#i promise you there are so so SO many ways to be an outsider

[yandere-sins]

Lingyang or Jiyan accidently releasing a more animalistic side when yn is threatened and needing help to calm down

I wanted to do something for both of them but this idea just shot in my mind and I couldn't get rid of it, so just Jiyan and I accidentally jumped over the comfort part (feel free to re-request if you want to see that kind of scenario, I do have an idea for it, but I was hit hard with a lot of inspiration for this kind of story, sorry!), but I totally agree with your thought here!

[Warning: Yandere, Kidnapping, Attempted non-con by intruders, Violence (Murder, Mention of blood and separated body parts, Description of monster traits, Stabbing someone), Depiction of shock and paranoia]

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

In all the time you were stuck with your captor, you never noticed just how beastial he truly was.

Jiyan was a lot of things. He was kind, friendly, and reliable. People flocked to him to admire the general, wanting to stand next to him for just a moment to bask in the glory he radiated. When he stood there, relaxed and with a faint smile, everyone felt safe, their worries simply washing away. You, too, had been blinded by the false sense of relief his presence promised, approaching him without a second of hesitation and without a spark of fear even when his eyes snapped to you, widening in inexplicable yearning. You let yourself be charmed by him, whisked away with the promise of togetherness, a once off chance to be with him. And you'd come to regret your decision to take his hand, to allow him to lure you into his 'monster den' even though you should have seen the danger signs.

Love at first sight, he called it as he pinned you to his couch. You didn't fight him—couldn't fight him. The pain of his fingers digging into your skin was enough to make you go rigid; how could you have fought someone as strong as him? He spoke of devotion and adoration even when he kissed you against your will. When he pulled you with him towards a secret elevator, he still assured you that this was for your best.

And even when he forced the bitter-tasting potion down your throat that made you drowsy and defenseless, he swore nothing would ever happen to you. Jiyan promised you'd be safe and protected as he caught you in his eyes while you lost your conscience. But that was a lie—everything was.

Jiyan was a lot of things, but he wasn't kind. A kind person wouldn't kidnap someone and force them to live isolated from the rest of society, no matter how much you pleaded and begged. He wasn't friendly either because when you fought him, he fought back. So many days were wasted in fear, screaming matches and hiding from him. So many times he'd force you to be with him, be held by him, let him love you. A nice person wouldn't do that. A friendly person wouldn't have hurt you this way.

But most of all, he wasn't reliable.

Because even when he swore up and down that you'd be safe in this underground prison, that he'd protect you from all that his twisted mind imagined would harm you outside this cage he had decorated for you, chained you up in, and confined you to a lifetime in solitude, even then some burglars managed to find you.

Jiyan's changes in his heart were terrifying.

But to be at some random strangers' mercy was even worse.

You thought they might help. That you could finally be freed. But when the intruders started to smile and leer at you, who was vulnerable and unable to run from them, all hope vanished. You screamed and cried, knowing there was no one who could hear you. Like so many times before with Jiyan, no one knew your whereabouts and this prison was supposed to be safe from outside and inside threats. You tried to fight them, begging them to stop like so many times before with Jiyan, but they wouldn't. In your fear and panic, you wished for the general to save you, even though you knew he wouldn't make it in time.

So, although unwelcome, the surprise was huge when, instead of having the hands of two unknown strangers rake all over your body, you felt their disgustingly warm blood soak into your ripped clothes. You couldn't look away from the slitted, brilliant eyes of Jiyan that seemed to burn with the fire of a dragon, furious and raging. And when you did snap out of it, you closed your eyes quickly to avoid looking at the severed heads and gruesome looks of death on the intruders' faces.

You didn't look up when you heard their body parts fall to the ground with squelching sounds, the warm blood soaking everything. You didn't even open your eyes when you felt Jiyan's uncomfortably familiar arms wrap around you. You sobbed silently into his shoulder as he lifted you up, reeking of blood and death, because you were too afraid to make a sound.

Because what stood before you, cradling you against his chest and holding you as you cried was no man—but a monster. A beast much like the Tacet Discords that haunted the lives of all citizens of Jinzhou. His hold might have been meant to be a comfort, but his arms were rigid with terror, and he held his breath ever so often as he kept hyperventilating in anger. But holding you, even he seemed to calm down, his face rubbing against your head and his chest rumbling with a purr. If not for your presence, you were sure he'd have turned into a terrifying beast, mauling these intruders for whom you held no sympathy. Gnawed at their bones, destroyed every last inch of their bodies, and swallowed them whole.

Just like he wanted to do with you.

You remained still even if you wanted to fight for your life at that moment. You waited for Jiyan to put you down, wipe the sweat-soaked hair out of your face, and place an apologetic, desperate kiss on your forehead before he turned away, muttering, "I'm sorry."

"I should have never left you. I'm sorry you had to go through that; please forgive me."

He was sorry for what happened, maybe even for scaring you with the reveal of his true self.

But that monster wasn't sorry for keeping you locked here, especially now with the death of two people hanging over your head like a sword ready to strike. Cursing this place for all eternity, and haunting the nightmares you'd undoubtedly experience from now on.

You knew you had to be first.

If you didn't, that monster would kill you too, ruthlessly and cold. Brutal and heartless.

Jiyan had already proven that he couldn't be trusted. That he wasn't kind, wasn't friendly, and wasn't reliable in any way. And now that he had to lick off the blood from his deformed hands, who was going to say you wouldn't be the next victim that this beast could devour?

There was something almost therapeutic about pulling the long, elegant hairpin from where he put it that morning and lunging forward to stab it between his ribs. You could feel his heart beat against the metal as the beast cried out in pain. Perhaps betrayal, too.

This time, you looked at him as he gave you the treacherous eyes of a puppy. When he grabbed the pin, holding it in place, you watched as blood dripped from the wound, mixing with the red puddles on the ground. His words were stricken with grief over your betrayal when he asked you, "Why?" and when you looked into his eyes, he suddenly didn't appear so monstrous anymore. He looked like a wounded man. One you came to know quite well, albeit unwillingly.

But you.

The way you stared at him unblinking, your reflection so clear and miserable in his eyes... your skin had paled from the horrors you experienced, the wrinkles deeply etched into your face like that of a haggard witch. You lost weight from refusing to eat and were clothed in garments you could have never afforded by yourself. You stabbed him without thinking twice. You didn't seem like yourself anymore. You didn't even feel human.

Perhaps Jiyan wasn't the man anyone thought him to be, but even so, even a beast like him could still love you at your lowest. Still care for and save you when it seemed impossible. Still apologize for his mistakes, exactly like a human would.

And you thought to yourself that maybe, watching as he went to patch himself up, preparing to forgive you once again for acting out as he had to pull the hairpin he gifted you out of his ribs,

maybe you had become the monster instead.

[muzansslxt]

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ 🍓 𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐒𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐭 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐤 🍓 ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

╔⏤⏤⏤╝❀╚⏤⏤⏤╗

❀ hello lovey reader! I have brought to you a briderton inspired story featuring none other than your perfect self and our favourite dilf, Toji. Take yourself to the early 18th century, you live a lavish life as the only child of a duke who has already promised your hand in marriage to a complete stranger. Yet you’ve kept a secret that burns close to your heart, the older stable hand with his devilish handsomeness and sharp tongue. A match nobody would ever approve but a girl can dream can’t she?

❀ And lastly, immerse yourself in the playlist I’ve created while working on this piece <3

🎧 Sweet Summer Playlist

╚⏤⏤⏤╗❀╔⏤⏤⏤╝

🍓. A gentle rain tapped on your window pane as you watched the water create dainty streams over the glass. Although one would think her lady ship was watching the down pour outside, your eyes were following the tall muscular man that was busy rushing the horses back into the stables.

His clothing soaked to the bone, giving a delicious view of his sculpted body that had been molded to perfection after his years of hard physical labour. You often caught yourself watching him constantly lately, perhaps it was the dreaded arranged marriage that loomed over your head that had you looking for a distraction.

The head stable hand was the perfect one at that.

“Y/n, if you sit at the window to long you’ll catch cold.” Your maid scolded, her hands on her hips but an amused smile graced her face.

You sigh but gather your skirts regardless, disappointed to be torn away from the eye candy just outside.

“Oh Francesca, I just don’t think I can go through this whole marriage nonsense. I don’t even know this man! What if he’s utterly disgusting, like some sort of old pig.” You say while scrunching your face.

Francesca giggled while carefully taking out the ribbons and ties in your hair, “Now that’s no way to talk about your future husband Miss.” she teased “Besides I’ve heard he is rather dashing, with the brightest blue eyes and such light coloured hair.”

You pouted none the less and sat in front of your mirror as she began to run a brush through your long locks “Still, should I not have a say in who I want to spend the rest of my life with? What if he’s just as mean as he may be handsome?”

Francesca hummed softly before gently bonking the crown of your head with the brush “With all due respect your grace, you should be thankful you get to marry into wealth and live a comfortable life that so many of us are not fortunate enough to have.”

Another sigh escaped your lips but you remained quiet on the subject as you were preparing to retire for the evening, once Francesca had shut the door behind her and blew out the last candle, your were alone once more.

Quietly you tiptoed to the window, the rain had began to subdue as your eyes longed to see the familiar tall figure of Toji.

And there he was, your heart nearly stopped as the older man stood in the courtyard peering into your window.

A thought crossed your mind, raising heat to your cheeks as your hands were already traveling to the string that held the chest of your bodice together.

Leaning closer to the glass, breath fogging it slightly, you did the dirtiest thing you’d ever done in your life.

Tojis eyebrows rose slightly in response, but he wasn’t about to deny himself the pleasure of gazing upon the young lady’s breasts.

Although most improper of you, the older man had a small chuckle out of it before blowing you a teasing kiss.

And with that he waltzed out of the courtyard to the stable houses, your cheeks flushed crimson and quickly tied your night shirt up.

Surely you would never be able to face him now.

🍓. That following afternoon the sun was shining brilliantly against the perfect blue sky, a warm breeze passed through the country side carrying the scents of fresh flowers and sweet grass.

You had taken refuge under the large willow trees that bordered the edge of the estates property. There vines perfectly concealed anyone underneath, giving you the perfect cover to peacefully read your books.

