#I will continue to educate myself on this matter

[webg1rl]

"i wanna join the 4b movement but i still wanna date men"

disclaimer: my opinions, minimal research

ever since trump became president elect of the united states, the 4B movement has gained unprecedented momentum in the west — an infectious cesspool of overconsumption, under-education, anti-intellectualism, and glorified toddlers with university degrees.

the 4B radical movement was founded in south korea and centres around 4 basic Bs, or tenets: bihon (no marriage with men), bichulsan (no giving birth), biyeonae (no dating men), bisekseu (no sex with men).1

tweets about the 4B movement have gained traffic on twitter and continue to spark controversy in bootlicking, status-quo-loving, intellectually impoverished communities — one of the biggest being social media feminists. advocators of the 4B movement are flooded with comments such as:

“i want to join the 4b movement but i still wanna date men. how can i do that?”

you can’t.

“i have a husband and kids, can i join the 4b movement?”

you can’t.

“what am i supposed to do?”

easy. don’t join the movement.

contrary to popular assumptions, the 4B movement is, in fact, not for all women. as a matter of fact, it is, perhaps, not for most women. and that’s a truth we all have to sit down with. if you are going to whine about the 4B movement preventing you from finding your true love in the male species, then the movement is not for you.

let’s proceed with reason. if you are a woman who has already made a commitment to a man, then you will find yourself in conflict with the 4B movement. to ask that all women break up with their boyfriends, or divorce their husbands and leave their children behind is completely and unequivocally absurd. it’s not feasible. any reasonable feminist can and should understand that.

the undeniable truth of the matter is that our society is built upon heteronormative foundations. finding a romantic partner is one of the most basic goals in life. anyone who has lived and died without dating or engaging in romantic and/or sexual relations we find to be utterly crazy. and for straight women, the quest to fulfil that basic goal will almost always manifest in centring, even for a period in time, a man, which, at it’s very core, is antithetical to the principles outlined in the 4B movement.

feminism and the 4B movement are not synonyms. 4B is a movement within the larger political movement of feminism. not everyone can join it. you need to be in possession of incredibly strong willpower and an unquenchable drive to rebel against the institutions that have led to everything you were socialized to be. most women in our day and age, of our cozy backgrounds, don’t possess that kind of will.

at least not yet. and that is okay.

you are not less of a woman for dating a man or for being married to one. you’re not less of a woman for prioritizing your children or wanting to give birth. you can do all these things and still be a feminist. but the truth of the matter is that you will have no place in the 4B movement. and that, too, needs to be okay. disregarding these very basic fact risks discrediting and damaging a pivotal, and frankly quite necessary, radical movement without which change might remain a mythic term.

but before i sit here and coddle you (and myself), i’ll make one thing clear. change and comfort will never be parallel. as claire schwartz put it, change is a condition of both loss and growth. and growth does not come unaccompanied by growing pains. it is not comfortable to wake up at 7am to go running, but you do it anyway because this is how you get the body you want. it is not comfortable to spend the night studying, but you do it anyway because you desire a good career. it is not comfortable to make sacrifices for your children or your partner, or your family or your friends, but you do it anyway, because it is necessary to build strong relationships. the end of all this is to say, if you value something, you will make yourself uncomfortable by pursuing it.

but you’re right. it’s not just about comfort. lives may very well be at risk. and that is true but it’s not a valid excuse. yes, it will take years. yes, there will be failures dismal enough to make you give up. yes, you might lose your life. but if there is a slim chance that even in the furthest of my bloodlines, women will breathe the air of the free world then I find it a chance worth taking.

and if you cannot put your comfort, your ease, your love for the men in your life aside in exchange for liberation of women everywhere, women you don’t know, women you will never meet, women you don’t agree with then please just be honest. don’t pretend to care for women, don’t pretend to want change, and don’t you dare pretend to be a feminist. you will be discrediting the movement from the inside out.

and if enough women don’t care then the result will only and inevitably be that our suffering continues. or perhaps a generation much stronger and much braver than our one can pick up the fragments we left behind and achieve what we didn’t.

feminism isn’t about men and women being equal — that is the very law of nature, we are all born equal. feminism is about how we’re going to get there in a society functioning against that law. feminism is taking that society apart brick by brick and constructing one where freedom and equality will never be questioned.

————————--

1 Yi, Beh Lih (20 January 2020). "No sex, no babies: South Korea's emerging feminists reject marriage". Reuters. Archived from the original on 29 January 2021.

[despair-ninja-everything-agency]

I'm so fucking tired. I wanna vent but Idk where to output it. So fuck it, just this once, Imma get political and bring real life issue to fandom spaces.

I wish the Warrior of Light is real.

They liberated 2 nations under oppression of a tyrannical Empire and yet here we stand, at the other end of the screen, as a Nation mercilessly laid waste to the ground for God knows how long as World leaders keep their silence and smallfolks are powerless to help but by some donations - that is if they managed to reach them - and a few brave souls who lend their aids to them even if it cost them their lives (and it did. It still is 'till now.)

Fuck Israel. I always scrutinizing their occupation in Palestine ever since I was a kid and still now. I was powerless then, and now - barely knowing the world of having a job - all I could offer is a few donations (if I could find links to them) and some prayers.

Expect reblogs pretaining this issue in the near future. You can block 'DN gets serious' if you don't want them to appear in your dash. I'm not gonna guilt trip you from wanting to avoid irl stuffs.

