shadow is now covering him. Packing her bags she hears her friend. “ Why are you even doing this?” He asks with genuine curiosity.

“Money.”

“Why?”

“ Merlin, not everyone comes from old wizard money, Berkshire.”

“ You do tho.” Silence falls upon them again as the girl has no valid answer to the argument. Deciding to pack her bags instead when a few notes fall out of her bag. “ You have something for us there, mail girl?” Asks Mattheo with a raised eyebrow and points to the notes. Frantic nods are her answer as she picks them up and starts distributing the right notes. “ Each of you have one, well, not you Theodor you have two, for some reason.” She says. “ Maybe I am just that popular with the ladies. “ I don't know man, one was really pissed when she gave it to me.” His smile flatters a bit before returning to the smirk he normally wears.

Her friend forms a pout on his face and grabs her wrist from his sitting position. “ Nothing for me?” He asks. “ Boy, you told me not to deliver you anything, the only notes you're getting from me are the ones I take in potions.” A smile spreads on his face and he lets go.

“Oi, sunshine. Do you think I can get those potions notes too-” “Oh Is that Fred and George? I've got to go, bye!” She grabs her stuff and hurries to the ginger twin boys that heard her calling. An offended scoff can be heard from Blaise before the group remembers that they actually have potions homework and all scurry like mice in a hurry.

Notes to deliver - 9

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miirohs · 7 months

Text

in the middle of the night [r.n.z]

pairing: OPLA!Roronoa Zoro x Reader wc: 1.0k cw: there is a reference to something that is canon in the series, as well as one piece spoilers an: damn thats crazy my drive suddenly came back after years of being gone anyways this was inspired by swim by chase atlantic and middle of the night by elle duhé. note that if the tension is not tension-ing its bc i cant write tension.

Zoro felt more lost around you than anyone else.

You were chaotic and proud, kicking up dust and blowing it to the wind, and yet he liked you. He wasn't sure if he was in denial or acceptance about it.

Though for someone so loud, He knew almost nothing about you and anyone who asked you would only receive a smile, teasing them with tiny pieces dangled over their head like bait.

It irked him a little, if he was going to be honest.

No matter how hard he seemed to slash his sword at the pitch black sky, you seemed to linger in the back of his mind.

He paused for a moment, huffing as he turned the blade in his hand. Trying to cut air didn't seem to help a single bit.

As he leaned against his sword, the atmosphere seemed to have shifted. The wind was slowly dying down, the sound of crashing waves being the only thing he could hear for a heartbeat or two. He could have even fell asleep leaning against his katana if he really tried.

"Fancy yourself a little midnight training?"

He whirled around, tip of the katana aimed directly at your throat. You sat on the railing behind him, hair ruffling in the wind as you watched him with an amused smirk.

His grip on the katana didn't waver, but he lowered the blade slightly, still watching you. "What do you want?" He muttered, tone gruff as he sheathed his katana.

"You're always so serious, Zoro," you complained, swinging your legs idly over the railing. "And you're not, so i guess that balances out," He said, arms crossed in front of his chest.

"The way you talk to me , i makes me think you really do hate me," you hummed, leaning forward on the rails, trying to close the space, "Do you though, Roronoa Zoro? Or are you avoiding me for some other reason."

You both paused, and for the slightest moment you could have sworn you saw his eyes narrow slightly.

"Whatever. Anyways, I'm going back to bed," Zoro muttered quickly, turning his heel on you as you jumped down, light as a cat on its feet.

"Wait, Zoro. I have something to ask of you." He paused. You weren't just going to let him slip away just yet.

"What if we have a little duel? Just me and you." You said, traipsing to his side. "If you win i'll tell you whatever you want to know."

He stiffed up slightly and you grinned. You had him right where you wanted him. Bingo.

"Deal-" He muttered as you breathed a sigh of relief, holding out a hand. "But don't expect me to go easy."

You jumped, tumbling across the floor shocked by the sudden strike. Your hands reached for the sword behind you as you got up, leaning against the railing.

"You play dirty, Roronoa."

"We're not having an official match. After all, you're the one who wanted this," Zoro retorted, a menacing look on his face as you got up.

"You're right," you conceded, a smirk playing on your lips. "No official match. Just a little midnight sparring to lighten the mood"

He came for you again, but this time you were prepared, blade catching the moonlight as you struck him.

He managed to block, and from there you were stuck in a pas de deux.

Your swords continued to clang, and you continued to doge effortlessly, almost dancing on your feet as you got closer.

"Come on marimo, tell me this isn't all you have!" You said sing-songy, pushing him back once again.

It was obvious from the look on Zoro's face that he didn't expect the skill level you had from you. While you did gain a lot from watching him fight, this also wasn't your first rodeo.

As he swung for you again, you managed to hit his side with the spine, sending him back a foot or two.

"Oh you've done it now," He snapped, charging at you once again, "You just had to do that, didn't you?"

Out of nowhere, he striked harder, moving fast as you had seen him move in the field. You, for once, struggled against defending the blows, as he randomly disappeared and reappeared.

For a solid moment, his blade scrape against your eyebrow, and you stumbled. He managed to disarm you, forcing you back into the corner you had come slinking out of, sword to your throat.

You could feel the tip barely pressing against it as you breathed deeply, grinning.

"You got me," you conceded, your voice laced with a playful tone. "But you'll have to admit, that was a hell of a fight."

He grimaced, clutching his chest slightly as he watched you through hawk eyes.

"Where the hell did you get all that from? I didn't even think you knew how to hold a sword?" He hissed, pressing the katana a little deeper on accident.

The feeling of warmth trickling down your skin told you everything, and you reached up, holding the blade firmly into your hands. It dug into your skin, yet the smile never dropped off your face.

"I wasn't just a dancer. I use to be a pirate too." He pressed a little more, and you winced.

"I was... apart of the black cat pirates, three years ago. It was around the time Kahladore- or should i say, Kuro, went missing. I saw my chance and i ran." You whispered, watching him carefully. There was no telling what he would do with the information.

"Have you kept this a secret from all of us this whole time?" He gawked. You only blinked, taking time to process the question.

"Nami knows. She's the only one i told, except now i've told you too," You admitted, looking up at him through hooded eyes.

"How do i know you're not going to-"

"Betray you all? Do you think that lowly of me?" You refuted, pushing his blade away from your neck.

"Now let me ask you something, Roronoa Zoro? Do you like me?"

The silence seem to stretch on, thickening every moment you sat there. He didn't say anything, and you sighed. "Shame. I thought i might get something out of you, but i maybe i was wrong about it."

You sat up on the rails, arms outstretched as you leaned back, hair whipping wildly in the wind as you shut your eyes, "shame, it was a wonderful night."

A sudden yank back awoke you, a yelp escaping your mouth as you skidded and landed on him.

Wait.

You landed on him.

Your cheeks flushed as you scrambled back, at a loss for words.

"Uh... I'm- oh, i'm just going to go to bed-"

Zoro watched you with an amused glint in his eyes as you stammered out your intentions.

"Y/n."

"Yes?" You mumbled, burning feeling spreading to your ears as he called you back.

"Maybe i do like you."

"What?" You squawked.

"Maybe I have liked you," he repeated, his voice softer this time. You were sure if there was a little more light, you'd see a faint blush coloring his cheeks.

A smile spread across your face. "I just knew it."

"Don't rub it in." He grumbled, rolling his eyes as you sat up, gleeful.

"I won't," you replied with a mischievous grin, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "But I have to admit, it's nice to finally hear you say it."

Zoro shifted uncomfortably, his usual tough exterior momentarily cracked by his confession. "Yeah, well, don't make a big deal out of it."

You chuckled, warmth settling in as you got up from his side. "Of course not. This can just be our little secret."

He nodded, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Yeah, our secret."

As you climbed down the steps, you paused, turning around.

"Also, if you tell anyone about the fact that i can use swords, i will find you and duel you to the death."

"Sure you will."

"Will too."

"Will not."

"Will too."