And of course hide from the staff in case anyone had came across your filthy act last night, your ears burned at the thought. Quickly taking a sip from your tea, you prepared to clear your mind and once more immerse yourself in the story.

“So this is where you’ve gone.” A deep yet smooth voice drawled from behind you, turning swiftly you were met with the sight of a messy haired Toji.

Straw bits were scattered in his dark locks and his hands looked calloused, probably finished throwing hay into the pastures you thought.

“I beg your pardon, what are you doing here? You should be tending to the horses, that’s what father pays you for.” You huff, hating the way your voice whined.

“I forgot who I was talking to. Apologies your grace but I hadn’t thought there was formalities between us after your lovely display last night.” He purred while adding a bow as he spoke, his eyes shifting to your bosom before meeting your eyes with a smirk.

Your mouth gaped but before a word could pass from your lips, he continued “It is rather indecent to expose yourself to the likes of me, I could be hung just for speaking these words to you my lady but..”

Your heart raced as he spoke, “but what?” You managed to squeak out, sounding a little too hopeful.

“I admire a young woman’s spirit such as yours, there fore I have no wish to taint you. Your hand has been promised to Lord Satouru, you mustn’t tease me ever again like that.” He leaned closer to you as he spoke, dark eyes twinkling with forbidden words. “Or next time I shall ravish you in ways you’ll never experience again.”

Foolishly, your gloved hand reached out to his much larger and weathered hand. “I want…nothing more.” You say quietly, looking up at the man who could never be your husband.

Toji gave you a sympathetic look before kissing your hand gently “I would be killed on the spot your grace, although I wish to feel your skin and know the softness of your body, my words are nothing more than wishful fantasies.”

It felt as though your heart began to painfully sink into your stomach, and stupidly enough a tear fell over your cheek. “But it’s not fair.” You whimper.

Chuckling softly Toji sat on the grass instead of the blanket you were perched on “I am twice your age, you’d want to have yourself a fine young husband to keep you satisfied. I can barely do one round without tiring.”

Quickly blinking your eyes of tears you straightened your back, reminding yourself this was not a time to be childish. You were after all a lady now, and you had the power to have what you want.

“I simply wish to be educated in what I am not, how am I to please my husband if I know nothing of what happens with lovers.” You say in a dignified manner that had Toji raise a brow at you.

“So you wish me to teach you things? Me, a common servant who lives with the horses.” He scoffed, shaking his head, his eyes held a new seriousness.

“You are asking me to risk my life over something so foolish, you truly are just a stupid girl.”

The insult went straight to your heart and Toji could see the hurt in your eyes as you gazed at him, “Apologies my lady.” He murmured in a gentle tone this time. “What I am trying to make you understand is I cannot risk my life for what lies under your clothing. This selfish old man wouldn’t think twice if our situation was different.”

You threw your fists into your skirts and stood abruptly “You are mistaken, I do not wish for you to deflower me. I am not so stupid as to think my husband to be wouldn’t notice the impurity, I simply wish to be kissed.” You huff, cheeks as red as the strawberry’s that rested contently on there plate beside you.

Toji smiled this time, a look of almost relief washed over his handsome face, all you wanted was a stolen kiss, or maybe two if he should be so lucky.

Craning his neck around to make sure no farmers with prying eyes were in the surrounding fields, Toji finally rested his eyes back on you before leaning over you.

“A simple kiss, with the way you spoke I was sure you meant something else.” He said softly before faulting your chin up, the sudden feeling of his fingers made you ache in a way you hadn’t felt before.

“Just kiss me.” You whispered while instinctively wrapping your arms around his well muscled neck, in response Toji took no more hesitation to press his own lips to your soft ones.

A sweet spark shot through your body as the two of you kissed, a short yet delicious thing that had you undeniably wanting more.

But Toji was quick to pull away once your grip on his collar grew tighter “Your wish has been granted your grace, I can die a happy man.” He teased before detangling himself from you.

You couldn’t fight the disappointment from your face but with a swift bow and a wink, Toji was off making his way back to the stables.

🍓. A few weeks had passed since you and Toji had stolen a secret kiss, today you were determined to take it to the level you so desired. You had told yourself you didn’t want him to take you, that you wanted to keep your innocence for the sake of peace and reputation.

But you knew deep inside it wasn’t what you wanted. All your life you had grown up alongside the rules, abided by the enforcements and tasks placed upon you.

You were entitled to give yourself to the man you so desired.

“What are you doing here?” A familiar voice questioned, not looking up you continued to saddle up your horse, your plan for today had been to take a long ride in the north fields since the flowers had recently bloomed.

Maybe it was the summer heat, or maybe it was the raging need for Toji but you grabbed his shirt and pulled him forward with a strength not even you knew you had.

“I don’t care what it is you think is best for me, I know what I want and that is you. And you will allow me this because I, Lady y/n asked you.” You seethe, watching as his face went through a flight of emotions.

“As you wish, your grace.” He replied in a strangled manner, allowing his hands to roam over the shape of your dress.

You nod curtly, satisfied with the outcome but terrified what to do next.

“My lady does not wish to do this here, does she?” He asked tilting his head slightly with a disapproving expression.

“Don’t be silly, I’m not some trollop. We’re taking a ride to the meadows. No one can see us for miles, and it’s to beautiful of a day to be stuck in the stables anyway.” You huffed before stepping into the stirrup and pulling yourself over the palomino.

Toji snorted but kept his smart remarks to himself, not wanting to upset his lady ship too much. “One must agree.” He grunted in return before seating himself upon his own steed.

The two of you raced off before the other stable hands were to return from the pastures, finding the perfect patch of grass you both settled down.

“I brought you a treat.” You say excitedly while digging around in your saddle bag, “I thought we should have something sweet in celebration.”

Toji snorted this time, unmoved by your gift of sweet treats “You really are foolish. I am risking my life-“

“Hush. We keep this a secret and nobody dies.” You say calmly before setting a pouch of fresh strawberries down and a glass bottle of milk, still cold from the cellar.

“My mother used to make me this as snack when I was a little girl, if I was nervous or upset she was quick to have the servants bring it.” You continued before settling comfortably on the ground beside Toji.

A moment of silence passed before Toji leaned back on his arms and watched you for a moment “I’ve never been given an opportunity as such, you are a kind woman your grace.” He hummed before taking a swig of milk.

You popped a few strawberries into your mouth before finding yourself reaching for Toji.

Your hands entwined themselves in his thick hair, the both of your lips meeting, tasting sweet strawberries and cool milk on each other’s tounge.

Your skirts were bunched around your waist, showing your creamy thighs and the one thing Toji had been yearning for since the first time he had seen you.

Toji kissed down the nape of your neck to your collarbone, hand tugging at the front of your bodice desperate to free your breasts.

He wanted to taste every sweet thing your body had to offer, including your petal pink nipples. You gasped softly as the cool air hugged said breasts and watched as Toji lowered his head to take your nipple into his warm waiting mouth.

“Hah- Oh- Oh Toji.” You breathed as pleasure tingled through out your body, arching you back you tilted your head back as Toji hummed in response and moved to the other nipple.

Leaving you too look at the sky in wonder as you felt pleasure unbeknownst to you.

“You’re beautiful.”

Your head snapped back down as you looked into Tojis lustful eyes, a flush of embarrassment creeped over your cheeks.

“Men always say such things.” You mutter before hugging yourself to Toji,burying your nose in the crook of his shoulder.

He smelt of fresh straw, horses and something manly. A comforting scent to say the least.

The two of you became nothing but a mess of wandering mouths and searching hands resting upon discarded fabrics.

A pain you had never felt before burned lowly in your stomach and Tojis length freed you of your innocence, sweet harmonious melody’s left your lips. Spurring the older man on as he rut himself inside your softness.

You both made warm love under a fading summer sun, you wished the bliss would last for eternity but after the upteenth time of orgasmic euphoria coursing through your body.

Reality began to set in, the strawberries had been crushed from the toss and turn of your bodies and the milk lay spilt beside you.

“I think it’s time.” Toji murmured from somewhere above you, his voice rich like honey.

“I wish it to last forever.” You reply softly as shadows crept slowly over the land, indicating the day was at its end.

The responsibility’s of tomorrow would arise and your stable hand would have to be nothing more than the bitter sweet past.

“Don’t forget me when you’re married.” Toji said before pushing himself off the ground beside you, his horse waiting long enough was eager to return.

You gave him a soft smile, one that didn’t quite meet your gaze.

How could anyone forget Toji Fushiguro? 🍓

[writingquestionsanswered]

I've got young kids, work full time, went back to school to get my degree and my spouse is also in a degree program. Finding the time to write feels impossible. There's no way I can write daily.

I feel like maybe my dream to be an author is out of reach. When should you really ask yourself if you truly want to be an author? Forget an author.. do you really want to be a writer? 

Author Dream Feels Out of Reach

You've come to the right place. ♥

First, I want to tell you that what you're feeling right now is totally normal. So, so many of us go through it. I promise you're in good company.

Second, I submit that this isn't really about whether or not you want to be a writer/author. You wouldn't be here if some part of you didn't want to be a writer/author... you wouldn't be reaching for a dream you didn't have...

Third, I further submit that rather than questioning your intentions, you may just need to consider what you want to get out of writing, what your goals would be as an author, and then create realistic goals to help you get there. That's where I come in...

1 - I'm here to tell you that you don't have to write every day. I spent a long, long, embarrassingly long time parroting back the traditional "advice" that one must write every single day in order to be a successful writer and reach your author dreams. Head, meet desk! In the intervening years, I've learned that writing every day simply isn't realistic for the vast majority of people. Why? Because we're not all independently wealthy bachelors who retired in our 40s, who spend our days fishing and our evenings partying with our eccentric creative friends, and then burning the midnight oil on our latest manuscript while we sip brandy and puff on a fine cigar. If only! (minus the cigar part... yuck...) Instead, we're members of family units, friend groups, and communities. We're parents and grandparents and guardians and caregivers. We're students, we have jobs and roles and responsibilities. We're anxious, tired, and stretched so unbelievably thin. The world is falling down around us. And it's... a lot...