[moodr1ng]

told my psych i finally got on the autism assessment waitlist but since the average wait to get an appointment is 2 years i was considering private screening even though it costs quite a lot of money. he was just like "to be honest even if you get diagnosed we dont really have any support tools to offer you, its usually just behavioral therapy and social skills training" and therefore its not that useful to be diagnosed faster since i wont get any support either way. i am disappointed to be told straight up that even w a diagnosis i wont get shit to help me but at least he was honest so i can moderate my expectations and not waste hundreds of euros on private screening lol..

[lwieserce]

When that autism diagnosis eventually comes in i might just drop the introvert label altogether idk.... Well maybe not because it's wildly misunderstood still BUT fuck i'd be sooo sociable if i wasn't always pushed out of social circles for one reason or another lol.

[mohamed-mikki]

Help Mohamed To Survive and Restore His Life

Hello Everyone... I am Mohamed Mikki From Gaza, Palestine. 24 years old, my life has been difficult since I was young, when I was 17 years old, I lost my father, and with my determination to build my future, I decided to continue my education in the field of multimedia technology and develop my skills through many courses in the same field, and I was working alongside my studies to cover my expenses in the field of graphic design, I was preparing myself to establish my life and future.

My Father:

When I try hard and acheived success in my university college :

When I start my own work:

But the war in Gaza, especially in the north, brought with it a great tragedy, the war destroyed my home, my university, and my work, I was in the north, and I was displaced to the south where I faced famine and moved from one place to another in search of safety.

I have lived countless difficult and painful days during my many attempts to escape death, bombing, and destruction. In my places of displacement that the army says are safe but are never, life has become limited to escaping danger and searching for food among the rubble of destroyed homes.

My dream now is to travel abroad to continue my education, develop my skills, survive, and build my future that has been destroyed, as for the past nine months I have been unemployed due to the war conditions and the power and internet outage since the first day of the war, in addition to the frequent movement from one place to another to escape the war machine, missiles and death, as there was no stability for the absent work conditions.

Here your generosity can make a big difference, your support will help me rebuild my life and continue my education and will provide me with the opportunity to escape the circle of danger and destruction and strive towards a future full of hope and potential.

I humbly ask you to help raise funds to cover the costs of travel, education, and basic expenses as I seek to start a new life, every contribution, no matter how small, brings me a step closer to safety, stability, success, and building a better future.

Breakdown of Expenses

Rafah/Egypt crossing: $5000

Minimum Living Costs: $3000/per month

Egypt/Canada Tickets: $5000

Minimum Living Costs in Canada: $7000/per month

Vetted by:

@90-ghost

@northgazaupdates2

Thank you from the bottom of my heart for your interest in my request, your support means more to me than words can express, with your help I can turn a story of loss into a journey of hope and resilience...

With sincere gratitude

Mohamed Mikki

[mohammadayyad1]

Hello everyone, my name is Mohammed and I live in Gaza.

The occupation has destroyed my educational journey 🛑🚨.

I have always dreamed of becoming an engineer, but the war, which has destroyed schools and universities and halted the educational process, in addition to the loss of many students' lives, has greatly affected my ambitions and led to a loss of passion for education. Now, all I wish for is for this war in Gaza to end..

I ask for your help in gathering support to save me and my family, and to leave Gaza so that I can continue my studies and achieve my dream of becoming a skilled engineer.

I need your help to raise money to save myself and my family and to leave the Gaza Strip, so I can continue my education and achieve my goal of becoming a skilled engineer.

I am working hard to achieve this goal despite the challenges I face in my daily life here. Life in Gaza is filled with difficulties, but I am determined to continue my education and achieve my dreams, no matter the circumstances.

Note :

Vetted by @gazavetters , my number verified on the list is ( #160 )

Verified by me @a-shade-of-blue

Vetted by ButterflyEffect Project 🦋, my number verified on the list is ( #599 )

Vetted by PaliLiberation 🍉, my number verified on the lis# is ( #95 )

Vetted by forpalestinedisc

@wellwaterhysteria @warm-mangoes-with-chai @enchantedbook @ear-motif @queerstudiesnatural @runawaycarouselhorse @raelyn-dreams @riding-with-the-wild-hunt @real @mysharona1987 @maester-cressen @mr-puff @mobiused @malcriada @sayruq @sar-soor @narcotizando @nabulsi @belleandsaintsebastian @palistani @princessinasuit @finalgirlabigailhobbs @anyonghalimaw @appsa @ashwantsafreepalestine @ashwantsafreepalestine

[honeytonedhottie]

getting it together⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🗒️

there are so many aspects in getting it together, and even the phrase "get it together" its super vague and not rly encapsulating of anything in particular so i hope this post helps give u a place to start when u feel like u need to get it together…💬🎀

REMEMBER ;

when u feel the need to get it together, ask urself questions. why do i feel the need to get it together? am i doing too much am i doing too little etc etc. that way u can better navigate and pinpoint the aspect in which u have to get it together.

DIET AND PHYSICAL ACTIVITY ;

♡ am i eating enough nutritious foods? - start incorporating fresh fruits and veggies and foods that nourish u into ur daily diet

♡ am i eating enough everyday? - meal prep so that u can be sure that ur eating enough food every day cuz ur body needs sustenance

♡ am i eating too much everyday? - if u catch urself binge eating and indulging in eating an unhealthy amount everyday, lay back on snacking and stick to eating three filling meals a day.

♡ am i moving my body everyday? - go on walks, do some yoga or some pilates. dont cultivate a lifestyle in which ur constantly sitting and not moving cuz thats not healthy.

EDUCATION -> CAREER GOALS ;

♡ am i completing my assignments and handing them in on time? - if ur not then ur just shooting urself in the foot. do all of ur assignments and hand them in. like now.