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cobragardens · 7 months

Text

My Favorite Good Omens Moment:

An Essay on Why It Is Cool and Rad (Part 1)

There's this moment in Good Omens that makes me cackle every time I see it and leaves me full of warmth, so here's an essay on its context and meaning, because explication and analysis are how I show love. I will try to keep my thoughts as tight as possible, but they do have a tendency to spiral outwards, and I am very stoned. Come, sistren, and get nerdy with me.

My favorite moment in the series so far occurs in 1601. To approach it we will first need an assload of context. There's a TL;DR in bold at the end of the Context if you don't fancy reading the whole assload. Key arguments are in italics and bold throughout.

David Tennant gives Crowley a very consistent facial expression every time Aziraphale says something so outlandish Crowley can't quite believe he's hearing it. It's this one:

Chronologically, we see the Eyebrows of Disbelief twice before my fave moment in 1601: once (above left) in that scene on the Garden Wall that familiarizes the audience with Crowley's face before adding the dark glasses, when Aziraphale admits he's given away his sword; once when Aziraphale tells Bildad the Shuhite that he, Aziraphale, has Fallen because he lied to the angels to save Job's children.

The Eyebows of Disbelief always signal surprise and amusement with something Aziraphale has said or done. This amusement is sometimes at Aziraphale's expense and sometimes not.

In the gifs above, Crowley is laughing because what Aziraphale has just admitted to doing is fantastic and unexpected and frankly pretty gd punk rock. He's not laughing at Aziraphale, he's laughing because he is delighted with him. The only record we have thus far of Crowley laughing at Aziraphale is this one:

Crowley laughs when Aziraphale informs him--him, a demon who has personally been through the process of Falling--that Aziraphale is Fallen and must be a demon now. As though of the two of them Aziraphale is the expert on how and under what circumstances this occurs.

And yet when Crowley sees Aziraphale's distress--not his fear of being taken to Hell, but his heartbreak and lostness over the fact that his conscience has diverged from God's stated will--Crowley stops laughing, and instead he acts very kindly towards Aziraphale. He validates the gravity of what Aziraphale has done and assures him he won't turn him in. He sits with him so Aziraphale isn't totally alone (like Crowley probably was) as he goes through the loneliest moments of his existence to that point and picks himself up newly weighted with the secret he must now bear.

And after this scene (in canon as it stands thus far), we don't see Crowley laugh at anything Aziraphale says or does again.

And he really has to work for it sometimes. We talk a lot about the things Michael Sheen is able to convey with his face in Good Omens, and absolutely rightly so; David Tennant earns a chunk of his paycheck in this regard as well. If you haven't given yourself the treat yet, rewatch the scene in Will Goldstone's magic shop in 1941 and focus on Crowley's reactions:

youtube

Tennant takes great care to show, with precision, that Crowley is expending effort not to react to Aziraphale's nervous chaos Muppetry and lack of self-awareness. Crowley is self- and socially and contextually aware enough that he knows (better than Aziraphale, at least, which is not a high bar to clear) what's cringe, what's funny, what's ridiculous, how to behave. But whenever Aziraphale crosses a boundary of normalcy, or even sanity, and there is opportunity to laugh at him, Crowley very carefully doesn't react. He doesn't interrupt him, he doesn't try to correct him, he doesn't make fun of him, he doesn't even smirk; he just watches him, as stone-faced as he can manage, no matter how bizarre Aziraphale becomes.

We should be reading this lack of reaction to Aziraphale's social and rational transgressions as powerful positive action. Go watch the Doctor Who episode "Human Nature," or literally any episode of The Inbetweeners, or read or watch Regeneration, and reflect on what it shows you about English masculinity; then consider again the depth of significance in how English- and male-coded character Crowley treats English- and male-coded character Aziraphale in an England created by an English and male-codedpresenting author based off a book written by himself and another male-presenting author. Within its context of English masculinity, Crowley's lack of reaction is not a neutral stance; it is a very fucking loud show of support.

This is not even an inference; it's stated outright in the show. Crowley himself puts it into words 422 years after my favorite moment:

You know how Crowley calls Aziraphale "angel" because the factuality of the descriptor offers him plausible deniability to any Heavenly or Infernal agents who might be listening? Remember how Crowley is a great equivocator? Crowley is equivocating here, too: he's using the cover of what Maggie and Nina will take as a disparaging joke at Aziraphale's expense in order to make a perfectly sincere statement. This is his genuine perception of one of the relationship dynamics he has with Aziraphale and how he feels about that dynamic. Crowley thinks he himself is quite witty (an accurate assessment), Crowley thinks Aziraphale isn't sufficiently self- or contextually aware to hide how strange he is and therefore frequently says and does mad things (also an accurate assessment), and Crowley is Into. That. Shit.

Okay. Now let's look at 1601.

Chronologically it's been almost 1,000 years since we last saw Aziraphale and Crowley. In 537, Aziraphale isn't willing even to consider a labor-saving working arrangement with Crowley of fucking off home out of the damp of Arthurian Wessex; but by 1601, he's worked (and met, and Arranged) with Crowley "dozens of times now," Crowley says, and Azirapahle does not correct him.

In that millienium, Aziraphale has grown to care deeply about Crowley:

In fact he may be somewhat smitten with him:

Seriously, go back and watch Aziraphale here as Crowley approaches and starts speaking to him: he doesn't start smiling until he recognizes that the person speaking to him is Crowley (but he only smiles at Crowley while Crowley's not looking at him).

And Crowley is definitely become smitten with Aziraphale:

Our man(-shaped entity) is so allergic to work he sets up a meeting to weasel, cajole, or (as it happens) cheat a coin toss to get Aziraphale to do an easy temptation for him in Edinburgh, and then in the same conversation agrees to miracle a play into success because Aziraphale gives him a single hopeful look. Crowley's got it bad.

TL;DR: The Eyebrows of Disbelief happen when Crowley is surprised and amused by something Aziraphale has said or done. Sometimes that amusement is delight with Aziraphale; sometimes it is at Aziraphale's expense. Crowley is aware of this distinction, and when his amusement is at Aziraphale's expense, he suppresses it, even when it takes some effort on his own part, and remains stocially composed. This is equivocation on his part: to Celestial/Infernal operatives lacking knowledge of the intricacies of human behavior, this non-reaction would seem like neutrality; to Aziraphale, who shares with Crowley and the audience the contextual knowledge of English masculinity's utter viciousness, this non-reaction is a profound show of support; and in the safety of support from Crowley, Aziraphale lets his weirdness blossom.

As another meta points out [link if I find it again], we also see in Aziraphale's wordless request about Hamlet and Crowley's immediate understanding of it that by 1601 Aziraphale and Crowley have developed an unspoken, coded method of communication with each other.

Now that we have all of that in mind, here's my favorite moment in Good Omens:

Ixi of Fuck Yeah Good Omens has even kindly archived a closeup of the aftermath, for Crowley, of "Buck up!" In gif 4, above, you can see that the tiny smile is an involuntary reaction that happens as Crowley's eyes widen: for a fraction of a second, he's caught off-guard. In the closeup it's easier to see that he suppresses the smile and gives a tiny shake of his head, Eyebrows of Disbelief heading for his hairline.

There are a number of things Crowley's reaction could mean and what messages it could communicate (we'll get to that in a sec), but regardless, his reaction is, unquestionably, one of surprise and suppressed amusement. This is an aspect of Crowley and Aziraphale's relationship and characters that I like very much, viz., that one of the reasons Crowley likes Aziraphale (though Aziraphale is judgy and occasionally, unintentionally, horrifyingly cruel) is that in addition to being one of the kindest and most courageous beings in existence, Aziraphale is mad as a bag of frogs. Crowley does not know what is going to come out of Aziraphale's lovely mouth next, but Crowley does know there's a good chance he will struggle to believe he's hearing it, and Crowley likes that.

That's what makes this my favorite moment. What makes this moment so cool and rad, though, is its ineffability. We know from the Eyebrows of Disbelief that Crowley is surprised and amused, but any of several things could be read in that almost imperceptible headshake. Like:

What are you doing? or

Why are you like this? or

How can you be aware that you say these things out loud and yet still say them out loud? or

How has my existence come to this? this moment of listening to such insanity?

each of which is a fair and just feeling to have/message to communicate to a man(-shaped entity) who is yelling "Buck up!" at Hamlet.