2 - But... that's why we write... ALL OF THAT, I say, gesturing broadly at everything, is why we write. We write to tell the stories of the eccentric brandy-sipping writers, the stressed-out-stretched-thin-parents, the overworked-and-underpaid teachers, the exhausted caregivers who feel their dreams slipping between their fingers, and still hopeful dreamers who cling to the stars with the dust of the crumbling world in their eyes. We write to tell their stories, and we write to give them stories. We write because the world needs our stories. ALL of them. The good, the bad, the clean, the spicy, the angsty, the swoony, the cringey, the comforting, the excessively long, the absurdly short, the plainly written, the purple prosey... all of it matters. All of it serves a purpose.

3 - So, why did you start writing in the first place? You don't have to answer this for me, just for yourself... many of us would answer by saying things like, "because I have story ideas that demand to be written," or "because it's something I do for fun and escape, it's self-care," or "because I love to explore human stories." Getting to the heart of why you write, outside of any goals or future plans, can help ground you in the storm.

4 - What are your author goals? Now, if time, energy, and other considerations were no object... if you could spend as much time writing as you wanted and there were no obstacles to any author goal you had, and no limit to achieving your dreams, what would your author goals be? Do you want to share your stories on Wattpad or a similar platform? If so, do you have any goals related to views/reads/comments, and how often you hope to post a new story? If you want to pursue traditional publishing, are you happy being reasonably popular within your niche, or do you want to be a big time best-seller with your books made into movies? If you want to be an indie author, is there a certain number of books you want to get out each year? Is there a certain number of sales you want to hit for each book? A certain income level you want to aim for? Figuring out exactly what your goals are is important if you want to map a reasonable path toward getting there.

5 - What's a reasonable path to get there? Imagine "reasonable" lit up with lights here, because it's so, so important. Really, the biggest reason writers get overwhelmed and give up is because we have unreasonable expectations and are trying to meet arbitrary goals that sound great, but are just not possible to meet. If you can only muster maybe three hours to write on a good week, and you can write 26 words a minute on a good writing session, if your goal is to write 10,000 words per week, guess what... that's more than TWICE the number of words it's even possible for you to write in a good week, so you're going to fall far, far short most weeks. It's an unrealistic goal.

If you're averaging roughly 11,000 words per month and your goal is to write a novel in six months and have it revised, edited, and published (or revised, edited, and sent off with queries), guess what... your manuscript is sitting at 66,000 words at the six month mark without a single second for revision, editing, or anything else. Once again, it's an unrealistic goal.

One of the best ways to figure out a realistic goal is to take an honest look at your schedule. My favorite way to do this is by the month, using a calendar I can write on. Now, I'll go through and cross out all the days I know I won't be able to write... like, maybe I never write on Sundays because they're too busy, so I cross those off. Maybe I'm going on vacation for four days mid-month, and I know I won't write the day before or after, so I cross those six days off, too. My days tend to fall apart if I have an appointment or other unusual event, so I will usually block off those days as well. Finally, I know I will probably lose at least three days a month to not feeling well or having to attend to a family member who isn't feeling well, and another three days to run-of-the-mill nonsense, so I'll cross off the last six days in the calendar. What I'm left with is a reasonable estimate for the number of days I'll be able to write that month.

Now, let's say I'm left with 17 potential writing days. And let's say I'm fairly certain I'll be able to commit about twenty to thirty minutes to writing on each of those days. And... let's say I know I generally write about 26 words per minute during the average writing session. Twenty minutes across 17 days is 340 total minutes, times 26 wpm, nets me about 8,840 words for the month... and that's not frickin' bad! In fact, at that rate you could potentially have a first draft done in six to eight months! And that's in just twenty minutes a day three or four times a week.

It isn't about time spent, it's about setting reasonable goals.

If you create reasonable goals that you can actually meet, you start building forward momentum. You're not exhausted from fighting with your schedule and failing to squeeze writing in on days when it isn't possible. You're not beaten down from disappointing yourself over and over again. You're actually getting somewhere, and you're excited about it!

So, that's it. Before you get all philosophical about whether or not you really want to be an author or want to be a writer... before you start tossing your dreams out the window or feeling like your dreams are out of reach, try this. Be realistic. Be patient with yourself. Take support where you can get it. And don't be afraid to fiercely guard whatever writing time you do have.

I'm here for support, and there a million wonderful writing communities out there filled with other supportive writers if you have some time to look for them and spend some time getting to know them.

All the best! You've got this... TRULY! ♥

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

♦ Questions that violate my ask policies will be deleted! ♦ Please see my master list of top posts before asking ♦ Learn more about WQA here

[lawva-girl]

Jealousy

Law x fat!reader

reader is gender nuetral. :))))

WC: 1365

shout out to @sukunas-play-thing for the idea!!!! I hope you like this with my whole heart!!!!

I just know in my soul Law would go so incredibly well with a plussized person!!!!!!!

Boa Hancock. The most beautiful woman in the world. Looking at her made you feel like there wasn’t even a comparison between the two of you, she was so pretty. You were… average? It was hard to tell. 

You, along with the Heart pirates, were all staring at her in amazement. You heard the voice of her sister, warning all the men of what could happen if their sister got upset. Saying something about how she isn’t afraid to turn allies either. 

It didn’t matter, they all still looked. You wondered if it worked on women too, since Ikkaku was also staring with heart eyes. After a quick glance around, you found that Law was nowhere to be seen. 

Suddenly you were storming into his room, desperate to find him. You knew it wasn’t entirely plausible but what if he had gone off and turned to stone? You had to find him, you could probably convince Hancock to turn him back… 

You turned the corner to leave his room, when a voice scared the fuck out of you.

“What are you doing here y/n-ya?” 

Freezing in place, part of you was incredibly grateful he didn’t turn to stone, another part of you was freaking out that your beloved Law had caught you in his room. 

“Oh Law… uhm the crew was staring at Hancock again… I came to get you.” You barely got the sentence out, since you were trying to make up a reason as to why you were here that wasn’t pathetic.

“Thank you for getting me, I’ll head out there now.” 

Suddenly there was panic in your gut again, but he was already on the move to you, where the door was.   

“Law, you shouldn’t go out there! You might see her!” You turned fully towards him and decided that you would refuse to let him pass. 

“Why would that matter?” He didn’t even slow down, just opened a room and ‘shambles’ his way past you. 

You turned as quickly as you could to look at him but his hat was the only thing you saw. He was gone.

You stood for only a second before beginning to chase after him. 

Once outside, there was a peculiar scene.

The heart pirates were all sitting on their knees, head hung low. They were sitting in front of Hancock and Law, who were lecturing the group together.

Upon seeing you on the deck of the polar tang Law nodded, then went back to yelling. You stood there confused, clearly something had happened, but you felt like an outsider. 

Not a clue as to what was happening. 

Thankfully, Law decided to clue you in on what occurred later.

The two of you were sitting in the medical bay, where he was patching up a gash in your leg. It had been an eventful day to say the least. The bay itself was quiet and calm though, not showing any signs of what had occurred that day. With the exception of you and your leg of course. 

“You can’t just run around however you want y/n-ya.” Law didn’t even look up at you as he spoke, instead focusing on the stitches he was putting in your leg.

“It’s not like I wanted to fall off the Tang… my depth perception was just a bit off. Plus I would’ve been fine if the repairs Shachi was working on were finished.” You closed your eyes when you felt the pinching pain Law was administering.  

“I’ve had to yell at too many people today, can’t any of you behave?” He grumbled, making it obvious for you that he was upset. 

“I know, I’m sorry. I promise I won’t fall again. It’s not like anyone would be able to fish me out if I did.” 

“What?” 

“What?” 

Law stared at you now, you assumed he looked up in shock at one point or another. 

“What did you have to yell at the others for?” You asked him, not giving him the chance to say anything. 

Law took a deep breath, “they almost got turned to stone, Hancock caught them all staring. Thankfully she wasn’t upset, since we had helped Luffy.” 

“Oh that’s good…” you laid back fully, closing your eyes. You had always worked as a somewhat friend to Law, hearing him rant and complain. It made you happy to have a use. It made you especially happy to have Law need you, despite knowing that you didn’t have a chance with him.

Law didn’t speak much in general, so if you wanted to know you kinda had to pry. You wanted to know so badly how he ended up lecturing beside Hancock, but you also did not want to know at all. 

“So.. you weren’t staring with them?” You felt your heart quicken, but you didn’t say anything to take it back. 

Law coughed a bit, then explained, “No. she’s pretty but I’m not… attracted to her.” 

“Why not? She’s beautiful and she has the perfect body! Plus her hair is perfect and she’s so skinny, anyone could fish her out of water.” You spoke the words before you even realized it, feeling the consequences seconds later when Law hesitated to respond.

“I don’t like…” he paused and smiled into an evil smirk, like it was second nature, “I prefer women who have something I can hold onto.” 

You sat up with eyes wide in shock, and mouth agape. “But…” 

“What? I’m not allowed?” Law looked at you now, and you could swear there was something in his eyes. Something that you could get extremely familiar with. 

While you remained there speechless, Law finished on your leg. As he smoothed the bandages over the slice, you stared at his hands. 

“I’m done. Just make sure you take it easy for 3 days, unless you want it to reopen.” Law stood, turning swiftly and started to clean his tools and pack his equipment. 

“You don’t like Hancock at all?” You called out from the hospital bed.

“No. I like people with something to hold onto. Like you.” Law turned slightly, you could just barely see his face enough to tell he was being serious.

“Oh! Uhm!”

“I like people who have soft thighs I can use as pillows, people who have a belly for me to grab while spooning, people that have a butt and love handles. I like to grab them and watch…” 

Your eyes were wide, unsure of why he was telling you this and why he wouldn’t stop. 

“I like people who have meat on their bones. Plus when a person like that is drowning, only a real man can save them. I can lift you, and I can lift you when you're soaked too.” 

“Law I.. why are you,” you couldn’t think of the words you wanted to use, until Law interrupted.

“Why would I tell you?” You nodded fervently, “I’m telling you because I hope you’ll do something about it.” 

You stared at him, he seemed so far from you. He wasn’t at all but you felt weird trying to stand on your leg that was freshly patched. So you motioned for him to come over to you with your hand. 

“Why?” He was walking over as he spoke. 

“I have to tell you something..” you motioned for him to come closer, so he did. 

You again motioned for him to come closer, and he rolled his eyes but did again.