♡ am i still focused on my dream? - if not, what do u feel is stopping u from pursuing ur dream, or what is distracting u from what actually matters? identify it and drop it.

RELATIONSHIPS ;

♡ am i isolating myself subconsciously from my friends/family? - if the answer is yes, try and figure out why and communicate with ur friends and family.

♡ am i making an effort to speak to my friends and see them? - maintaining healthy relationships takes work on both ends. you need to show ur friends that u value them and care about ur friendship for it to work. this also goes for romantic relationships.

INNER WORK AND HEALING ;

♡ am i setting aside time to do my inner work? - if not, make time bcuz ur mental health isn't something u should sweep under the rug.

♡ how do i feel? - literally that simple. be nice to urself. ask urself how u feel because ur feelings matter + they're valid.

HOW TO KEEP URSELF ON TRACK ;

use planning devices like notion, google calendar or just a simple to do list every single day. make sure not to put too much on ur plate at first. reward urself also to encourage urself to continue to do what u said you'll do.

[beekeep]

Saw this post floating around, don’t wanna target anyone or argue with Zionists, but it is my duty (especially as an actually indigenous Jew) to educate well-meaning gentiles who might see this and think they have no right to speak on the matter. I’ll go point by point.

1) “Is it so terrible for a Jew to be a Zionist?”

If we were living in any other era, where the genocidal crimes of Israel were not as widely known (though they were very well documented), you could perhaps ask this question in sincerity. Many Jews (such as myself) grow up in religious educational settings which either fail to mention the human rights violations of the state or claim they’re justified because “they want to kill us!” Past a certain point, though, one can’t continue to claim ignorance of what Zionism actually does. Short answer: yes, it is terrible for anyone to claim to be a Zionist, but this will be more evident as I continue to analyze these arguments.

2) “Zionism is the belief in the inherent right of the Jewish people to return to their homeland”

First of all, Palestine is not the “homeland” of the Jewish people any more than Siberia is the homeland of indigenous american tribes. Is there a historical connection? Yes, but though assimilation and migration Jews have found homes across the world. For me, my homeland is Mexico, because my family has lived there for generations, partly through migration but mostly through having cultivated the land for millennia. Even biblically speaking, Palestine does not “belong” to the Jewish people, it belongs to G-d. Furthermore, there is no shortage of Jewish scholarship and activism that asserts that wherever we live, that is our homeland. Frankly, I’m more interested in fighting to stay where I am than fighting to force people out of their homes to accommodate me.

3) “Zionism is the belief in the Jewish right not to be murdered”

By murdering others instead? Once again, there is no shortage of Jewish scholarship and activism in favor of Jewish self defense where we live. Jewish resistance fighters lived and died fighting the nazis in Europe under the third reich. If Zionism was actually interested in preventing Jewish death, it would fight antisemitism where it is. “Preventing murder” is not an excuse to commit genocide.

4) “there are so many definitions of Zionism”

Sorry but I just think of this tweet from @jewdas on Twitter when I read this: “There’s a actual existing Zionism which practices apartheid and denial of human rights. But there’s another Zionism inside my head which is all rainbows and kosher marshmallows, so who can say which is the real Zionism?” In other words, the actual, material consequences of Zionist beliefs are more important than what any individual thinks their Zionism is. Once again, we live in the Information Age, where anyone can easily learn about the damage that Zionism has done in Palestine and abroad. There is no excuse to continue using the label that doesn’t presuppose complete ignorance of Israeli violence.

5) “zionists just want to be safe from antisemitism in the diaspora”

See points 3 & 4.

6) “and this is different from evangelical zionists”

Materially speaking, not really. Once again, see point 4. Until you pull all US/european colonial support for Israel, this claim falls flat.

7) “zionists just want to live peacefully with other indigenous people in the area”

That’s not what indigeneity is, it doesn’t mean “from there,” it’s a specific relationship to the land and to its cultivation. (On a side note, even biblically and historically speaking, Jews are not “from” Palestine.) See point 2. Zionism has proven it is not a peaceful ideology. See point 4.

8) “people refuse to see the difference in types of Zionism because they hate the Jews”

No, it’s because there are no material differences. See point 4. Evangelical Zionism and Jewish Zionism actually share quite a bit in common. The “Jewish state” would not exist without evangelical Zionists. See point 6. And the original Jewish Zionist thinkers had a vested interest in tying the two together.

tl;dr, Zionism is a violent ideology in practice, and no amount of making excuses can hide the fact that it is genocidal and serves European/American interests. Additionally, just because one is not Jewish does not mean one does not have a duty and an obligation to eliminate Zionism wherever it crops up. Zionism has had disastrous consequences for Palestinians, and as western citizens, we benefit from their suffering. It must end now. May Palestine be freed in our lifetimes.

[dix0nspretty]

Knives, Bikes, and Stitches, Oh My!

Summary: Daryl is working on his motorcycle and you watch. Too bad you can't keep your focus.

Daryl Dixon x F!Reader, 1.3k words

Era: Prison (again) because he's just so yummy...

TW: Mention of blood and stitches. Maybe chronic horniness?

Y'all loved my first story and I hope this one whets your appetites just as well! I have no idea how motorcycles or vehicles of literally any kind work, so please feel free to educate me in the comments.

You put the fear of God in Daryl every time he sees you with a knife.

It’s not that you can’t use one. On the contrary, you’re a force to be reckoned with when you’re fighting. Sometimes all that can be seen of you in a fight is the shine of blood-tinged metal as you slash and stab at whatever is attacking with your twin blades. No, your knives are comfortable and at home in your grip. Maybe too comfortable.