But that's only if we read Crowley's amusement as being at Aziraphale's expense. And I don't think we should. Because watch Aziraphale here:

He's doing it on purpose. He is shouting a hilariously inappropriate, 100% authentic Aziraphale-brand thing over arguably the gloomiest passage of Shakespeare's famously gloomy play--right after Crowley complains about its gloominess--and he is watching Crowley as he does it. Look at his smile! He knows he's being Deeply Uncool, and he is doing it literally right into Crowley's face.

Remember that we just talked about how by this point in the chronology Crowley and Aziraphale have learned to communicate with each other nonverbally through facial expression? So what does it mean when Aziraphale responds to Crowley's grumbling about Hamlet's gloominess by smiling his minxious Mona Lisa Aziraphale smile, looking right into Crowley's face, and yelling at Hamlet to buck up? Aziraphale, in a carefully coded, carefully Aziraphale way, is joking with Crowley. His silliness in this moment is for Crowley.

So with aaaaaaallllll of this essay in mind, what does it mean that Crowley's reaction to "Come on, Hamlet! Buck up!" is widening eyes, an involuntary twitch of his mouth toward a smile, and then, his eyebrows still showing surprise and amusement, a tiny shake of his head?

Once more, with inferences:

I do propose, y'all, on the basis of this web of evidence I submit for consideration, that what we are seeing here in my favorite moment of Good Omens is the ineffable equivalent of Aziraphale and Crowley sharing a laugh.

Crowley's amusement here isn't at Aziraphale, because Aziraphale is eliciting that amusement consciously and deliberately. Aziraphale, in good spirits and happy to see Crowley, uses his Aziraphaleness to offers Crowley not only an opportunity for amusement, but the opportunity to be in agreement with him about what in this situation is funny. They're on the same side of this joke.

And his humor lands just as he wants it to: Crowley, just for a moment, is caught off-guard, and tickled--

But remember, Crowley is worried in this scene about being surveilled ("I thought you said we'd be inconspicuous here"), and he worries about audio surveillance a lot ("Walls have ears"; "Don't say that. If my lot hear [etc.]," etc.), so he's very limited in what reactions he can show or voice. Aziraphale knows Crowley must be perceived by anyone watching or listening to disapprove of his, Aziraphale's, behavior (just as he must be perceived to disapprove vociferously of Crowley's). Both of them know this.

--so Crowley suppresses the smile almost successfully, and shakes his head at Aziraphale, minutely, to say Stop. What you're doing is working, you're close to making me laugh, and if I show how much you have just delighted me, it will blow our cover of "just an Arrangement."

I offer three final data points in advancing my argument that what we see in my favorite Good Omens moment is Aziraphale successfully attempting to joke with Crowley and Crowley recognizing that overture from Aziraphale and being momentarily surprised into a reaction of genuine delight before pulling his face back under control and indicating to Aziraphale that he must stop:

Datum 1. Nothing going on with Crowley's face in this moment is accidental. We know for sure we're not seeing David Tennant react to Michael Sheen here not only because of literally every other point of Tennant's and Sheen's performances in the show, but because Tennant is wearing opaque contacts and sunglasses under film lighting and therefore cannot be reacting to anything more compelling than a level-10-lift blur because Tennant cannot see shit. Crowley's reaction is a deliberate and careful performance choice on Tennant's part, and it's underscored by director Douglas Mackinnon's choice to film Tennant in 1/2 profile to keep Crowley's eyes visible and face readable to the audience. This reaction is supposed to be there and supposed to be meaningful.

Datum 2. The husbands in 1601 is not the only moment in Good Omens when we may be seeing an angel and a demon communicate the message Stop doing that, it makes us look too familiar between themselves with a little headshake:

Datum 3: There is another moment in Good Omens when Aziraphale offers Crowley the opportunity to enjoy a joke with him. There, too, his humor lands just as he intends, so we can use this other moment as a comparison to our 1601 moment. I don't have gifs for it, but go back and watch it, S1E6 49:27-42. Snips below.

Aziraphale says something that surprises and amuses Crowley (he asked Hell for a rubber duck while he was sloshing around in the holy water)--

--but what Aziraphale says makes Crowley smile long before it makes him laugh.

In fact, his laugh, though a genuine cackle, is quite delayed, and he laughs only after Aziraphale starts laughing too.

In other words, Crowley's reaction to Aziraphale offering him amusement they're both on the same side of is exactly the same as his reaction to "Come on, Hamlet! Buck up!" right up until he laughs instead of shaking his head. Here, after Armageddidn't, Crowley doesn't have to suppress his reaction, so he can let the smile bloom; he doesn't have to control his response, so, although it takes him a few extra seconds, he lets the smile turn into a laugh.

But in 1601, it's not safe to laugh at Aziraphale's humor. It's not safe even to smile at him. A single piece of evidence or eye/earwitness testimony that he and Crowley have anything more friendly than the most passing and acrimonious of professional relationships could mean death to either or both of them, and depending on what Falling is like, maybe something worse than death for Aziraphale.

But Aziraphale is so funny, so effervescent for Crowley, at Crowley, that it catches Crowley just for a moment. Crowley's eyes widen and the corner of his mouth twitches toward a smile.

And that's dangerous. If Aziraphale keeps acting so charmingly mad, Crowley is going to laugh, and they can't afford that risk, so he shakes his head at Aziraphale. Stop, or I won't be able to keep a straight face around you.

And Aziraphale apparently receives that message, because he immediately eases off. Less than 60 seconds later we learn that he's deeply concerned for Crowley's safety--and that it's not so much that Aziraphale has Crowley wrapped around his little finger as it is that Crowley has wrapped himself around Aziraphale's little finger like a snake arranging itself on the tree branch it calls home.

UPDATE 14/10/23: HOLY SHIT Y'ALL IT GETS EVEN BETTER! THERE IS A SEQUEL!

#good omens #good omens meta #good omens 1601 #good omens microexpressions #good omens headshake #angelfish #aziracrow #ineffable husbands #good omens fanalysis

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tojjist · 8 months

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telling your fwb that you're going on a date w some of my favs!

includes: Itoshi Rin, Fushiguro Toji, Jing Yuan, gojo (seperate, not in order)

summary: you tell him you're going out on a date to see his reaction. includes fem! reader insert. slightly suggestive - honestly borderline smut, some possessiveness, one mention of cheating but it's a joke

note: characters n reader have mutual feelings, mostly acknowledged. i'm thinking of making this a series so drop your fav characters please! minors, blank and ageless blogs dni

↳ITOSHI RIN

his initial reaction was to just roll his eyes at you.

"you're not funny. who would even go out with you?"

by now you're used to rin being an asshole. he's got a smart mouth and he knows what to say to get on your nerves. so you keep it to a simple, "not you, apparently," to shut him up.

and it does, for only a few minutes.

"why am I only hearing about this now?"

it's ironic how suddenly he's so in your business, unhappy with how you didn't tell him beforehand. rin tries so hard to keep himself in check, not giving you the reaction you wanted. but it devastated him; on his bed, in nothing but a pretty bra and a pair of panties, talking about some other man?

no, rin was not having it at all.

you almost snicker when he says you shouldn't be going out with 'other guys' because you two were having sex. but his argument quickly dies down when you remind him of the first rule he set when you started your nightly- and sometimes daily- sessions: "we're not exclusive"

he thinks of pushing you down the bed, getting his hands all over that pretty body of yours. you won't resist, that he's sure of, but he can't risk seeming desperate, especially not in front of you. that's pathetic.

he mumbles a few things along the lines of 'whatever' and 'let him fuck you with his micropenis'.

but rin is petty, he really is. at least when it comes to you. so he quickly turns to the silent treatment - as if he wasn't mostly silent. he wouldn't text you or respond to your calls for two whole days, which is more reaction than you would have liked. a lot more.

until you were out with some girl friends and you receive a notification.