You leaned forward and closed the gap between you two, whispering to him “my type in men.. its men who are named Law.” 

He turned his head towards yours in shock, and you chuckled. He took the opportunity of the proximity and pressed his lips to yours. Your chuckle died in your throat, as you pressed back into him. 

It felt like magic. His lips were soft, and soo warm. You were convinced such a cold steely man would have a matching body. 

Then you realized, all this time. Law wasn’t cold, he was just caring in a different way. He had answered every question you had. He never put you down, and he seemed to like you the way you are. 

[furinangel]

My dear brother🎐

[Reader] is Sakura older sister!

Wind breaker!!

TW: mention of stabbing and fighting

When your brother was born, you were happy that your new little sibling had the same eyes like yours but the only thing that was different about both of you, was his hair; his hair is half black and half white while yours is fully black but you both have the same heterochromia eyes.

You remember how people picked on you just because of your eyes so you started to wear a eyepatch but that didn’t help at all, that’s when you begin to fight them to protect yourself.

Of course, when your parents heard that you started to fight others (protecting yourself) they sent you way because they don’t want a child that fights. oh, no,no! They want a well behaved kid, not a beater.

Before they could sent you away there stood a your little brother who was watching you with the most confused expression as he watched you pack up before you realized he was right there “big sis, where are you going?” He said as he comes up to you with little steps.

You stayed quiet before giving him a small smile and reach your hand for his little hand “Sakura… promise you will be strong without me…”

His eyes looked at you in even more confused but nodded his head anyway “I-I promise! But where are yo-“ you didn’t let him finish his sentence before bringing him close to you to, you tight the hug after your tears begin to fall down your skin.

That was the last time you ever saw your brother…

“[Name] are your there?” You snap out of it when you saw a hand waving in front of you, you turned your attention to your friend, Kotoha who was just trying to get your attention for the past few minutes “ah! Sorry kotoha, did you call for me?” You gave her a worried smile thinking that you did something wrong.

Kotoha just sighs before turning to get her wallet “I’m going to the grocery store you wanna come with me?”

“Nah im good, text me if you need any help with carrying anything” you told her before she left the cafe.

After your parents sent you away, they sent you to an orphanage that lived in this town where many fights had happened two years ago before that group came and changed everything. You still remember those kind eyes he had when you first met him…

Now here you were, working with his little sister who’s very mature for her age but you don’t mind it at all.

You wear [e/c] eye contact and dyed your hair [h/c] because you thought it would look nice on you but also want to leave the pain you felt in the past…

“That’s strange, why is kotoha taking so long?” You said to yourself before going outside to look for her but When you step foot outside to find her.

“Oh!”

“Oh!..”

There stand kotoha with someone who looks…

no way… your eyes widened in shocked to see someone that you weren’t expecting. A boy that looks just like your brother…

The boy looks at you in confusion but had an angry face that was telling you ‘what are you looking at’ look.

Kotoha feels the awkwardness here so she explains to you abou what just happened and why she was taking so long, which made you even more worried and felt bad that you didn’t agreed to come with her “next time you go shopping, I’m coming with you” you told her while grab the bags from her hand “You don’t need to” she said before turning to the boy “come inside! I did said I will repay you.” She goes inside with you and the boy did the same.

————

“You’re alone” she said to him before he stormed off, you watched the whole show that just happened in front of you. Heck, you couldn’t even turn around because you were still struck by the realization that he is your brother…

No… no way in hell he is…

You don’t deserve to call him your brother…

“Did you really have to say that to him?” You said to kotoha who just went back to washing the dishes “he had to hear it… he can’t make it to the top by himself, to be honest. He chose the right place and I’m sure he will have great friends here as well.”

You looked at her before chuckling softly “you sound like an old person” but before she could’ve say anything else, nosies were coming from outside.

You were about to go outside but Kotoha beats to you “Kotoha!!” You yelled out her name before going towards the door after her.

you saw how she gets grab by a man who held a knife very close to her neck but luckily that boy comes and kick him off of her.

the boy continues to fight until he gets stab in the leg.

“Watch out” you said to him as the bat swings towards him but doges, but his body hits kotoha making both of them cornered there as the man with the bat swings again.

in that moment you couldn’t stop yourself from calling his name… your brothers name…

“SAKRUA!!”

That was the first time you ever called your brother’s name after so long… now, you promise yourself that you will never leave him again.

Hope you liked it! Let me know if you want part 2. Also I’m very sorry about how short this is, I’m still getting used to posting my writing which I’m not confident about but I’m happy to writing anything else!

-Angel

[izzabela]

Tomas x fem!reader - Solace in Silence

In which Tomas comforts you as you remember the pain your former husband, Bi Han, caused

You wander outside the compound aimlessly, the only companions being the light winds that kissed your cheek, and the sound of rustling leaves.

Fall in Japan was near its end for you and the Shirai Ryu, the new clan Kuai Liang and Tomas made. Of course, with the help of Kuai's bride, Shirai Harumi. Without her, you all would have been destitute, so it made sense Kuai named the clan after her.

You were happy for them, even the bridesmaid for Harumi on their wedding. Yet, you envied them. The joys of married life you once knew were nothing but a bygone memory. Thrown away by your husband's feeble mind and blind ambition- Bi Han's corruption haunted you.

You stared at your right hand, the ring finger empty and devoid of the symbol that once defined yours and his undying love. Like Kuai Liang, he thought his bond with Bi Han was strong and stable. He may have been thick in the head, but he was noble, kind (in his own way), and dutiful. Those qualities, plus the undeniable fact that he was handsome, made you fall for him.

Where did it go wrong?

Was it when Cyrax and Sektor entered the picture? Or perhaps when Father-in-law had passed? You knew the answer though- the betrayal at the old fortress.

Swayed by the snake, Shang Tsung, his nobility fell and became tainted. The man you knew was gone, and he completely disappeared when he attack his own blood.

You sigh sadly, sitting down on the wooden edge of the compound, leaning on one of the poles that held the roof up. A calm came over you, and you closed your eyes as you listened to nature's voice.

You dozed off for a bit, because you felt a light fabric cover you, and the creaking of wood by your side. You wake and lock eyes with Tomas, a small and kind smile on his face. His eyes crinkle as he offers you a cup of tea.

"I got your favorite," he said, "It's a bit chilly tonight, so please, drink up."

You smile, "Thank you, Smokey."

He blushes at the nickname, "I am not five, you know."

You chuckle, "I know, it's just fun to see you react."

You take a long sip of tea, the flavor resting on your tongue as the heat of the liquid warmed your body.

For a ninja, assassin ninja nonetheless, Tomas reacted more than his brothers. He was kind and caring, and wore his heart on his sleeve. He loves his brothers, even if one of them had hurt him, he wishes for nothing but reconciliation.

You both sit in a comfortable silence, doing nothing but stare at the stars that bring light to the eternal darkness of the night sky. It grows a bit chillier, the wind aiding in the task, but the blanket Tomas provided proved useful.

He looks at you sadly before returning his eyes to the sky, "You're thinking about him again, right?"

Perceptive as ever, you thought.

"Is it that obvious?" You ask and set the tea down.

He smiles sadly, "It's a decently chilly night. Autumn is almost finished, which means snow and ice is bound to follow."

You bring your legs to your chest, curling into a ball as you think of your past. You were assigned the mission too, accompanying him and the rest of his brothers to take down Shang Tsung and bring him to Liu Kang. Confronting them was easy, but you three were quickly overwhelmed by the opposing side's forces.

The memory was still fresh, like fallen snow, even if it had happened many years prior.

Shackled and on your knees, Shang Tsung began his siren's song, tempting and winning your husband over with his empty promises. The look of horror on your face when he told you to obey him.

Your heart broke there, but he did not relent.

The horrid confession of the truth of Father-in-law, and how he left him to die split your heart more. The man who treated you like the daughter he never had, the man who beamed happily at his eldest getting married.

You agreed with Kuai Liang, he would indeed turn in his grave.

But the breaking point that destroyed your heart, broke it into pieces finer than sand, was when he attacked you and Kuai Liang. You offered your support to take him down, denouncing your marriage, and he surprised both of you. Tomas, who backed away at the right moment, fought back against Bi Han, taking you into his arms to hold you back from joining the battle. You tried to fight his grip, even scratching his arms to get him to release you, but he would not let go.

Leaving the past memories, you eye the current Tomas in front of you. He stared at you with concern, but you were looking only at his body. His arms exposed, you could see the deep, but healed scars from that day, the countless nicks and cuts from training, and more. His chest was barely exposed with the deep v-neck of his attire, and his legs were completely covered, though you could see the muscles hugged his shin guards.

"Tomas," you ask gently, "Is it wrong for me to miss him?"

He shook his head, "No, it's not. There isn't a day where I wished our relationship was better, a day where fate and destiny could change for him."

Tomas's relationship with Bi Han was... rocky, to say the least. But it did not stop him from treating him kindly, respectfully, and with high-regard. Even now, he still loves his brother.

"However," he continued, "Bi Han is different now, and I do not see a semblance of his former self. I wish dearly to help him, but I believe he is no more."

You sighed, your mouth beginning to wobble and tears lining your eyes. You hide your head in your legs as you sniffle, eyes releasing the tears.

"Oh Tomas," you cried gently, "Where did I go wrong?"

He inhales sharply, unsure if he should hug you, hold your hand, or let you be. He scoots a little closer to you, the wood creaking a bit more as he sat by your side.

"I don't think you made any fault," he says, gently saying your name, "He made his choice at the fortress that day, and you made yours. He miscalculated your love, dear."

Your body begins to shake, sobs racking your chest and shoulders. You lift your head and begin to cry loudly, no one hearing but the night and Tomas (and perhaps Kuai Liang and Harumi). You scream, shouting senseless why's and how could you's into the night scene of Japan. Tomas knew it wasn't towards him, but he couldn't bear to see you like this.

Distraught, pain, anger, and more negative emotions did not suit you. Tomas loved you most when you were smiling, laughing, or at peace with a content look on your face. It had been a while since he had seen those emotions on you.

Tomas gently took your shoulder with one arm, using his other to cup your cheek and face your face to his. You saw a look of sadness and a twinge of frustration on his face, his brows furrowed.

"Please, dearest, how can I help you? How I wish nothing more but to remove this pain from you, from all of us, but only of you tell me what I can do."