“How many times I got to tell ya to stop eatin’ off yer damn knife?” Daryl’s rough accent sounds out in the empty courtyard. His head is bowed low as he works on his bike, not looking up as he speaks.

I’m perched on the tabletop of one of the prison’s picnic tables eating a can of peaches. Daryl, for some reason unknown to me, had elected to start taking his bike apart and putting it back together and I followed along to watch the process. I don’t know shit about vehicles, much less motorcycles, but I like spending time with the grumpy man.

“It’s fine, I’m not gonna cut myself.” I tell him as I tilt my head down to drag a slice of peach off the blade. Daryl’s eyes don’t move from the work in front of him, but I can feel him watching me. I pull the chunk into my mouth and lick the blade clean of the sticky juice.

“Told ya to cut it out.” I’m eating the canned fruit haphazardly, not paying any attention to how close I am to the edge. Daryl shakes his head. He knows it’s a matter of time before I cut my lip or tongue.

At his repeated command, I roll my eyes but pull away from the edge of my knife. I set the can of peaches down and watch him. His brown hair is getting longer now and it’s sliding down into his eyes, shielding most of his face from my watchful gaze.

“What are you doing, anyways?” I ask. I scoot myself closer to the edge of the table and peer down over his shoulder. He has one of his tools in his hand and some pieces of metal I can’t identify. It is roughly the size of my fist and cylindrical. Whatever it is, it looks important.

Daryl glances over his shoulder, feeling my curious eyes looking down. He huffs and continues his task. “Workin’.”

“No shit. Working on what?” I’m playing with my knife in my fingers, absentmindedly twisting and flipping it. Daryl looks up at me through his hair, squinting one eye against the sunlight. My breath catches in my throat, and I try to play it cool.

“Do ya really want to know or are ya jus’ bored?” He asks in his gruff voice. I don’t answer for a second. He looks so pretty. Get a grip, Y/N, I think to myself.

“Really want to know. Come on, I don’t know anything about bikes. Teach me something.” Daryl squints at me for several seconds longer and I’m convinced he’s going to send me inside to bother someone else, but he slowly starts talking.

“’M cleanin’ the carburetor.” He tilts his hand up to show me the same piece I was looking at earlier. “It’s startin’ to get clogged.”

“Oooookay. What’s that do?”

“It keeps the engine runnin’ smooth, basically. Don’t keep it clear and that can fuck up the bike, make it stall or overheat. Gotta take it apart and clean it every few months.”

Daryl lets me watch over his shoulder as he points out different parts of the carburetor and how to clean them. After a few minutes, his gruff voice starts to fade out and my mind begins to wander.

He just looks so good. His hands are greasy and dirty from all of his work today and his biceps are sweaty from the Georgia heat. He’s wearing one of his simple black shirts that already fit him so well and the sweat is only making him look more delicious. I’m watching his hands work over the small brass jets when I feel burning heat in my palm and look down.

I’d been messing with my knife the entire time and cut myself. I instinctively let go of the blade and it hits the concrete with a harsh clang. Daryl’s head lifts at the noise and he spins around right as I rush to tuck both hands behind my back. I look like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar and I’m trying to hide the chocolatey evidence. Except this time, it’s blood.

Daryl’s eyes run over me for a second, then flick down to my knife as it sits on the dirty floor. He slowly bends down and picks it up. “Y/N.” He starts, a low warning in his tone.

“It’s fine! I’m fine, I just dropped it.” My voice rambles out. There’s a high, nervous note to it and I’m hoping to God he doesn’t notice.

He raises an eyebrow. “If yer fine, why’s the knife got fresh blood on it?” Fuck.

“Uhhhhh.” I look around the courtyard, trying to find an excuse. I, naturally, see nothing. “Magic?”

Daryl huffs and crosses his arms. “Let me see your hands.”

I wince. I don’t want to get in trouble, but I can feel the blood dripping off my hand, and it stings. The longer I hold off showing him the angrier he’ll get.

“Y/N. Hand, now.” Daryl’s voice leaves no room for arguments.

“Jus’, don’t be mad?” I ask. He says nothing and I sigh, then slowly move my hands back in front of me. The blood is quickly evident on my skin.

“God damn it, girl. Why can’t ya ever listen to me?” Despite his rough tone, his hands are gentle as he takes my wrist and tilts my hand, inspecting the damage. I risk a glance at my hand. There’s a slash across my entire palm and more blood than there should be. It’s going to need stitches.

“Ya need stitches.” Told you.

 Daryl looks up from my hand but doesn’t let go of my wrist. His eyes lock with mine and he gives me a warm look. There’s exasperation and concern and I don’t know what to do with it. He takes a surprisingly clean rag from his pocket and ties it around my bleeding palm, firmly but not enough to hurt.

I can’t help but be surprised by just how gentle he’s being with me. I was expecting a pop in the side of the head and a banishment to Hershel’s cell. I look up at him through my lashes, waiting for my verbal lashing. After almost a minute, I realize there is none.

“Does this mean I gotta go in now?” I try to keep the potential disappointment from my voice and don’t entirely succeed.

“Yeah, yer going to go get those stitches. Ya weren’t listenin’ anyways.” He grumbles at me. “The hell were you doin’?”

I look away from him. I do not want to explain that I was too busy being horny over him to notice that I gouged my palm open. I risk a glance at him and I’m caught by those ocean-blue eyes.

“I was watching your hands…”

Daryl pauses, then snorts. “Maybe instead of watchin’ my hands ya should’ve been watching yours. Go get your damn stitches and I’ll show ya somethin’ else.”