Rin [2:34 pm]: how was the date.?

once you tell him it was a joke, and how he took your bait like a fish, it's safe to say he was less than pleased. the first thing he does is to invite you over. and as absurd as it is, he tells you to go to his place that very minute. which you don't mind too much.

rin made sure to remind you that no matter who you run to, he'll always be the only one who can please you so good. he's the only one who knows exactly how make you quiver and cry in little time. afterall, your pussy has long since been molded to remember him. aching for him every minute you wake and every second you sleep.

rin made sure you know your place. under him. no other man.

↳ SATORU GOJO

gojo knows he's lucky, he really does. no woman took him the way you do. no woman understood him the way you do. no woman excited him the way you do, in all ways a man could be excited.

so when you tell him that? it's safe to say gojo was about to burst.

of course he is. you're his girl, whether you like it or not - which you do. you can't just go to another sleazy man when you have the strongest himself wrapped around your finger. that's unfair. and your reason? because you wanted to settle? heck, he'll 'settle' for you. he just needed some more time. can't you give him that at least?

"oh? with who?" "he's not a sorcerer, i don't think you know him."

first of all, why would you assume he doesn't know anyone who isn't a sorcerer? that's rude. although he doesn't, it's still rude. and why would you even go out with a non-sorcerer? what could be so special about him that gojo can't offer?

but gojo can't let you go. call it what you want, he's not planning on letting go.

he's not a jealous man. he's the strongest, he has everything a man could want. jealousy is a feeling he's yet to meet. but now it burns in him. although gojo's eyes were ice blue, now they're burning. and the hottest fires always burn blue.

as if second instinct, he's quick to pull you onto his lap, earning a yelp and a wide-eyed look. it's enough to know he's getting what he wants. his fingers reach for that clothed, soft spot between your legs. his long fingers begin to move, slow and steady, making your hips moves softly to the rhythm he's created, begging for more fritction.

his lips ghost against your ears, not exactly touching the sensitive skin but touching it all the same.

"i don't think i know him, no. but i'll make sure you forget him. you don't need a guy like that."

↳FUSHIGURO TOJI

he stared at you for a few seconds, his gaze unreadable. toji is no fool, and he won't play your little game. especially not by your rules. toji is not bound by law, jujutsu, physical limit, or society. he won't let you mess around. not when he's so desperate to see you, albeit afraid of the commitment. not when he left his entire life, slowly becoming the perfect man so he could give you everything.

"what a silly joke. you know i'm not that dumb, don't you?"

he knows he's right when you stop for a fraction of a second, trying to contain your pretty smile. you deny, telling him that you're completely serious. you wanted a relationship, and you wanted to finally be able to be at 'peace'.

"oh really?" he quirks a brow, a look of clear amusement on his face. "that's too bad, i don't think women who cheat can find peace."

"it's just a single date, toji. i'm not cheating on him." "not yet," he flips you around so you're laying right under his bulk form. you giggle, and it confirms his suspicions further. you were just testing him. good, he'll make sure this stays just a joke.

"hmm? are you jealous, toji?" "of who?" he's quick. he's smart. and he won't let you mess around like that without getting something in return. he leans in, close to your neck. one of his hands find your waist, softly caressing the skin with calloused fingers. "we both know who you'll actually be with tonight."

↳JING YUAN

the general was in love with you. absolutely, utterly, completely in love. he couldn't admit it, not to you or to himself. but as your nights with him turned from one while you're drunk to more than he could possibly count, you infatuated him. you invaded him, corrupting his thoughts and time and feelings.

yuan wasn't sure if he was right for you, although he knew you were right for him. he didn't want to jump into a relationship he was unsure could last. yuan didn't think he could give you what you want, and you sure as hell wouldn't back down from what you deserve. that's why he admired you so much. you weren't easy. you won't allow him to bend you to his liking. you were a challenge he enjoyed.

"hmm? who's the lucky gentleman?"

jealousy was obvious, clear as day. disdain dripped from his usually sweet words. yuan was not taking the news too well, and it shows despite his soft smile.

"kaoru," you say a name he doesn't know. "do you know him?"

"i don't recall someone with such a name," he confessed, his eyes narrowing in thought. he tries but he doesn't know anyone wit that name. "is he good looking?"

you smile a little at his reaction, pleased with the jealousy he's showing. "i don't know. he's not my type, but i'm exploring options."

"what am i then? an option?" you almost snicker at the amount of petty in his question. he wants to confirm his worth, make sure that he's above comparison to you.

"don't be cruel, yuan," you give him the satisfaction of an answer. "it's not like that."

yuan tries to convince you to stay, kissing all over your neck just how you like it, reminding you who you're with and how you need not find another man because it is yuan you belong with. before he knows it it's heated, and he finds himself craving you more than ever.

"i want you," he whispers, one hand tangled in your hair and breath ragged.

"i'm yours to take, yuan."

usually, that's enough for him. but jealousy thrums in him and he pushes a little of you, his expression dark but it's not lust this time. "you're not," he breathes. his eyes study your feverish eyes. "you're going out with another man."

your eyes widen, you were so lost in him you forgot.

"shut up," you pull him towards you, mouths meeting in a lewd kiss. "it was a joke. "

likes and reblogs are highly appreciated!

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fuckyeahgoodomens · 9 months

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I don't really get the whole strikes thing and what it has to do with Good Omens to be renewed, I got that Amazon has to pay writers and actors the right amount of money for their work but the thing is, if they negotiate, all is settled and they can renew the series? Or there's more? Also, rewatching the show all over again is really helpful? I'm sorry I know it's dumb for me to ask this but I'm not very educated on this matter, Good Omens is the first TV series I have watched in a long time.

Hiya! Yes, until the amazon studio is willing to negotiate and settle with the writers (and actors), the writers are on strike which means no work can be done on the script, it's like frozen in time from before the strike started (imagine Crowley snapping fingers on the script :)) (and Neil did some work on the S3 script even tho the show isn't renewed yet), when the strike ends the time gets unfrozen and Neil will be able to work on the S3 scripts again plus Amazon needs to renew it for S3. They might make the decision during the strike but maybe they will do it after strike. For the decision they will look at the statistics of Good Omens on prime (not only but it will play a big part). So:

Introduce new people to the ineffability and have them watch S1+S2, new people watching Good Omens are important.

Watch S2 on repeat (entirely to the end (you can have it playing in the background, from time to time pause so you are not confused with a bot), first month is especially important).

Write to amazon to negotiate with the strikes and make S3, AMAZON STUDIOS, 1620 26TH STREET SUITE 4000N, SANTA MONICA, 90404, United States - you can address it to Jennifer Salke who is now a head of Amazon studios, [email protected] (physical letter is better but to be safe let’s write both :))

Rate the season and also write a review (some trolls wrote some bigoted reviews so it's good to show that there are people who appreaciate the show and take time to write reviews)

When engaging on social media with Good Omens content use tags - twitter now uses #GoodOmens, #RenewGoodOmens, #GiveMeS3OrGiveMeDeath

#good omens #good omens 3 #gos3 #how to make s3 #renew good omens #amazon

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fandomxpreferences · 1 year

Text

Heartbroke Bitch

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Ex!Rafe Cameron x Female!Reader

TW: 18+, drug and alcohol use, angst, fluff, self destructive behavior, I think thats it

Summary: When youre left heartbroken, you cope in a less than healthy way. But what happens when Rafe sees you hanging on the arm of one of his best friends? (Loosely based off Escapism by Raye)

Word count:3.2k

A/N: Let me know if you want a part 2!

Ever since that night, you've been a different person. Rafe ending things sent you reeling and the words keep playing in your head like a record.

"It's just not going to work. I'll have Sarah drop off your things."

That was all he gave you before all but kicking you out. He didn't even have the respect to give you a reason, though you've come to the conclusion it's because you're a pogue. You and Rafe never should have started anything in the first place; you knew you were playing with fire.

JJ and John B tried to talk sense into you, but you were too lovestruck. All you cared about was the misunderstood kook king, and now you're heartbroken. The first week you cried and drank as the group tried to get through to you.

The following weekend, you went out to a kegger at the boneyard and saw Missy Thompson giggling into Rafe's ear and something inside you snapped. You were tired of feeling hurt, so you decided to beat him at his own game.

"Where are you going dressed like that?"