You barreled into his chest, holding onto him in a deathly tight hug. Tomas's arms remained in the air before you began to cry again, muffled by the fabric of his shirt. Your sobs continue, and Tomas brings his hands down to hold you in a warm embrace.

Tomas doesn't speak for the rest of the night. He simply holds onto you, allowing your tears and snot to cover his shirt. You heave in and out, your cries not stopping even as you feel yourself lulling into sleep.

You stay locked in his arms, hoping, praying, that your pain would leave you.

For now, though, you find solace in his arms and the darkness of the night, the silence bringing you temporary peace.

Hello! First minific done and I must tell you all.... I wanna give Tomas the world and muffins. My cutie patootie.

I'm also thinking a trademark of my writing could be using the title in a line of dialogue, or anywhere in the stories I write. I used to write like that in my other fics, so i'll take it with me here.

thank you guys so much!

[muiitoloko]

Halo! sorry if I bother you, I just want to know if the Eli X daughter reader has a part 3? because first and second parts already broke me and now I want to know what happened to the reader and Eli also I'm really angry with Barkley 😭

If there is a part 3, take your time ok! Bye bye!

Title: Unspoken Words.

Summary: Many things remain unsaid in your new reality.

Pairing: Eli Michaelson & Daughter! Reader

Warnings: Angst, Envy and secrets.

Author's Notes: Hey there! No bother at all, I’m always happy to chat! 😄 As for Eli X daughter reader, a part 3 is definitely on the horizon. I know Barkley is the worst, right? He’s making everyone’s blood boil! 😭 So stay tuned—I promise more drama and hopefully some resolution are coming your way soon! Thanks for your enthusiasm! 🌟

First, Second and Third part here.

Also read on Ao3

You looked out the window, observing the landscape outside the school windows. It had been a week since you had returned to school, a week of receiving pitying looks as you feared. Confined to a chair, unable to play or even write like the rest of the class, Eli and Sarah had hired a teacher and caregiver who would take care of you at school and help you with your studies. She practically did everything for you while you just talked, unable to move your limbs. You hated it. You hated all of it. You didn't want to go back to school, being isolated and watching others run and play while you were alone, with Barkley teasing you. It was all so stressful.

The teacher then announced that there would be a new student in the class and that everyone should welcome him. You watched as a short, hazel-eyed, blond boy carrying a backpack introduced himself to the class, looking quite cheerful and dorky.

"Hi everyone, my name is Sinclair Bryant, but you can all call me Clair," he said with a bright smile. "I just moved here from London, and I love reading comic books, playing video games, and collecting action figures. Oh, and my favorite superhero is Spider-Man because he's super cool and always saves the day!"

He continued to chatter excitedly, sharing more about his hobbies and interests. "I also love science, especially chemistry! My dad used to take me to science museums all the time. And did I mention I have a pet lizard named Spike? He's awesome!"

The teacher had to interrupt him, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. "Thank you, Sinclair. We're happy to have you here. Everyone, please make Clair feel welcome."

As Sinclair took his seat, you couldn't help but feel a pang of envy and sadness. Here was someone who seemed so full of life and excitement, while you felt trapped in your own body, burdened by your condition.

During recess, you watched as Sinclair made his way over to a group of kids, striking up conversations and making friends with ease. He seemed to fit in so naturally, his laughter and enthusiasm infectious. You sighed, turning your gaze back to the window, feeling a sense of isolation wash over you.

That comic event had ruined everything. If only the Spider-Man statue hadn't fallen on you, you wouldn't be quadriplegic. You hated the convention, the statue, and the superhero himself for bringing you to this point.

Your caregiver, Mrs. Watson, gently tried to coax you into eating your snack. "Come on, [Your Name], you need to eat something," she urged softly, holding out a piece of fruit.

You turned your head away, refusing to open your mouth. "I'm not hungry," you muttered, your voice tinged with frustration.

Mrs. Watson sighed, a look of concern crossing her face. "I'll go get a bottle of water. I'll be right back, okay?" she said, giving your shoulder a gentle pat before walking away.

You ignored her, continuing to gaze out the window, lost in your thoughts. Moments later, Sinclair Bryant, the new boy, approached you with a curious look in his hazel eyes.

"Hey there," Sinclair began, his voice bright and cheerful. "Why aren't you eating your snack? I would never waste food!"

You turned to look at him, your eyes narrowing slightly. He seemed completely oblivious to your mood as he continued to babble on about food. "I love snacks. My favorite is chocolate chip cookies. What's yours?" he asked, shifting topics so quickly it made your head spin.

The bitterness in your heart grew, and you looked away, not wanting to engage. But Sinclair's next question caught you off guard.

"Do you like Spider-Man?" he asked, his eyes wide with excitement.

"I don't," you replied bitterly, your voice cold. "I hate him."

But Sinclair didn't seem to hear the disdain in your tone. Instead, his gaze shifted to your electric wheelchair, his curiosity piqued. "Whoa, that's a cool wheelchair!" he exclaimed, leaning in closer to get a better look. "How does it work?"

His enthusiasm and ignorance about your pain only made you feel worse. Here was this boy, full of life and curiosity, unable to understand the weight of your suffering. "It's not a toy," you snapped, your voice laced with anger. "I need it because I can't move."

Sinclair's face fell slightly, but he quickly recovered, a determined look in his eyes. "Well, it must be really handy to get around in," he said, trying to find a positive spin. "I bet you can go super fast in it!"

You glared at him, wishing he would just go away. But Sinclair's relentless optimism made it clear he wasn't leaving anytime soon. "I know it must be tough," he said more softly, his tone surprisingly earnest. "But if you ever want to talk about comic books or anything, I'm here."

You stared at him, surprised by the sudden shift in his demeanor. There was something genuine in his eyes that made you pause. Despite your bitterness, you couldn't help but feel a tiny flicker of warmth at his words. Maybe, just maybe, not everyone would treat you with pity or scorn.

After a moment of awkward silence, Sinclair walked away, his curiosity still lingering. As he returned to the group of new classmates, he couldn't help but glance back at you, seeing the sadness in your eyes as you stared out the window.

"Hey, who is she?" He asked one of the boys, nodding in your direction.

The boy, eager to share the latest gossip, leaned in and whispered, "That's [Your Name] Michaelson. She's Barkley's twin sister."

Another girl chimed in, her voice tinged with pity, "Yeah, she's crippled. My mom said it's the worst thing that could happen to someone, not being able to move."

The kids continued to gossip, their voices low but filled with speculation and sympathy. Sinclair, however, tuned them out. His eyes were fixed on you, observing the way the sunlight streamed through the window, casting a soft glow on your hair and making your eyes shine. In that moment, he thought you looked beautiful, despite the sadness etched into your features.

Sinclair made up his mind right then and there. He decided he was going to be your friend, no matter what. You needed someone who didn't see you as a burden or an object of pity, and Sinclair felt he could be that person.

As the bell rang, signaling the end of recess, Sinclair approached you once more. This time, he wore a determined expression. "Hey, [Your Name]," he said softly, his voice gentle and sincere. "I know things are tough right now, but if you ever want to talk about comic books, or just anything, I'm here. And... I think Spider-Man is pretty cool, but maybe we can find another hero that you like."

You didn't respond, but Sinclair wasn't deterred. He gave you a small, encouraging smile before heading back to class, already planning ways to make you smile. He was determined to break through the walls you had built around yourself and show you that you didn't have to face this new reality alone.

As the school day ended, you navigated your electric wheelchair toward the exit, Mrs. Watson walking alongside you. The routine was familiar by now, but it didn't make it any easier. You were already dreading the evening ahead, knowing it would be another night of frustration and resentment.

Just as you reached the school entrance, you heard a voice calling out, "Hey, wait up!" You turned slightly, recognizing Sinclair Bryant running toward you, his backpack bouncing on his back. Mrs. Watson paused, giving Sinclair a polite smile as he approached.

"Hello, Mrs. Watson," Sinclair greeted warmly before turning his attention to you. "Hey, [Your Name]. I wanted to ask you something."

You looked at him with a mix of curiosity and irritation. "What do you want, Bryant?" you asked, your tone clipped.

Sinclair's smile didn't falter. "I was wondering if you wanted to be friends with me. I think we could have a lot of fun together."

You felt a surge of bitterness well up inside you. "No," you replied flatly, already starting to move your wheelchair again.

But Sinclair wasn't easily deterred. He trotted alongside you, talking a mile a minute. "Oh, come on, being friends with me has lots of perks! I love comic books, so we could talk about our favorite heroes. And I have a pet lizard named Spike, who's really cool. Plus, my dad takes me to science museums all the time, and I could tell you all about the stuff I see there. And I'm really good at video games, so I could teach you some tricks!"

You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, noticing how his enthusiasm never wavered. He genuinely seemed to enjoy talking, filling every silence with his animated chatter. Despite yourself, you found a tiny part of you appreciating his persistence, even if you didn't want to admit it.

"We're friends now, you know," Sinclair insisted, a confident grin spreading across his face. "Whether you like it or not, I'm going to be around."

You rolled your eyes but couldn't help a small smile from tugging at your lips. Sinclair's energy was infectious, even if you weren't ready to admit it.

As you reached the school entrance, Sinclair suddenly stopped talking. His eyes lit up as he spotted someone waiting for him – a well-dressed man standing beside a sleek car. "There's my butler!" Sinclair exclaimed happily. He turned back to you, his smile even brighter. "See you tomorrow, pretty girl!" With that, he dashed off, his backpack swinging wildly behind him.

Mrs. Watson looked down at you with a soft smile. "He seems like a good boy, [Your Name]. Full of energy and kindness."

You huffed irritably, turning your gaze away. "He's just feeling sorry for me," you muttered, unwilling to acknowledge the warmth Sinclair's words had stirred within you.

As you and Mrs. Watson made your way to your own car, you couldn't help but replay Sinclair's words in your mind. Maybe, just maybe, his offer of friendship wasn't solely out of pity. But for now, you weren't ready to let your guard down. The walls around your heart remained firmly in place, even as a small crack of hope began to form

Meanwhile, on the way home, Sinclair chatted animatedly with his butler, James, who was driving the sleek car through the busy streets.

"So, Master Clair, how was your first day at the new school?" James asked, glancing at Sinclair through the rearview mirror.