[lonniemachin]

Sujood has reached out to me to boost she and Sanaa’s fundraiser. They’re urgently trying to evacuate their family from Gaza and seek asylum in Belgium. Their previous campaign was suspended, so they have started a new GFM and currently have £1,642 out of their £50,000 goal! Please share if you can’t donate!

From their GFM page:

Dear friends,

We are reaching out to you with a heartfelt plea for help. Our names are Sanaa and Sujood, and we find ourselves in an incredibly challenging and dangerous situation.

Unfortunately, our previous attempt to receive donations was unsuccessful due to restrictions on transactions to Gaza. However, the urgency of our circumstances compels us to reach out again, this time with new procedures in place to ensure the secure delivery of your generous contributions. We are launching a new campaign because we cannot afford to wait for a long time for the restrictions on the bank account to be lifted it’s already being two months now. We are unsure if we will be able to access the funds or if they will be returned to the donors. In any case, here in Gaza, we are fighting against time. Every day poses a threat to our safety, and we cannot afford to wait. If, after some time, we are able to retrieve the previous amount, we will use it to rebuild our lives and continue the education of my siblings.

The situation in Gaza has become increasingly unbearable, and we have been left with no choice but to seek assistance from compassionate individuals like you. Your donations can make a significant difference in our lives and help us escape the dire circumstances we currently face.

This is ours story:

I hope this message finds you in good health and spirits.

My name is Sanaa Odeh, currently in Gaza, occupied Palestine. I am writing this as a plea for survival, for a future for my family and myself.

Our lives are in immediate danger, with non stop explosions everyday and every night, tanks and guns all around us, and fear as a constant companion. It is a non-stop nightmare, every minute of every day, for 6 months. Everyday is a struggle for survival. Lack of food and clean water creating a crisis of death by starvation and dehydration.

Despite the endless nightmare, we are a resilient and strong family. My beautiful parents gave everything to raise us as successful daughters and we are so proud of what we have achieved.

I work as a graphic designer and my sisters: a nurse/educator, small business owner, a medical student, and a field coordinator. Despite being on the path to rich and promising futures, it can all be taken away in any moment. We have already lost several family members, including my uncles and their entire family. There is little hope that the situation will end soon, all of us waiting for our turn next.

We are looking to seek asylum in Belgium. This campaign will help support us in covering the costs to do so, specifically in covering the evacuation costs per person. Your donation will provide us with the chance to escape the endless horror we’ve been facing for the last 6 months and give us a chance to return to a safe, normal life again, where we can once again contribute positively to society.

I understand that this is a challenging time for everyone right now, but please do not underestimate what even £5 can contribute to especially when it all adds up. It really does make a huge difference. No matter how small the contribution it can still change our entire lives.

Thank you for taking the time to read our story, your support means the world to us. Whether it is simply sharing our campaign or donating, it makes all the difference in the world to us. Your act of kindness can bring light to our darkest days and help us build a better future.

Thank you once again for all your support and kindness

With heartfelt gratitude,

Sanaa and Sujood

[janeyseymour]

Save Me Before I Lose Myself- part 4

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3.

Summary: Millie is exhausted. Melissa thinks she understands. Carrie is... different.

WC: ~2.55k

When you show up to work (on time for the second day in a row), you immediately hate the fact that you sit at a cubicle for most of the day. You end up standing almost the entire shift, and your feet hate you by the end of it.

At Abbott, Millie continues to stay quiet, resigned. It’s a far cry from the usually upbeat and happy-go-lucky kid that Melissa usually sees. The redhead swears she almost sees bags under the seven year old’s eyes. She looks exhausted- truly and utterly exhausted.

“Millie?” the teacher calls for your little girl during their snack time. “Can you come here for a second?”

Your little girl obeys, and she practically drags herself to the teacher’s desk. “Yes, Miss Schemmenti?”

“I’ve just noticed that you’re a kinda acting different today,” Melissa notes quietly. “I wanted to make sure everything is alright, and that you’re okay.”

Millie just nods quietly. 

“If you have anything you’d like to talk with me about, you know Miss Schemmenti is always here to lend an ear.”

Your daughter nods silently again. Then, in perhaps the quietest voice, she admits, “Sleepy.”

“Did you not get good sleep last night?”

Millie shakes her head, and her blue eyes sparkle as tears begin to cloud them. “I’m so tired,” she whines.

“Oh, hun.” The more maternal side of the childless redheaded teacher comes out, and she wraps her arms gently around her student. “I’m sorry.”

The seven year old clings to her teacher much like she clings to you, looking for any warmth and comfort anybody can provide. Her tears hit leather with soft thuds.

“Why don’t you just go lay your head down for a few minutes?” Melissa offers. “Close your eyes and relax?”

Your daughter bites her lip nervously. She’s not sure what she’s supposed to say. “But we’re at school.”

“An’ I can’t have a sleepy Mills, now can I?” the teacher teases softly. “C’mon, it’ll be okay. You won’t be in any trouble.”

The little blonde searches for any hints of ingenuity from her educator. Then, she gives the tiniest nod and slinks back to her desk. Before her head even hits the desk, it’s like she’s asleep, exhaustion finally taking over.

Melissa is in the middle of her math lesson when it hits her. She stops in her tracks, marker halfway raised to the board to write the answer to one of the problems on the whiteboard. 

What you said makes full sense to her. Please stop helping me, because it’s only hurting me. While she thought she was helping by slipping you that note to show her support, it was actually a hindrance to you. It made your life so much harder, knowing that she knew exactly what was going on. She had acknowledged what you have been so clearly trying to ignore- put aside for the well-being of your daughter. It makes all of it real for you, and in that instant, she wishes she could take it all back. If she had known that it was only going to hurt your heart, she would have simply dropped the matter of the subject and simply supported you in silence. Or at least, that’s what she thinks you meant- she has no idea the pain her sticky note caused you.