There's a teasing lilt to Sarah's voice, but you don't miss the concern in her eyes. She already knows the answer to her question. You've spent the last three weeks staying out until sunrise, various drugs coursing through your veins and different men sneaking out every morning.

Your eyebrow quirks as you look down at your less-than-modest outfit and shrug.

"Out. I was invited to that new club."

JJ frowns and stands to walk over to you. He stops a few feet away and you look at him expectantly.

"Again? Y/N/N, you can't keep doing this. I mean I'm always down for a good time, but you're going to hurt yourself."

The pain in his voice causes your chest to tighten and you roll your eyes to cover it up. That's exactly why you're doing this; you're tired of feeling hurt and so far losing yourself in white powder and men whose outfits cost more than your car has proven to be effective.

"So what if I do? I'll be fine, JJ. Don't worry your pretty little head." You smile while patting him playfully on the arm.

They watch as you walk off and give each other worried looks, unable to do anything but stand by as you set out on a path of self-destruction.

An hour later you're in the VIP section sipping on champagne that's expensive enough to solve all your money problems and having a great time. The music is loud enough to drive your thoughts away and you let yourself get lost in the moment.

You aren't sure who the people here are; you've made a lot of new acquaintances since going out more and you just happened to strike up a conversation with the man that brought you here. You're not even sure what his name is.

You think it's something along the lines of Andrew, or maybe Everett. You don't really care enough to remember; you just know it's something pretentious that reeks of old money. Not that it matters much. By morning he'll just be another notch in your belt and you'll never see him again.

You're just about to do a shot when a familiar voice calls your name. You look up with a frown, trying to place where it came from. A smile breaks out when you place its owner and Topper plops down next to you.

His arm wraps loosely around your shoulder and you lean in a bit, happy to have someone you know around.

"Didn't expect to see you here."

Topper isn't exactly known for tolerating - much less liking - pogues but he grew fond of you during your time with Rafe.

You nudge him lightly with your shoulder and he grins.

"A pleasant surprise, I hope."

He leans in a little closer and nods. You can't help but notice his spicy yet sweet cologne as his body heat radiates against your skin and it's almost as intoxicating as the alcohol.

"Very pleasant. You smell good. Like cotton candy and tanning oil."

Your eyebrows raise at the forward comment and you let your eyes drop down to look at his lips.

"You like it?"

The other man is long forgotten as Topper invades your personal space and suddenly your target changes.

"I love it. What is it?"

You lean back with a laugh and the way his body chases yours isn't lost on you. The game is afoot and you've discovered you love the thrill of the chase.

"Something expensive. That's all I'll say, a lady never reveals her secrets."

His smile turns devilish and his nose presses against the column of your throat to inhale your scent again.

"Something tells me you're not much of a lady."

Butterflies erupt in your stomach as he flirts back and your hand laces in his hair to tug his head back.

"You have no idea, Top."

Your words hang in the air for a moment before he pulls you closer so you're halfway on his lap. You watch as he pulls out a baggy and waves it at you suggestively, your face lighting up as you nod while he sets it up on the table.

You don't think twice before bending down and snorting a couple lines, tilting your head back with closed eyes. This has become a regular occurrence for you, and Topper lets out a surprised laugh before copying your previous movements.

"Didn't take you as the type to do party drugs." He admits and you press farther into him.

"Mmm, there's a lot you don't know about me."

A few minutes later you're both feeling the effects and you gladly follow Topper as he takes your hand and leads you to the dance floor. You aren't paying attention to what song is playing as you grind on your ex-boyfriend's friend, your hands wrapped around his neck as he nips at your shoulder.

Rafe immediately feels annoyed as he walks into the loud venue, his first instinct being to turn around and leave. Before everything with you, this would have been his scene. However, despite being the one to call it quits, he's been having an exceptionally hard time.

He thought it would be easy to move on, but every time he tries, his thoughts are consumed by you. He gave up hope after he moaned out your name with another woman and she slapped him before storming out. He didn't realize he was in love with you until he watched your tail lights fade in the rain.

He downs a shot to settle his nerves, the burning sensation distracting him from the thumping bass. He's just about to take a seat when his eyes land on you. Bile rises in his throat as he watches you party without a care in the world.

He thinks this hurts worse than the initial breakup. Seeing you laugh and dance as if you aren't feeling the same heartache as him is bitter and he doesn't like it.

He knows he's the one that tossed your relationship in the trash, but he thought he meant more to you. At least enough for you not to be living it up a month after he left.

You were never one for the. club scene, and he's honestly not sure why you're here. It's not until you bump into him on the way to take another shot that he really takes you in.

You stop to apologize and his eyebrows pinch when it takes you a second longer than it should to realize who he is. Recognition finally crosses your features and much to his surprise, you give him a short hug with a smile.

"Hey, Rafe."

He stares at you in shock for a second, trying to figure out why you seem so unbothered by his presence. He's certainly not feeling as relaxed with you standing a foot away. An unfamiliar scent washes over him and he realizes it's coming from you.

He's always loved the way you smell, and that is certainly not your usual perfume and body lotion. It almost makes him sick to his stomach. His eyes rake over your face for a moment as he tries to place what's so different about you.

He doesn't even recognize the woman in front of him and his heart breaks as the realization sets in that this is his fault. He broke you.

Your body is covered in a skin-tight dress that's six inches too short and glitter. He notices you seem taller than usual and his eyes pan down to the sky-high stilettos on your feet.

That's not what concerns him most though. You're clearly drunk as you struggle to keep your balance and your pupils are completely blown.

If he had to guess he'd say coke or Molly, maybe both based on your apparent indifference to your life. Either way, it makes his stomach turn and he barely resists the urge to break Topper's hands as they sit a little too close to your ass.

"Hi."

It's all he can manage as guilt and pain consume him and he wants nothing more than to go back in time. He doesn't get to say anything else before you're stumbling away, resembling a newborn fawn.

He ignores his friends' protests as he pulls out his phone and steps outside. His thumb finds Sarah's contact and he presses the call button without hesitation. The line rings a few times before she answers and he leans against the brick wall.

"What do you want?"

There's music in the background and he knows he's interrupting her night but he can't bring himself to care.

"Is Y/N okay?"

There's a moment of silence before his sister sighs and his eyes squeeze shut.

"Rafe, you lost the right to ask about her."

He knows she's right, but he's going to get answers even if he has to drive to the cut himself.

"I know, okay? I know. But I'm at this night club and she looks absolutely wasted. I'm worried."

He can almost hear her mulling over her next words on the other end of the line when she finally responds.

"We all are. Between me and you, she's been on a bender. She's gone out almost every night since the breakup. She comes back completely fucked up with random men at like 6 am. We thought it would pass, but it seems like she's not slowing down anytime soon."

His stomach lurches at the idea of you going home with strangers while completely intoxicated and he takes a deep breath. He hates that he's been sulking while you've been sleeping around, but that's not what's at the forefront of his mind.

His main concern is your safety. He knows that sooner or later you'll take too much or trust the wrong man and something will happen.

"Thanks."

He hears her start to ask something but doesn't wait to listen, quickly ending the call and heading back in. He's on a war path to find you and when he does, his blood boils.

You're laid on a table while Topper does a body shot off you and his feet carry him forward before his brain can catch up. He rips his friend backward and Topper is about to cuss him out when he sees the look on his face.

His hands come up in surrender and before you can process, you're being thrown over Rafe's shoulder and carried outside. Your arms and legs flail as you slap at his back and his grip tightens.

"Fucking put me down!" Your voice is slurred but loud, and your heels click as your feet hit the pavement.

You take a second to get your bearings before snapping your head up to glare at your ex-boyfriend.

"What the fuck, Rafe?!"

Your anger does nothing to deter him and his arms cross over his chest as he blocks you from going back inside.

"I could ask you the same thing."

His voice is firm yet gentle as he looks at you and it pisses you off.

"Actually, you can't, asshole. What I do is none of your business."

He scoffs and if you weren't so far gone, you'd probably take your shoe off and stab him with it. All of this is sobering you up and you definitely need to be high to deal with this conversation.

"This isn't you. Why are you doing this?"

It's a stupid question, he's aware of this. Still, he wants to hear you say it.