Sinclair's cheerful demeanor dimmed slightly. "It was okay, I guess. I don't like it that we're always moving around. It's hard to make new friends when you're constantly changing schools."

James nodded understandingly. "I know it's tough, Master Clair. But your father did say this would be the last time, didn't he?"

"Yeah, he did," Sinclair replied with a sigh. "I hope he means it this time."

"Did you make any new friends today?" James inquired, trying to lift Sinclair's spirits.

Sinclair's face brightened again. "Yes, I did! I made a few friends, and there's this one girl... she's really pretty. We're friends now."

James smiled knowingly, catching Sinclair's excitement in the rearview mirror. "Oh, really? What's her name?"

"[Your Name]," Sinclair said with a big grin. "But... there's something different about her. She's in a wheelchair."

James's expression softened as he continued to drive. "Is she now? That must be challenging for her."

Sinclair nodded, his enthusiasm undiminished. "Yeah, I heard some kids saying she's... quadriplegic," he said, stumbling slightly over the word.

James glanced back at Sinclair, his curiosity piqued. "Quadriplegic, you say? Do you know what that means, Master Sinclair?"

Sinclair shook his head, looking a bit puzzled. "Not really. What does it mean, James?"

James took a moment to think, choosing his words carefully. "Well, Sinclair, being quadriplegic means that she can't move her arms or legs. It's usually due to a serious injury to her spinal cord. It can make life very difficult, but it doesn't change who she is as a person."

Sinclair's eyes widened with a mix of understanding and sadness. "Oh, that's really tough. No wonder she seemed so sad. But I still want to be her friend. Maybe I can help her feel better."

James smiled warmly at Sinclair's determination. "That's a wonderful attitude to have, Master Sinclair. I'm sure she could use a friend like you. Just remember to be kind and patient. Sometimes people need a little extra time to open up when they're going through something difficult."

Sinclair nodded earnestly. "I will, James. I promise. I want her to know that she's not alone and that she can still have fun and be happy."

As they continued their journey home, Sinclair's mind was filled with thoughts of how he could be a good friend to you, determined to bring some joy and comfort into your life despite the challenges you faced

Meanwhile, at your own home, Eli welcomed you and Barkley, saying goodbye to Mrs. Watson as she left for the day. He greeted you both warmly, his eyes filled with concern as he asked about your school day. Barkley eagerly began to recount his adventures, his voice full of excitement, but you remained silent, ignoring your father and avoiding his gaze.

"Go wash your hands, Barkley," Eli instructed, his tone gentle but firm. Barkley obeyed quickly, running up the stairs to his bedroom. Meanwhile, you pressed the button on your wheelchair and navigated through the house to your bedroom, which was now separate from your brother's. Since Barkley's bedroom was upstairs and you couldn't go there alone, your new room was downstairs, converted from Eli's old office.

Eli followed you into your bedroom, his expression filled with a mix of determination and sadness. He knelt beside your wheelchair, helping you take off your sneakers with practiced care. "Mrs. Watson told me you didn't want to eat again today," he said softly, his voice tinged with worry.

You remained silent, staring straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge him. Eli's heart ached at your stubborn refusal to engage with him. He took a deep breath, trying to keep his frustration in check. "Sweetheart, I know this is hard for you," he continued, his voice gentle but firm. "But you need to eat to stay strong. We want to help you, but we can't do that if you don't take care of yourself."

You turned your head away, the silence between you stretching uncomfortably. Eli reached out to gently touch your shoulder, his fingers trembling slightly. "Please, [Your Name]," he pleaded, his voice barely above a whisper. "Talk to me. Let me help you."

But you remained resolute, your eyes fixed on the wall as you shut him out. Eli sighed deeply, his shoulders sagging with the weight of his own helplessness. He stood up slowly, his mind racing with thoughts of how to break through the barrier you had built around yourself.

"I'll be right back with dinner," he said quietly, his voice tinged with a mix of determination and sadness. "I hope you'll join us at the table."

As Eli left your room, his heart heavy with the pain of your silence, he couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt and regret. He vowed to find a way to reach you, to show you that you were not alone in this struggle. But for now, all he could do was hope that one day, you would let him back into your world.

Eli moved to the kitchen, his mind a whirlwind of emotions as he prepared dinner for the children. The familiar tasks of washing vegetables, boiling water, and setting the table offered a brief respite from the turmoil in his heart. He meticulously prepared each dish, making sure everything was just right. Barkley, already seated at the table, was eagerly flipping through his comic book, his excitement bubbling over as he waited for Eli to join him.

Eli placed Barkley's plate in front of him and forced a smile. "Here you go, champ," he said, his voice warm despite his inner turmoil. Barkley looked up, his eyes shining with enthusiasm.

"Dad, can I tell you about this cool comic I read today?" Barkley asked, his voice brimming with excitement. "It's about a hero who—"

"Sure, buddy," Eli interrupted, nodding as he set the table. "I'd love to hear about it."

Though Eli didn't understand the appeal of superheroes, he was grateful for the distraction Barkley provided. He listened intently, trying to keep up with the details, even if they felt foreign to him. The animated way Barkley described the hero's adventures was a stark contrast to the heavy silence that often surrounded his interactions with you.

As he finished setting the table, Eli called you to dinner. The soft hum of your electric wheelchair grew louder as you navigated into the dining room. The sound was a constant reminder of the changes in your life, a reminder that cut through Eli every time he heard it.

You approached the table, and Eli quickly moved to help you get settled. He placed your plate in front of you and took his seat next to you, ready to assist with feeding you. Your eyes, still avoiding his, were focused on your plate.

Eli hesitated, his heart aching as he watched you struggle with your emotions. "Mom's working late tonight," he said gently, anticipating your question. "She’ll be home later."

You nodded slightly, acknowledging his answer but remaining silent. Eli’s heart clenched at your reticence. He knew that mealtime was often a battleground, a time when your frustration and resentment surfaced most strongly.

Across the table, Barkley continued to chatter enthusiastically about his comic book, oblivious to the tension between you and Eli. "And then the hero used his super strength to lift this huge truck! It was so cool!"

Eli forced a smile, trying to engage with Barkley's excitement. "That does sound pretty amazing, Barkley," he said, though his attention kept drifting back to you. He couldn't shake the feeling of helplessness as he watched you silently chew your food, refusing to meet his gaze.

Desperate to include you in the conversation, Eli tried to bridge the gap. "So, [Your Name], anything interesting happen at school today?" he asked, his voice tinged with a mix of hope and anxiety.

You remained silent, your expression closed off. Eli's smile faltered, his frustration mounting. He didn’t want to push you, but the constant silence was wearing on him. "Come on, sweetheart," he urged softly. "You can tell me anything."

Your jaw tightened, a flicker of anger passing over your face. You looked up briefly, your eyes meeting Eli's with a mixture of defiance and hurt. "Nothing happened," you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper. "Just leave me alone."

Eli's heart sank, a wave of frustration crashing over him. He clenched his fists under the table, struggling to keep his emotions in check. "I'm just trying to help," he said, his voice strained. "I want to know what's going on in your life."

You turned your head away, refusing to engage. The silence stretched painfully, the tension thickening in the air. Eli's frustration simmered beneath the surface as he attempted to focus on feeding you. The silence between you grew heavier with each passing moment, making the simple act of eating feel like an insurmountable task.

Barkley, sensing the tension but too caught up in his excitement to fully grasp its gravity, interrupted eagerly. "Dad, there's a new kid in our class!" he announced, his eyes wide with enthusiasm. "His name is Sinclair Bryant, and he's really cool. He likes comics too, and guess what? His favorite hero is—"

"Enough, Barkley!" Eli snapped, his voice sharp and cutting off his son mid-sentence. Barkley recoiled slightly, confusion and hurt flickering across his face. Eli immediately regretted his harsh tone but couldn't bring himself to apologize. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to stay calm. "Let's not talk about heroes right now, okay? Let's just focus on dinner."

Barkley nodded reluctantly, his excitement dimming as he returned to his meal. Eli turned his attention back to you, his eyes filled with a mixture of concern and frustration. He carefully scooped up a spoonful of food, bringing it to your lips. "Come on, sweetheart," he urged softly, trying to keep his voice steady. "You need to eat something."

You turned your head away, your expression hardening. "I'm not hungry," you muttered, your voice barely audible. The defiance in your tone only fueled Eli's growing frustration.

Eli's patience, already frayed, snapped under the weight of your rejection. He grabbed your chin firmly, his fingers digging into your skin as he forced you to look at him. His eyes blazed with a mixture of anger and desperation. "You will eat," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "I’m tired of this. I’ve tried to be patient, but I can't take it anymore. I won't let you destroy yourself. You’ll eat, even if I have to shove the food down your throat."

Your eyes widened in shock and fear, tears spilling over as you struggled to free your chin from his grip. "I hate you!" you cried, your voice breaking with emotion. "I hate you, Daddy!"

Eli's heart clenched painfully at your words, but he didn't release his hold. His grip tightened slightly, his frustration and helplessness boiling over. "Hate me all you want," he snapped, his voice trembling with a mix of anger and pain. "But I won't let you waste away. You need to eat, and you will eat."

The tears streamed down your cheeks as you continued to struggle, your small body shaking with sobs. The sight of your distress cut Eli deeply, but he forced himself to hold firm. He knew he had to be strong, even if it meant being the villain in your eyes.

"Please, sweetheart," Eli murmured, his voice softening slightly as he tried to rein in his anger. "I just want to help you. I don't want to see you suffer like this."

You continued to cry, your sobs echoing through the room as you finally stopped struggling, defeated by your own helplessness. Eli's grip on your chin loosened, and he carefully brought the spoon to your lips once more.

"Open your mouth," he instructed gently, his voice strained with emotion. "Please, just a little bit. For me."

With tears still streaming down your face, you reluctantly opened your mouth, allowing him to feed you. Eli's heart ached with a mixture of relief and sorrow as you finally took a bite, your small frame trembling with the effort.

Eli continued to feed you in silence, his own tears threatening to spill over as he struggled to maintain his composure. Each bite felt like a victory tinged with defeat, a painful reminder of the gulf that had grown between you.