When lunch time comes, the second grade class lines up to make their way down to the cafeteria- all except for one child: Millie, who is still sound asleep at her desk.

Melissa stands at her door as she waits for Janine to begin filing her own class down the hall.

“Pipsqueak,” the redhead calls to her coworker. “Can my class just tag on at the end of your line? I got a student still in the room, an’ I can’t leave ‘er by herself.”

Janine looks slightly confused, but nods with a bright smile. “Of course! The more, the merrier!”

“Yeah, kid. Would ya mind havin’ Barb stop down here with my lunch too? I don’t think I’m gettin’ away from this one any time soon.”

Brows furrow, and there’s the silent question of if everything is okay. Melissa can only nod before the shorter teacher nods again. “Sure thing.”

It’s a few minutes later that Barbara appears in the doorframe of the second grade teacher’s classroom, two lunches in hand. Her eyes immediately set on Millie asleep at her desk. Her brows raise in concern.

“Asleep since snack,” Melissa says quietly. She’s sitting at her desk staring straight ahead. Her eyes don’t even meet Barbara’s.

“And you let her sleep? You never let students sleep in your class.”

“What was I supposed to do, Barb? The poor girl came in silently today, which you and I both know is not normal for her. She told me the other day she hears her mothers up late at night, and she was so tired she started crying,” the redhead sighs. She puts her head in her hands. “God, Barb. This is awful. That poor little girl should not be living like this. And neither should her mother.”

“No,” the kindergarten teacher says softly as she makes her way into the classroom. She sets Melissa’s lunch on her desk. “But you and I both know that Y/N does everything she can to keep Millie safe- she’s well-fed, clean, and loved by at least Y/N. So, we can’t step in.”

“I didn’t,” the redhead mutters. “All I did was slip her a note yesterday telling her I was here for her when she’s ready, and this morning she came in limping and begged me to stop trying to help her.”

“So you stop.”

“I- I don’t know if I can,” Melissa admits. “I- How am I supposed to stop trying to help her when I know what it’s like to be in her situation, albeit mine was not nearly as severe?”

“I know it’s hard, but you have to respect her-”

“She told me that my trying to help her only hurts her,” the second grade teacher mutters. “I- I caused her hurt, when all I was trying to do was help.”

“Melissa, I think you need to take a step back from all of this. Yes, what’s so clearly happening to her is a terrible thing that no human should ever have to endure, but she very deliberately asked you to stop. So, you need to stop and just take care of Millie to the best of your abilities while she’s in your care at school.”

Melissa takes a deep breath and lifts her head from her hands. “You’re right.”

“When are you going to realize I always am?” Barbara teases her. “Eat, Melissa. I’ll bring down a lunch for Millie for when she wakes up too.”

“Thank you.”

Millie ends up sleeping through the entire day, and even when Melissa knows she should wake her, she can’t find it in her to. She has Janine take her kids out for dismissal with the instruction that if you’re outside to come down to your classroom if possible. 

You’re standing there, and you see some of your daughter’s classmates running towards their own parents, but there is no Melissa, and certainly no Millie. You internally begin to panic. What had Millie told her teacher that has the both of them not out here?

Miss Teagues makes her way over to you. “Hey. Melissa told me to have you head down to her classroom if I saw you.”

“Is my daughter okay?” you ask quickly, already limping your way to the front door. You don’t even wait for a response before you’re in the door. You make your way in as quickly as you possibly can- your body still aches. It takes you far too long to get down to the classroom.

“Miss Schemmenti?”

“Hey,” the redhead sighs softly. She points over at your daughter.

“She’s sleeping?” you raise a brow as you lean against the doorframe gently.

Melissa nods. “Has been since snack at ten.”

“Thank you for letting her get the rest she needs,” you say quietly. “Last night was… rough.”

The teacher nods. You can see that she wants to pry. She wants to question your statement. But she doesn’t.

You slowly make your way over to your daughter and squat down in front of her. Shaking her shoulder gently, you press a soft kiss to the cheek that isn’t laying against her arms. “Baby.”

She stays asleep. And on another day, you’re sure you would just carry her home despite the fact that your arms would be sore, and she’s getting too big for you to hold for long amounts of time. But today, you know it’s not even a plausible thought.

“Honey,” you shake her a bit more. “Sweet girl, it’s the end of the school day.”

“I don’t wanna go home, Miss Schemmenti,” Millie grumbles, eyes not even opening. “I wanna stay here.”

You frown, as does the redhead sitting at her desk. “Sweetheart, it’s Momma. Wake up for me please.”

She cracks one eye open. “Momma?”

“Yeah, baby. It’s Momma.”

“Carry me?”

“You know I would, but I can’t today,” you sigh. “Not after…” you trail off. You know Melissa is listening intently.

“Okay,” your daughter sighs softly as she picks her head up from her desk. She rubs her eyes sleepily.

“Have a good night,” the teacher tells the two of you softly as you make for the door.

You give her what you hope is a smile. “You too, Miss Schemmenti.”

Millie just waves sleepily.

When you get home, you expect your wife to be sitting in her place at the table like she always is. You expect her to be typically quickly and with fervor, as she usually does. But she isn’t. She’s actually standing by the door with a smile soon her face.

“Hey, baby,” Carrie says sweetly. She pulls you in for a kiss that isn’t too dissimilar from the way she used to kiss you when you were dating and newlyweds.

“Hi, hun,” you sigh softly.

“How was your day?”