"Maybe it is. You don't know who I am anymore."

The words are harsh as you snap at him and his fists clench while he tries to hide how much it hurt him.

"Yes, I do. So I'll ask one more time. Why are you doing this?"

He softens when he notices the way your chest is heaving and you're gnawing on your lip the way you always do when you're trying to fight back tears.

"Because I don't want to feel how I did that night, okay? I want to be numb. Is that what you want to hear?"

His heart clenches when your voice wobbles and he reaches out to grab your hand. Pain shoots through him when you recoil from his touch and take a step back.

"Don't fucking touch me."

His hand drops back to his side and his mind spins as he tries to figure out how to fix this. That first week was hell, especially when you sent him drunk texts and left voicemails with jumbled words. He figured you were drinking away your sorrows the same as him, but he never imagined it was this bad.

He fought the urge to call you back and fall to his knees while he begged for another chance. He figured pushing you away was in your best interest. He knows you think he did it because you're a pogue; Sarah called to chew him out over it.

If that's what helped, he was happy to let you believe it. In reality, it couldn't be farther from the truth. He didn't care about that at all. He knows he's fucked up and all he did was hurt you.

He figured cutting ties and letting you find someone else was the better alternative to hurting you over and over again.

He knows that you would never leave him, even if you should. So he decided to do it for you.

"Okay, I won't touch you. Just please come back with me so I know you're safe. You don't have to talk to me or look at me the entire time if you don't want. Just crash in the guest room and I'll take you back to John B's in the morning."

You know it's a bad idea, but you're starting to come down and you really miss how comfy the beds at Tannyhill are. He does an internal victory dance when you nod your head and has the valet pull the car around.

The ride back is dead silent, but he doesn't mind. He's just happy to have you back in his passenger seat where you belong. It's a relatively short drive, and before you know it he's pulling into the long familiar driveway.

He opens the door for you and you have to remind yourself not to grab his hand the way you normally would. He puts his hand in his pocket to keep from placing it on the small of your back and lets you take the lead.

An amused smile splits his face when you stop to take your shoes off and thrust them into his stomach. He takes them without any hesitation and carries them without complaint.

This is familiar to him; your feet always hurt at the end of the night and it wasn't uncommon for him to end up carrying you or toting your shoes and bag around while you were dating.

He even went as far as keeping a pair of flats in his truck; they're still in the back seat and he kicks himself for not remembering to offer them to you.

"You're back ear-"

Rose stops mid-sentence when she sees you, and Rafe shoots her a look that tells her not to ask questions. His heart leaps as you trek up the stairs, the path second nature to you.

He isn't expecting you to swing the door to his room open though and he wonders if it's intentional or just because you're too inebriated to realize.

He takes a detour to the kitchen to grab a glass of water and painkillers before joining you. He stops in his tracks when he sees you rummaging through his closet and watches as you pull out your favorite hoodie of his, struggling to put it on.

He debates offering to help before deciding not to push his luck. You're already back in his room when he never thought he'd see it again. The last thing he wants to do is drive you away.

He stands in place as you crawl under his comforter and settle into your side of the bed, nuzzling your head into the soft pillow. His scent is overwhelming and it brings you comfort.

You're sure you'll regret this tomorrow, but right now all you can focus on is being back in his white Egyptian cotton sheets.

He hesitates for a second before going into the bathroom and grabbing a washcloth and moisturizer. His movements are calculated as he sits on the edge of the mattress and starts wiping away your makeup.

You don't protest and he takes that as his sign to continue. Once your face is clean, he rubs the expensive lotion that you love into your face, making sure to use upwards movements the way he always saw you do.

He grabs a pair of joggers and starts to leave when your voice rings out.

"Just get in the fucking bed, Rafe."

He doesn't need to be told twice and moves at lightning speed as he slips off his shirt and throws on his sweatpants. He makes sure to leave plenty of space and his heart stops when you roll over and lay on his chest.

You seem to sense that he's about to say something because your hand comes up to cover his mouth.

"Don't ruin it with words. Just enjoy it while it lasts."

He nods against your palm and you return your arm to its previous resting place across his abdomen. He hears his phone vibrate and grabs it off the nightstand, careful not to disturb you. You're already snoring softly when he unlocks the screen.

There's a text from Sarah.

Do you know if Y/N is okay? We can't get ahold of her and Topper said she left with you.

He snaps a quick photo of your sleeping figure and sends it. Her response is a red heart and he locks the phone before setting it back down. He settles in and falls into a peaceful slumber, elated to have you back in his arms.

#Rafe Cameron #Rafe Cameron imagine #Rafe Cameron fic #Rafe Cameron x reader #Rafe Cameron angst #Rafe Cameron fluff #Rafe Cameron outer banks #outer banks #outer banks imagine #outer banks fic #outer banks angst #outer banks fluff

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ayvnari · 9 months

Text

bloodied lips

rhea ripley x f!reader

After losing her fight, she seeks her girlfriend out to blow off some steam.

word count: 1.8k

(incomplete bc idk if its good)

18+!!

warnings : rhea taking her anger out on you, mean-ish rhea, cursing, smoking, mommy rhea, pure smut, oral r!recieving and r!giving, fingering r!recieving, teasing, edging, slight sadism/ masochism, thigh riding, bad girl good girl type, degredation/ praise kink, rough fucking, strap usage, cowgirl, mirror stuff, somewhat bratty reader, idk what else just really slutty

note: this is about the summer slam 2021, rhea ripley vs. nikki a.s.h vs. charlotte flair, also this is my first time writing smut that wasn't a jokey joke so erm!!! and theres barely any plot, mostly just smut bc.

if you asked me a year ago, i never would have imagined myself front row at the summer slam, but yet i was here.

i watched rhea walk into the ring, she practically demanded respect with her presence. and god knows i would give it to her. i couldn't believe i was watching my girlfriend walk into a ring.

of course, i've seen it plenty of times, but i could never get enough of it. and the best part was that she was always the most riled up after winning a good match.

but, what i didn't expect was the complete opposite. not only did she not win, she failed miserably. i winced at every blow she suffered, nikki and charlotte were not holding back.

everytime rhea looked at me in the crowd i blew her a kiss, that would usually pick her spirits up. but she was far too angry to care about me, or anyone for that matter, all she cared about was winning this fight.

after the fight, i waited back in her dressing room for rhea. i was sitting at her vanity, watching the next fight on the tv in the corner of the room. she walked in fuming.

curses spilled out of her mouth.

"that fucking bitch , using those cheesy ass moves , fucking bitch!" she yelled, her australian accent booming through the room. she kicked one of the chairs, before glaring at herself in the mirror.

i jumped as she kicked the chair, i furrowed my eyebrows. "rhea?" i said, my voice calm as i tried to hopefully calm her down.

she looked at me, but it wasn't the normal, loving look she gave me before the match, it was a death glare.

i gulped, before taking a deep breath. "lets calm down, okay? i mean... it cant be that bad." i smiled sheepishly. "there's always next ti-"

"no, there isn't a fucking next time y/n!" she yelled. " i spent fucking months training for this fight and i couldn't do shit, so don't tell me about next time, i don't need a fucking pep talk." rhea clenched her fists, running her hands over her head as she paced around the room.

i stayed quiet, looking down.

"get over here." she told me, i just looked up at her.

"i said, get the fuck over here, y/n. im not in a good mood." she said, wiping the blood off her lips as she stared at me, her voice eerily calm.

i got up from the vanity that i sat in, i looked up at rhea, she could be terrifying when she was pissed. i took small steps towards her, before she grabbed me by the back of my neck.

my eyes widened as she pulled me into a kiss. my face flushed a deep crimson as she bit my lip harshly. i was used to rhea being a bit rough, but i couldn't help but be surprised when i felt a sharp, burning pain on my lip, and blood trickled from my lip onto her own.

she pulled back, rubbing her thumb over my bottom lip, smudging the blood on my lips. she licked the blood of her lips, her eyes filled with anger and lust. almost as a warning of what was to come if i didn't obey her.

"take your clothes off." rhea demanded. my eyes widened. we had never done anything like this in such a public place, nevermind outside our bedroom. even if it was her dressing room, we both knew that her coach would be in here any minute now to reprimand her.