Across the table, Barkley watched in silence, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and confusion. The usually lively dinner table had become a battleground, and the weight of the unspoken tensions hung heavily in the air.

As Eli finished feeding you, he set the spoon down with a shaky hand, his heart heavy with the weight of your words. He reached out to gently wipe away your tears, his touch tender despite the turmoil in his heart.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice barely audible as he struggled to keep his emotions in check. "I just... I can't stand to see you like this."

You turned your head away, the pain and anger still etched into your features. Eli's heart ached with the realization that his attempts to help had only driven a deeper wedge between you. As he sat back in his chair, the silence between you stretched unbearably, a chasm of pain and regret that seemed impossible to bridge.

In that moment, Eli felt the full weight of his failure as a father, his heart breaking under the strain of your suffering. He had wanted to protect you, to shield you from the harsh realities of the world, but in his desperation, he had only succeeded in pushing you further away.

As the darkness of the evening settled around them, Eli could only hope that someday, somehow, he would find a way to reach you, to heal the wounds that had been inflicted by the cruel hand of fate. But for now, all he could do was hold on to the fragile thread of hope that bound you together, even in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds.

Later that evening, the house was cloaked in the quiet calm that settled after dinner. Eli carefully navigated you from the living room to your bedroom, your electric wheelchair gliding smoothly across the polished floors. The day had taken its toll, and you were visibly weary. He gently helped you into bed, tucking the blankets around you with a tenderness that belied the day's frustrations.

"Goodnight, sweetheart," Eli whispered, his voice tinged with exhaustion and sorrow as he kissed your forehead.

You stared at the ceiling, your eyes betraying the turmoil within, but you didn't respond. Eli sighed softly, standing up and turning off the light, casting the room into a soft, comforting darkness.

Meanwhile, in the living room, Barkley was engrossed in his video game, his small hands deftly maneuvering the controller as he battled digital foes on the screen. The flashing lights and triumphant music filled the room, a stark contrast to the heavy silence in your bedroom.

Eli moved to the kitchen, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. He started washing the dishes, the rhythmic sound of water and clinking cutlery providing a semblance of normalcy amidst the chaos of his thoughts.

"Dad!" Barkley's voice called out from the living room, his tone eager and filled with anticipation. "Come play video games with me!"

Eli paused, his hands submerged in soapy water. He glanced toward the living room, feeling a pang of guilt at Barkley's request. "I don’t know how to play those games, Barkley," Eli called back, his voice tired but gentle.

Barkley’s face scrunched in disappointment as he peeked into the kitchen. "I can teach you, Dad. It’s really fun. Just give it a try."

Eli shook his head, his focus returning to the dishes. "Not tonight, Barkley. We can play something else later, okay?"

A frown creased Barkley's face, and he grumbled under his breath, his frustration bubbling over. "You'd play with me if I were the cripple."

Eli froze, his hands stilling in the sudsy water. The air seemed to crackle with tension as he slowly turned to face Barkley, his eyes wide with shock and anger. "What did you just say?" Eli's voice was low, trembling with restrained fury.

Barkley met his father's gaze defiantly, his small chin jutting out in stubborn resolve. "You always pay more attention to [Your Name]. Never to me. If I were the cripple, you'd play with me. But you don't care about me."

Eli's hands trembled as he set the dish aside, drying them hastily on a towel. He moved towards Barkley, his heart pounding with a mixture of disbelief and anger. "How dare you talk like that, Barkley?" Eli demanded, his voice a harsh whisper as he knelt to look his son in the eye. "Do you understand how hurtful that is? Your sister is going through something terrible, and she needs us."

Barkley's eyes glistened with unshed tears, his lips trembling as he tried to hold onto his defiance. "She’s always getting all the attention. I can run, I can play, but nobody cares about that! I hate her! I wish she would just go away!"

Eli felt as though the ground had shifted beneath him. His heart ached at Barkley's words, the raw emotion in his son's voice cutting through him like a knife. "Barkley," he began, his voice heavy with sorrow, "I know this is hard for you too. But wishing harm on your sister isn’t the answer. You have to understand, we love you both."

But Barkley's resentment only seemed to deepen. "You don’t get it, Dad. She takes everything! You never have time for me anymore. I wish she would die!"

Eli recoiled as if struck, his breath catching in his throat. The words echoed painfully in the quiet kitchen, hanging in the air like a dark cloud. "Enough!" Eli's voice broke, a mixture of anger and heartbreak etched into every syllable. "Go to your room. Now."

Barkley’s face crumpled, but he held his ground for a moment, his eyes flashing with a final spark of defiance. Then, with a choked sob, he turned and ran upstairs, the sound of his footsteps echoing down the hall.

Eli stood frozen in the kitchen, his mind reeling with the weight of Barkley’s words. The dishes lay forgotten in the sink, the water growing cold as Eli grappled with the bitter reality of his son's resentment. The enormity of the situation pressed down on him, threatening to crush the fragile hope he clung to so desperately.

As the house settled into an uneasy silence, Eli's thoughts turned to you, lying alone in your room, and to Barkley, wrestling with his own tumultuous emotions upstairs. The fragile balance of their family had been shattered, and Eli could only wonder how they would ever find a way to heal the wounds that had torn them apart.

Sarah arrived home later that evening, her expression tense and her movements restless. Eli wasted no time in approaching her, his face etched with the weight of the day’s turmoil. He saw the briefcase she carried, a constant reminder of the hours she spent at work, and the exhaustion in her eyes mirrored his own.

"Sarah, did you find out anything?" Eli asked urgently, his voice filled with the desperate need for answers. He grasped her arm lightly, searching her face for any hint of hope. "Can we sue the organizers? They need to be held accountable for what happened to [Your Name]."

Sarah’s eyes darted away, and she hesitated, wringing her hands nervously. The soft light of the hallway cast long shadows across her face, accentuating her unease. She took a deep breath, her shoulders tense as she met Eli's gaze.

"Eli," she began, her voice trembling slightly, "I went to the convention center today. I spoke with their security team and asked to see the footage from the cameras." She paused, her eyes flickering with an emotion Eli couldn't quite place.

"And?" Eli pressed, his anxiety mounting as he watched her closely. "What did you find out? Can we hold them responsible for what happened to our daughter?"

Sarah swallowed hard, her hands twisting the strap of her purse. She took a step back, her eyes clouded with a mysterious, almost evasive look. "It’s not what we thought," she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. "The footage... it shows that [Your Name] caused the accident herself."

Eli's breath caught in his throat, and he stared at her in disbelief. "What do you mean?" he demanded, his voice rising with a mix of anger and confusion. "How could she cause her own accident? She’s just a child!"

Sarah flinched at his tone, her fingers tightening around the purse strap. She looked down, unable to meet his eyes as she spoke. "She was playing around the Spider-Man statue," she explained, her voice strained. "The footage shows her climbing on it, trying to... I don’t know, maybe get a better look or something. It wasn’t stable, and it fell."

Eli felt the ground shift beneath him, his mind reeling with the implications of her words. "No," he whispered, shaking his head in disbelief. "That can’t be right. [Your Name] wouldn’t do something like that. She’s careful, always has been."

"I know," Sarah said, her voice cracking with emotion. "But that’s what the footage shows, Eli. I watched it multiple times. It was an accident, but it was... it was her own doing." Her hands trembled, and she glanced around the room as if searching for something to ground her.

Eli staggered back, his legs threatening to give way as the weight of the revelation crushed him. He sank into a nearby chair, his head in his hands as he tried to process the news. The image of his daughter, broken and confined to a wheelchair, flashed before his eyes, and he felt a wave of grief and guilt wash over him.

"No," he murmured, his voice barely audible as he struggled to contain his tears. "I can’t believe this. It can’t be true."

Sarah approached him cautiously, her movements slow and deliberate. She reached out to touch his shoulder, her fingers cold against his skin. "I’m so sorry, Eli," she whispered, her voice filled with a quiet sorrow. "I know how hard this is to hear. But there’s no one to sue, no one to blame. It was just a terrible accident."

Eli looked up at her, his eyes filled with a mixture of disbelief and anguish. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words caught in his throat, strangled by the knot of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. Sarah’s gaze was steady, but there was a flicker of something in her eyes—something Eli couldn’t quite identify.

"Why are you so nervous, Sarah?" he asked finally, his voice trembling with suspicion. "You’re not telling me everything, are you?"

Sarah’s eyes widened slightly, and she glanced away, her hands twisting in her lap. "I’m just... I’m worried about [Your Name]," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "This whole situation is tearing us apart, and I don’t know how to fix it."

Eli watched her closely, his mind racing with a thousand unanswered questions. He wanted to believe her, to find solace in her words, but a nagging doubt gnawed at the edges of his thoughts. There was something in her demeanor that didn’t quite add up, a shadow of unease that lingered just beneath the surface.

But Eli shook his head, his brow furrowing as he tried to recall the events of that day. “No, Sarah,” he said, his voice firm despite the tremor of doubt creeping in. “I remember clearly. She wasn’t climbing anything. She was sitting on the ground, playing with her Doctor Octopus doll. I had just left the diner and saw it happen. The statue fell on her while she was sitting on the floor, not climbing the statue.”

Sarah’s eyes widened slightly, a flicker of panic flashing across her features before she quickly masked it. Her hands twisted the strap of her purse more tightly, her knuckles white. “Eli, you were so shaken that day,” she insisted, her voice wavering slightly as she tried to maintain her composure. “You don’t know what you were thinking. It was chaotic and traumatic. Maybe you just misremembered.”

Eli ran a hand through his hair, his confusion deepening as he tried to piece together the fragments of his memory. “I saw it, Sarah,” he repeated, his voice growing more uncertain. “I saw the statue fall on her. I don’t remember much else, just the pain and the sight of her bruised and broken...”

He trailed off, his eyes searching Sarah’s face for any sign of reassurance. But instead of comfort, he found only a deepening sense of unease. Sarah’s evasiveness, her refusal to meet his gaze, only heightened his suspicion that there was more to the story than she was letting on.

Sarah shifted uncomfortably, her eyes darting around the room as if seeking an escape. “Eli, I know you’re struggling with this,” she said softly, her voice tinged with a mysterious, almost desperate urgency. “But you have to trust me. I watched the footage myself. There’s no one else to blame. It was just a tragic accident.”