“It was alright,” you lie. Your body is exhausted, your mind is exhausted, and you really don’t feel like doing anything today. “I’ll start on dinner now.”

“There’s no need to do that,” your wife tells you. She bends down and opens her arms to Millie.

“Hi,” Millie yawns out, but she doesn’t make a move for the woman she looks so much like.

“Sleepy today, little girl?” Carrie asks as she takes matters into her own hands and wraps her arms around your daughter.

“Mhmm.” She allows her mother to hold her for a few seconds before detaching herself from the woman. It’s quite clear to you that your daughter is not comfortable with this. She immediately clings to you again.

You head for the kitchen, but you see that dinner is already in the oven upon walking into the room.

“You’re making dinner?” you furrow your brow.

She nods and gives a shy smile. Carrie reaches for something on the dry sink and hands you a beautiful bouquet of flowers. “These are for you, love.”

You take them gently and look at them in awe. They truly are beautiful. And they smell absolutely delightful.

“Why don’t you go take a load off and relax with Millie on the couch while I finish dinner and set the table?”

“R-really?” you squeak out. The last time that she had done this, it was before everything had really gotten bad. The last time she had done this, she hadn’t hit you yet, but the fight that had taken place the night before had gotten out of hand. “Yeah, hun,” Carrie kisses you again sweetly. She bends down and ruffles Millie’s now lopsided pigtails and kisses her hairline.

Dinner is splendid- absolutely delicious. And when you expect your wife to head up the steps to change to go out for dinner, she doesn’t. She actually stays in the dining room to clean up, does the dishes, and sits next to you on the couch as Millie curls up in your lap. Her long fingers trace patterns on your thigh like she used to- and not in a sexual way, just a way of letting you know she’s there.

When it’s time to put your daughter to bed, you don’t think you’ve ever seen Carrie so maternal. She reads the bedtime story with you, making sure to use silly voices and sing when it calls for it. She tucks your daughter in, kisses her forehead, and promises her that she’ll get great sleep tonight. Millie looks nervous, but not as nervous as she was walking into the house this afternoon.

When you’re alone with your wife, fear begins to seep into your bones. She was nothing short of a dream this afternoon and this evening, but that was in front of your little girl. Now, everything is being closed doors again.

But tonight, there is no hurt. There’s just short, sweet kisses. No hands roam where they aren’t wanted. Soft affirmations of love are whispered into the crook of your neck. She even apologizes for her actions last night. She promises you that she’ll back off on the drinking, she’ll be around more often for Millie, and that nothing like what took place last night will happen again.

You forgive her. Of course you do. You always forgive her. A small part of you believes her- she genuinely seems like she’s feeling remorseful for her words and actions. But another part of you wonders if and when it’ll happen again. A part of you hopes that it won’t ever happen- the more naive side of you. 

But the other part of you- the jaded side that has grown used to this woman knows it won’t be long until she’s back to her habits. Because this has happened before. She’s done things like this before, and yes, this is the worst it’s been, but it never changes. 

It gets better for a week, two at most, before it turns back to what you’ve grown accustomed to. For a short span of time, Carrie will shower you with love and affection, soft touches and gentle eyes. She’ll lull you into a false sense of security like she always does. And when things begin to go south, and you speak up, she’ll turn. She’ll tell you that you’re ungrateful for the life you have, that she’s been nothing but the perfect housewife and you’re taking her for granted. She’ll tell you that she never should’ve married you, threaten you with divorce- promise you that if you were to separate, she would be just fine but nobody would ever be able to love a pathetic, broken woman like you. Carrie is a manipulative, egotistical narcissist. She’ll never change. You know this, and you wish you could just run away. But you have Millie to worry about, and she will always come first. As long as Millie is safe, there isn’t a chance in hell you’ll leave- even if things go back to how they usually are, and you know they will. It’s just a matter of time.

But for now, you bask in the change of pace. Your body is grateful for the healing time that you’ll get. You’ll take what you can get.

Tags (and let me know if you want to be included!): @schemmentis @thesapphictimelady @marvel210 @itisdoctortoyousir @morgana-larkin @doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou @marvels--slut @sweetcheeksschemmenti @megamultifandomtrashposts @lemz378 @http-sam @melissaschemmentisbranzino @imaginesmultifandoms @sexysapphicshopowner @lilfartbox1 @maybe-a-humanbean @imlike-so-gaydude @a-queen-and-her-throne @notinmyvocab @melanielaufeyson @dvrkhcld @cosmichymns @sasheemo @m1lflov3rrr @ricejucie @temilyrights @emilynissangtr @squinnchy @dopenightmaretyphoon @emeraldoceansstuff

[nouvxllev]

"When I saw you

I fell in love, and

you smiled

because you knew

-William Shakespeare"

LOVE.LOVE.LOVE.

I wanted to make a request! I had a similar interaction like this, and when I had read this, I fell inloveeeeee with this qoute sm. Can you do a Wednesday x Reader? In which it's Wednesday who actually falls inlove 😭

amore, amore, amore.

Pairing: Author!Wednesday Addams x Gn!Reader

Summary: request!! ^^

Words: 6.0k (oh what the fuck)

Warnings: told in WEDNESDAYS POV AND ALTERNATE TIMELINES!, the gomezification of wednesday addams prevails, yes they meet at a museum, also kinda 7 husbands of evelyn hugo coded, slight plottwist at the end!

a/n: aaaa ofc ofc!! also i absolutely love the idea where wednesday fell first and harder

masterlist

I believe they cursed me the moment their lips became something worth fighting for.

"If they intend to halt my publishing, then so be it. I have no interest in entertaining that brain-dead company over countless of reasons as to why I shouldn't spare a few weeks for myself who believe I will fall under their will."