"rhea you can't be seri-"

"off. now."

i looked down, it was clear i wasn't gonna get a word in. "but-"

she grabbed me roughly. "y/n, im not in the fucking mood right now for your bratty shit. just do as i say, now take. it. off." i knew i should be scared of her, but the wetness in my panties were telling me otherwise.

i knew i shouldn't tease her, but i couldn't help myself. i turned my head to the side and crossed my arms.

"no."

rhea's eyes turned a dark shade of red, she growled. "what the hell do you mean, 'no'?!" she yelled. my eyes widened at her tone, gosh she was such a turn on when she was angry.

"i said no! i don't wanna, i wanna finish watching the fight." i huffed, before sitting down on a nearby couch, ignoring rhea entirely. i could practically feel her staring at the back of my head, her eyes like lazers.

i heard her breathing increase, i was surprised steam wasn't coming out of her ears. i knew she wasn't gonna let this behavior slide, and that only excited me more.

i heard rhea walk out, slamming the door behind her. she was pissed.

by the time we got back into her car to leave, rhea couldn't keep her eyes off of me, she was practically begging for my attention, and i didn't listen to her.

"y/n. look at me." she demanded, she was still pissed about her fight, and even more pissed that i wasn't paying her any mind.

"you know what? okay." that was all rhea said. my eyes widened and i looked at her, but rhea was already pulling out of the parking space.

did i fuck up? no.

i looked at the smirk that adorned her face, she had something planned, and i was completely unprepared.

the second we got back to her apartment, she pushed me up against the wall and gripped my hair, pulling my head to look at her. she gripped me tight, i winced in pain, her large hand was a blessing and a cruse. i felt her hand unbuckle my belt and unzipping my jeans. she roughly stuck her hands into my jeans, her large, calloused fingers tracing me through my panties.

i let out a shaky breath. "rhea..." i whined, i couldn't ignore her when her hands were on me, it was impossible.

"shut the fuck up." rhea glared at me. "you wanted to be a fucking brat? i'll treat you like a brat." she scoffed, a smirk played at her lips. if i weren't so turned on i probably would have punched her.

she wrapped her large hands around my waist, and picked me up like i weighed nothing. she threw me over the shoulder and took me to our bedroom.

she pushed me into the room, standing me in front of the large closet mirror.

"look at me." her voice caught me off guard and my eyes caught hers in the mirror, i felt a shiver run down my back as she glared at me.

she smirked, and started unbuckling my jeans, pulling them down roughly. they pooled at my feet as she forced a hand in my underwear, her calloused fingers running over my slit.

"god, fucking slut..." she cooed. i closed my eyes, and she bit my ear roughly. "you've been acting like such a bitch all day, you wanted this didn't you?"

i looked at her in the mirror, pleading for her to touch me. every touch of hers felt like heaven, and i needed more.

she scoffed. "what do you want?" she raised her chin up, tilting her head. god, i loved when she did that.

my words caught in my throat, i felt her thumb slowly graze my skin, and I felt my knees become weak.

"use your words." her voice was husky and demanding.

"i... i..." my words didn't seem to want to come out of my mouth.

rhea began to get frustrated, she pulled her hand out of my underwear, and gripped my waist, pulling it towards her. she roughly pushed me against the mirror, her hands the only things holding me up as my cheek smushed against the glass.

my heavy breath fogged up the mirror, as I looked back towards rhea, whos grinded her hips against me. "tell me what you want." she repeated, her hand inching up my shirt before roughly gripping one of my breasts.

i let out a surprised yelp. "rhea... i... i want you... please..." i begged, my voice was hoarse and whiny, i wasn't proud of it but at this point i couldn't care less.

"im pissed, y/n." she growled. "i wanted you to help me, and instead you gave me back talk then completely ignored me. do you really expect me to touch you?" she said, her voice was mocking, i could practically hear her smirk.

i should be mad, but i couldn't help the wet spot that formed on my underwear.

rhea let out a groan of frustration, sitting on the bed. she was manspreading as she glared at me, leaning back on her arms.

"so do it yourself."

my breath hitched at her words. "rhea... please i can't-"

"do it. you really wanna keep pissing me off?" she threatened.

i let out a small sigh, my eyes glazed over. she pulled me down on her leg, looking up at me.

i bit my lip, looking at her. her words repeated in my head

do you really wanna keep pissing me off?

my cooter wooter ached at her words. i moved my hips, moving them back and forth on her thigh.

i bit my lip and let out a soft moan.

she sat there watching me, clearly amused by the predicament she put me in.

I held onto her shoulders, rutting my hips on her thigh, the feeling of her denim jeans drove me crazy. god, and that look in her eye. it made me feel so powerless.

i felt that familiar knot in my stomach, i hid my face in the nook of her neck. i rocked my hips, they began to ache as i tried to chase my high.

"rhea... please... im so close... im gonna-" i was suddenly knocked off balance by rhea bouncing her leg, my orgasm fading away from me.

"i don't think you deserve it." rhea said, glaring at me.

i looked up at her, my lip trembling. "rhea please... i'll do anything!" i cried into her chest.

rhea sighed, pulling out a pack of cigarettes from her back pocket and lighting it, she took a drag and blew it in my face, her black lipstick staining the paper casing.

"go get it." she said, before taking another drag, the tip of the cigarette lighting a bright red as she did.

i felt relief at those words, was she gonna finally give me what i wanted?

i got up from her lap, my legs shaky from my previous denial, my core still aching from the loss. i opened the closet, and picked up a box. i opened it, pulling out a large, black, 7inch strap-on.

i practically drooled at the thought of rhea ruining me with it.

i walked back over to her, she snatched it out of my hand, before pulling down her jeans, she put it on and looked at me.

she grabbed me by my hair, pushing me down between her legs. she pushed it against my lips, practically growling at me.

"suck it."

i cant finish this just take this i dont know if it's good or not so erm!

#rhea ripley x reader #rhea ripley #rhea ripley x you #wwe rhea ripley #wwe fanfiction #wwe imagine #rhea ripley imagine #rhea ripley smut #rhea ripley fanfiction #bro its not even done #its so bad #wtf

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unhonestlymirror · 4 months

Text

I am horrified by how often I see people writing, "Well, we shouldn't take Holocaust into account when talking about Israel-Palestine war." Of course we SHOULD, and that's why:

"October 7 is getting rewritten and certain social media users are an active of the campaign to erase the atrocities.

I was barely awake on October 7th when news of the atrocities that were committed by Hamas began to trinkle in, horror by horror. With sleep still in my eyes, I had hoped it was a nightmare I could erase by burying my face in pillows and returning to slumber, but alas, reality was insistent. Hamas had butchered over 1,200 people, amongst them infants, pregnant women, the handicapped, and the elderly. Even dogs were not spared.

But Hamas didn’t just murder them in cold blood, they had tortured, raped, desecrated their bodies, and took hostages. Their depravity was limitless. And they were so proud of their crimes that they used GoPro cameras to record them, later releasing the sickening spectacles to the public as a form of psychological terror. Add to that the live streams, cell phone recordings, and CCTV camera footage, and you’ll probably have the most documented massacre in history—with a reported 60,000 video clips collected.

I’ve seen some of these videos, including those not circulating quite so widely in public. They will haunt me for the rest of my life—and that falls far short than the 47 minute “film” shown to select journalists and diplomats worldwide, a number of whom broke down and/or fell ill during the screening.

But as shocking as all of this deranged butchery was — which was entirely the intention — what stunned me in the aftermath is the world’s reaction.

Putting aside disputes of land and politics, it was jarring to hear such a blatant reframing of narrative. It started with calling Hamas the “resistance” and justifying the unjustifiable. A number of BLM chapters had put out “heroic” images of Hamas terrorists descending on parachutes. I half-expected them to release action figures of Hamas fighters too. Maybe they did?

And then came the "BUTs." Sure, some folks condemned Hamas, but it was always followed by a "BUT," justifying the unjustifiable. I've been asked, ad nauseam, "What would you do in their situation?" Well, my response remains steadfast: not commit random acts of murder, torture, and kidnapping. Call me old-fashioned. (For the record I’ve called many colorful words for my stance, but oddly that was never one of them).