Eli felt a cold knot of doubt twist in his stomach. His own memories were hazy, clouded by the overwhelming shock and grief of that day. He remembered the statue falling, the sickening thud as it struck you, and the sight of your small, bruised body beneath the wreckage. But beyond that, everything was a blur of pain and confusion.

He looked at Sarah, his eyes narrowing as he tried to read the expression on her face. “Why are you so nervous, Sarah?” he asked, his voice low and probing. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Sarah’s eyes flickered with a momentary flash of guilt, but she quickly averted her gaze, her lips pressing into a thin line. “I’m just worried about [Your Name],” she repeated, her voice trembling slightly. “This whole situation is tearing us apart, Eli. We need to focus on helping her, not on dredging up painful memories.”

Eli clenched his fists, his mind racing with conflicting emotions. He wanted to believe Sarah, to trust that she was telling him the truth. But the nagging doubt in the back of his mind refused to be silenced. Something about her demeanor, the way she avoided his gaze, made him question everything he thought he knew.

“I’m going to get some air,” Eli muttered, his voice tight with frustration as he turned away from Sarah and headed for the door. “I need to clear my head.”

As he stepped outside, the cool evening air washed over him, providing a brief respite from the turmoil churning inside him. He leaned against the railing, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting memories and emotions. He couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something crucial he was missing, some piece of the puzzle that had yet to fall into place.

Meanwhile, inside the house, Sarah sank into a chair, her hands trembling as she clutched her purse. Her heart pounded in her chest, her mind racing with the fear that Eli was getting too close to the truth. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath to steady herself as she tried to think of a way to keep her secrets hidden.

Unbeknownst to both of them, Barkley stood at the top of the stairs, his small frame hidden in the shadows as he listened to their conversation. His eyes were wide with a mixture of fear and guilt, his heart pounding as he replayed the events of that fateful day in his mind.

He had been jealous, consumed by the belief that you always stole Eli’s attention. In a fit of anger and resentment, he had pushed the Spider-Man statue, not realizing the terrible consequences his actions would have. And now, as he watched his parents struggle with their own confusion and grief, Barkley’s guilt gnawed at him, a silent, unbearable weight he carried alone.

As Eli stood outside, lost in thought, and Sarah grappled with her own fears inside, Barkley retreated to his room, his mind swirling with the realization that the truth he held could shatter their family even further. And in the quiet darkness of the house, the weight of that secret hung heavy, casting a long shadow over them all.

[shallowrambles]

Adam had the power of an archangel inside of him

And then wanted to be Small

[badley]

i recommend. Personally. watching international court cases and being in a removed part of your brain fucking terrified and horrified while you try and remain focused on the facts in the front of your mind so that you can know what the fuck is going on. and then letting that stew to make a list of things you find suspicious or dubious. also recommend then watching a bunch of philosophy all night and going hm fair point and well no i don't think that's true. and then doing the writing three pages thing your good friend suggested to you. and knowing your own naivete intimately. and then i recommend grabbing the a3 newsprint block so that you may make some inconsequential art. which inevitably will help you think. and then i recommend writing again to find out what you think. happy monday guys

[ghosts-of-love]

not to be mentally ill but today when i went for a walk in a nature reserve i was climbing a hill and it was cold but so so sunny and everything looked beautiful and i saw so many cool things and i stood there and was like damn what's this feeling in my chest and why am i smiling so much?? my guy,, it's called fucking happiness. i was just present and content in the moment and couldn't contain myself so kept doing the silly arm shake thing i do and grinning at everything and then was like woah what's this feeling. fuckin, happiness dude.

[munadyke]

ok. sometimes I just want to listen to people talk abt star wars but the youtube results are all men and I refuse to do that to myself. found myself on a reddit thread of good sw youtube accounts/podcasts and it's like....for one dollar name a woman:/

[lurking-latinist]

.

[haithussy]

Yeah, cause I totally don't have PTSD, right?

[necronomeconomicism]

Ok gotta talk about it.

As a Jewish historian, I fucking hate Israel in ways most probably will never be able to comprehend. I'm going to try and explain it anyways. The central creation myth of Israel is that it is Jewish, and then consequently, that Israel is a part of Jewishness. Its easy to simply state this is false, but fully comprehending this and putting it into practice in thought and deed seems rare to me.

The evil at the heart of this violence predates the recent acceleration of genocide. Israel is a colony, and more than that, an antisemitic fraud itself. After WW2, when Israel was being founded, the Jews of Europe generally did not wave goodbye to their neighbors and head to the promised land. Many were expelled from their homes. Zionism itself, as an action, was a false choice at the time. A mere excuse to place an ally in the middle east, and an excuse to complete the expulsion and destruction of the European Jew. The Zionist Jew is more than complicit in this, they actively seek the destruction and assimilation of all other Jews.

Many fail to realize, and largely because of Israel, that Jews are not inherently white, Ashkenazi, European-descended people. Our faith and culture has an immense variety that is spread all across the globe. Jewishness, in population and volume of culture, exists more so outside of Israel than within it. Israel is for a very specific kind of Jew. The kind that lets Yiddish die, that attaches themselves to European things, that makes themselves and their practices as white as possible.

And they have the nerve, the fucking belligerent GALL, to frame themselves as the necessary saviors of our people. To the Zionist, questioning Israel is to question Jewishness itself. They bake adoration for the colonial machine into their very prayers, and push them on us even as children. To *not* oppress, to *not* kill, to *not* genocide, is to invite death. This is the core of fascistic thought, of course. "Kill them before they kill us." And they KNOW this too, they really do. The truth of that irony does not matter, because as is true for all fascists, the truth itself does not matter to them. They wanted this, they wanted this even before the British saw it in their best interest to give them the land. Any excuse to RETVRN, as the neo-nazis say of Rome, or the German Empire, or whatever the fuck stupid country they want to poorly animate the corpse of. Some select Zionists even *sided with the fucking Nazis* in agreement they should abandon Europe to colonize Palestine. (Haavara Agreement)

My people have proved time and time and time again you don't need a nation state to have an enduring culture. We have protected ourselves for thousands of years without the help of these spiteful, doom-saying maniacs. I was going to post something like this on Passover, but that would be hypocritical. The state of Israel doesn't actually have shit to do with Jewishness. שְׁמַע יִשְׂרָאֵל יְה Vi tsu derleb ikh im shoyn tsu bagrobn. [my best translation] Hear Israel (beginning of a prayer in Hebrew) I should outlive him long enough to bury him. (an old Yiddish curse)

Free Palestine. Donate what you can, they need it right now.

[why-dontiknow]

When October comes, all the way to the ends of March, I simply won't exist. Or I will, outside of all of it, outside of all bounds, I'll exist. Until the gentle hands of April will guide me back to the lovely mundane of human existence.

[simonrileysfavteacup]

The Morning After

Paring: Simon "Ghost" Riley x wife!reader

Word count: 700 ish?

Warnings: Mentions to sex, hickeys, naked people, Simon wanting you for breakfast

Summary: The morning after a steamy night.

Sunlight creeps in through the curtains you never closed last night. The curtains fly around the room, pushed by the daring wind. The window’s are still open, letting in the chirps of birds outside. The wind pushes a breeze around the room and you shiver.

You’re laying on your right shoulder. There’s a heavy arm that isn’t yours draped across your waist. There’s a head tucked into the crook of your neck. There’s another forearm underneath your head. There’s someone’s heavy breathing going straight into your neck. You can feel a bit of stubble. You can feel hair, long, soft hair. You can feel a strong chest against your back. All of it is memorized in your mind.

And there’s only one person in the whole world who’s body you know inch by inch. 

You squint as you open your eyes, the sunlight almost killing you. The duvet is all messed up, barely covering your tangled bodies. His right arm is underneath your head, draped off your side of the bed. His grip on your waist is loose, he’s still asleep. His breathing is even, you can feel it. 

You push yourself out of bed slightly, making a move to shut the window and close the curtains. He grabs onto your waist tightly and pulls you back into the position you were in before. His voice is raspy, almost not even there, as he says, “Five more minutes.”

It should be illegal. His voice. His hair. His chest slowly falling and rising. It should be illegal to look this fucking good in the morning.

“Just wanna close the window,” You reply, keeping your voice hushed. 

“Who gives a shit?” He pulls the duvet higher over you, covering your naked body from the wind. “There. Now, give me 10 more minutes.”

His hand goes back to your waist, covering the soft maroon and purple bruises that formed throughout the night. 

So, you lay back down, take in a deep breath, and try to fall asleep. 

At least an hour goes by before you finally wake up again. Your position hasn’t changed and Simon’s hold on your waist is loose again. You finally move, getting up from bed. He doesn’t pull you back this time, but rolls over. He lets out a groan. “Oh, shut up, you big baby. I gave you more than 10 minutes.”

He doesn’t respond. Just lets out another groan, but louder and longer.

You grab the shirt he wore last night, the one he threw into a random corner of the room, more focused on your body. You toss it into the hamper. His pants and boxers are thankfully close enough to the hamper, yours nowhere to be found. Guess he was a little too excited.

You walk into the bathroom, getting a fine look at yourself in the mirror.

Hickeys and the traces of fingertips line your neck and chest, your hips and legs are covered, and I mean covered, in bruises. On both sides of your hips are marks of large, muscular hands. The marks are red, and it doesn’t look like it’ll all fade in the next hour. You turn slightly, getting a look at your back. Your ass is marked the same way your hips are, with large hand prints, your back thankfully okay. 

“You’re hurt,” Simon’s voice is barely above a whisper as he stares at you from the bed. 

This happens every time he leaves a mark on you. He turns cold again, becoming distant in fear of hurting you again. Every single time. It takes so many words of encouragement to get him to open up again, assuring him it didn’t hurt. 

“They’ll fade,” You shrug.

“I hurt you,” He whispers. 

“No, you didn’t. Last night was probably one of the best nights of my entire life, love. Don’t you dare think I’m in any sort of pain or anything. I’m fine,” You smile at him. “And I left a fair share of marks on you. Look at your back.”

He lets out a soft chuckle, looking over at you again. “Promise?”

“Swear on my life,” You smile. “You want breakfast?”

“Mhm,” He hums, walking over to you and kneeling in front of you. “It’s already served.” Are his last words before diving in between your legs.