It was a wake-up call for many, especially those of us in the global Jewish community. Overnight, the illusion of safety shattered, much like the dreams of anyone who's binge-watched a horror series alone at night. But now we were all collectively trapped in that nightmare, and couldn’t wake up no matter how hard with pitched.

The history of the Holocaust is taught in many schools around the world. “Never forget” and “never again” are sentiments that are echoed within that curriculum. Yet, while some might scoff at the persistent advocacy for Holocaust education, insisting that it’s hitting them over the head, a nationwide survey in 2020 reveals that the under-40 crowd seems to have missed the memo. Shockingly, one in ten respondents haven’t even heard of the word “Holocaust,” let alone being aware that as many as 6 million Jews perished in it.

Further, nearly a quarter of those questioned said they believed the Holocaust was a myth, had been exaggerated or that they weren’t sure. Meanwhile in Canada, one in five young people (under 34) either hasn't heard of the Holocaust or isn't sure what it is. And in Britain, one in twenty adults flat-out deny that it ever took place. Ah, the privilege of blissful ignorance.

Most who underestimate the number of Jews killed in Holocaust have neutral or warm feelings toward Jews.

But it's not just ignorance; there's an entire industry that has been propped up and dedicated to Holocaust denial, complete with books, “movies,” and groups. To make matters worse, alarmingly, fewer Holocaust survivors are around to share their firsthand accounts and counteract the flames of denialism.

Nearly half of the 1000 people surveyed had stated that they’ve seen Holocaust denial or distortion posts on social media or elsewhere online.

I’ve always thought that denials of genocide—such as the Holocaust —were something that happened over time, with history slipping away and being re-written.

However, I never expected to be observing this in real time.

While initially the so-called “resistance” was celebrated by a subset of society, this soon turned into full-fledged denials of Hamas’ actions on Oct 7. Despite overwhelming evidence in the form of videos captured and shared by Hamas themselves and shared on Telegram channels and elsewhere, I would read and hear people claiming that they had only targeted Israeli military. Absurd claims emerged using supposedly ‘leaked’ footage where an Israeli helicopter shoots at Nova music festival goers. That video was viewed over 30 million times on X alone. The video, which was actually originally shared by the IDF on Oct 9, was showing their attacks on specific Gazan targets—certainly NOT indiscriminate bombings of music festival attendees in Israel. (Here’s a great thread that details how this piece of disinformation spread and geolocation information that further confirms that the claim is fake).

I’ve heard countless denials of the rapes of women (and men), despite overwhelming evidence in the form of physical evidence, forensics, and a number of witness testimonies. Women’s rights groups, meanwhile, remained silent—thus offering a vacuum for denialists to fill. Proponents of “me too” also stayed silent. Worse, the University of Alberta Sexual Assault Centre’s director signed an open letter calling Hamas perpetrating “sexual violence” an “unverified accusation.” It took UN Women nearly two months to issue a lukewarm condemnation of the brutal attacks. “We are alarmed by the numerous accounts of gender-based atrocities and sexual violence during those attacks,” they wrote, following a letter writing campaign urging them to speak up. Better late than never though, right?

The roughly 40 dead babies claim was debunked as a lie. At least that’s what people on social media now declare as fact, citing a Haaretz investigation.

“Haaretz investigation EXPOSES all the ISRAELI LIES from October 7th just like I predicated (sic),” reads the post of one particularly large disinformation account.

These claims persisted despite Haaretz directly addressing that post and calling it “blatant lies” and insisting that it “absolutely no basis in Haaretz’s reporting.”

The denials continued regardless of the fact that a group of 200 forensic pathologists from all over the world had confirmed that babies were indeed murdered and that some babies were found decapitated, though it was unclear whether this was done before or after death. First responders also corroborated that they witnessed beheaded infants. Regardless of decapitation, these were babies, murdered.

The forensic pathologists also confirmed that humans were executed, bound and burned alive. Israeli police have over 1,000 statements related to the attack.

When some of the hostages were released, Hamas supporters claimed that the hostages enjoyed being held by them, that they hardly wanted to leave. That this was like a pleasant vacation for them, that’s all. Like sipping piña coladas by the beach. In fact, they would state that they were more concerned about their safety in Israeli hands. They even concocted stories of love affairs between a hostage who was shot in the leg and a Hamas captor. A sick and twisted take on reality where up is down, cats are dogs, and denial is truth. They dismissed the reality that many of these hostages watched their loved ones get murdered in front of them, and still had relatives being held in captivity. The hostages were also administered Clonazepam by Hamas, a mood-enhancing tranquilizing drug, before handing them over to the Red Cross, so that they would appear “happy.”

Meanwhile, the Yale Daily News published a correction of an opinion column stating that the “allegations had not been substantiated.”

The denials go on and on, and I can’t help but feel like I’m watching a version of Holocaust denial, except this time it’s happening in real time—not years after the fact. And this time, it has a Wi-Fi connection and a social media account.

The conditions for this were ripe. Moral relativism is why just several weeks ago, Gen Z embraced Bin Laden's 'Letter to America.' It has been building up for years across college campuses, a breeding ground for ideologies that support violent means to achieve political gains.

The perceived power dynamics play a role here too. In the eyes of many, the Israelis are seen as a superpower whereas the Palestinians, and by extension Hamas, are seen as underdogs. In their view, the underdog is always right because it is the victim, and the “power” is the oppressor. So how can the oppressor be a victim?

Israelis, despite the majority of the population being Mizrahi Jews, as well as 20% Arabs (who were also victims on Oct 7), have been framed as “white colonizers,” vs the Palestinians who are seen as “POC” in the context of this conflict. Never mind that Jews, including Ashkenazi Jews, can be traced back to the land through DNA, archaeological evidence, and historical documents.

An overall distrust for media is another factor, which has resulted in individuals taking the word of random influencer accounts as gospel over traditional media outlets. According to Gallup polls, Americans’ trust in media is near a record low. Only 34% of US adults have a “great deal” or “fair amount” of confidence as of 2022. This is a major hindrance to our sensemaking abilities.

And then, of course, there’s cognitive dissonance. When a group identifies so closely with the perpetrator and they commit heinous acts, confronting that fact happens to be uncomfortable. So, in an attempt to reduce that discomfort, they rationalize or deny the evidence. This means that they accept only evidence that supports their existing beliefs, while placing unreasonable demands on the other side.

But none of these factors would have gained as much traction if it weren’t for something that didn’t exist during the Holocaust: social media. This is the engine that helps drives this real-time historical revisionism and denialism. According to 2021 data from Pew Research, over 70% of Americans get their news via social platforms. A Reuters Institute report from 2023 found that 30% of respondents use social media as the main way to get their news.

We have a society that consumes sound-bites of information, both truth and lies (as well as lies based on grains of truth).

Social media algorithms—combined with human nature—tend to amplify outrageous untruths, which spread widely. Corrections, never make it as far as the original lie. They are just a faint hum.

Throughout the Israeli-Gaza war, we’ve seen AI generated images and bots used to paint a specific narrative—for evocative, emotional effect. But technologically sophisticatication isn’t a prerequisite for painting false narratives. Many “influencers” have taken to using existing images or videos and attaching misleading headlines to them—including sharing content that captures events in Syria while presenting it as taking place in Gaza. These networks of influencers have large reach, and can turn even the most blatant lie into a revisionist truth.

Researchers for Freedom House, a non-profit human right advocacy group, found that generally at least 47 governments have used commentators to manipulate online discussions in their favor, either via humans or bots. They’ve also recruited influencers to help spread false and misleading content, and have created fake websites that mimic actual media publications. Then there’s always Russia’s propaganda arm RT, and various other publications like Al Jazeera and Quds who have direct ties to Hamas and/or other Islamic regimes.

All of this has contributed to narrative confusion, and the erasure of unspeakable acts of brutality, and the denial of the facts of October 7, right before our very eyes.

If we cannot even share a common reality, how can have any hope of resolving anything?

“Never again” is happening now."

#jews #israel palestine war #hamas attack #russia finances hamas

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