"Wednesday, they're the ones who publish your books, you just can't ignore their calls."

"Barclay, has your brain deteriorated to a degree in such a way that you are forgetting it's my presence that upholds that fucking company? Without me, they are nothing. Have you forgotten with how much power I withhold over them, or have your scales reached that hollow of a brain?"

"You can't ignore the leverage they have over you, sure you have the amount of money, if not more, to sue them, but they could literally tip you off and brand you as some selfish author."

"Please do comprehensively explain to me as to why I would be a selfish author?"

"Wednesday Friday fucking Addams, it's because you're half-way across the fucking world at some fucking museum in Italy while you have a manuscript due a fucking week ago!"

"I fail to see my fault."

"Addams, if you don't get your shit together, I swear—"

I had solved countless of murders in my time of Nevermore. I had one thing to do when I finally left, and I was going to succeed.

If you had told me after I willingly left that horrid place you call an educating institution that I would experience the same fate as an author, I would've traced the outer skin of your face with a pocket knife and display it on your family's doorstep.

Barclay, amongst others, remained someone I held close. She could be infuriating, but no one would ever be much deserving of a terrible, terrible position than be under my control as my manager when I pursued writing.

But no one tells you how people could easily forget you in a matter of seconds if you don't make a name for yourself when you've put yourself out there, even if it's something far, far from your own.

I was only fortunate enough people enjoyed what I publish.

I couldn't care less if they didn't, that's why I found it hard to give two shits about what that damned company thought of my revised schedule. But I needed to make a living. To make something out of myself.

If I had continued my actions— in which I have full control over with—I could lose everything.

I could've build it up from scratch if it happened, but Lucifer knows how long would a simple idea for a plot that could get into the lack of attention span of the population could take.

I could lose the name I print on paper.

I could lose my name.

And then I realized I haven't.

There was something that I was destined to fall under. It was there with my eyes taped to a painting, not knowing I became one for another.

I hung up. The mere thought of having a multistep plan to eventually murder my manager was between God and me. That woman had me teetering on the edge of becoming a one-hit serial killer overnight.

My head tilted over a large painting towering amidst the others down the line. My hands remained tucked deep within the pockets of a trench coat far too oversized for me.

I couldn't take much time of squinting, staring as if it had garnered my interest not after a dreaded phone call that I convinced myself truly took my energy and managed to inject anesthesia inside my veins.

A light sway became evident in my steps, as if I was sulking in my own woe of what I should and could've done to prevent myself fucking it up on a company that I could soon own if not me being under the age of what is required to own a firm without having to ring up my own godforsaken of a family.

I could almost take another step if I wasn't met with another person.

Countless of papers flew across the hard-tiled floor. It was over before I knew what had happened. I found myself standing there, eyes glued to the person I collided with, my eyebrows crossed and my mouth hung open like a fool.

"I'm—I'm so sorry, fuck." They grit under their breath, like they were berating themselves while they picked up the rest of what had fell.

I stood there, not knowing what to do or what not to do but stare at them and wait for them to pull themselves up.

And so that's what I did.

I wish I hadn't.

Because now it was the time I was unable to speak. Unable to use the words I've been writing my novels with, the words that I should've spoken in the seconds they had landed in front of me. For the first time, my words had failed me.

A question rang in my head, Why do I now feel as if I do not belong inside of my own body? Why does my life feel complete now that they were here?

When Y/n fixed herself, she looked at me and smiled. I knew I looked like an idiot staring at them, yet I never went out of my way to barely fix myself.

Why were they smiling?

"Why are you smiling?" I asked under my breath, like I was taken breathless. I hadn't mean to say it out loud, but my cold and otherwise damned heart seemed to be alive, like I was suffocating in my own rate. A fool in front of them I must've been.

They looked at their paper, then they looked at me.

They smiled yet again. Another question flicked across my head, what had happened to me to act as if I would go through hell and back for this person?

They smiled at me as if my presence gave them a reason to. And they loved me in every one of it.  

"Sorry—" they apologized, noticing how their thumb kept grazing the surface of their sketch, almost as if they were nervous. "You look prettier than... whatever I drew."

They stole one more look of me.

"Terrifyingly bewitching."

It's horrifying knowing I couldn't explain what I felt that day. What I know is—I felt everything.

I've endured endless remarks on my appearance ranging from a number of ratings from those nonsensical people on the internet to every synonym people have thrown my way only to fail to evoke even a flicker of emotion.

Though it seems egotistical, I knew they held one intention: they wanted to impress me. They wanted me to know they were different amongst others who have approached me. They wanted to entice me, as if I could be owned.

Were it not for the arsenal and threats I carried, there would be much more.

Y/n was different. They never had any intentions of being with me, no desire to impress or claim me as theirs. They simply wanted me to know I was. That it was true. I just had never heard it from someone who could mutter two words that felt perfect.

And it's much more terrifying knowing I unexpectedly fell first, even if I deny myself.

I could tell you about the way y/n smiled, how it seemed to threaten the sun, warning it not to shine lest it risk embarrassment in contrast of hers. I could tell you the way their eyes followed their smile, how their life was encapsulated in their drawings, mirroring what they felt.

Yet, when it comes to explaining how I fell for them, words escape me. Even I, a tortured author, struggle to describe.

How must I convey the sensation of my heart pounding in my ears as if it was trying to break me? The ache in my stomach, churning every chance it got, every fiber of my being dreadfully surrendering to them.

But one is for certain: meeting them was like coming home.

My home.

But I couldn't bring myself to realize that—It was antagonizing for me. Humiliating and mortifying knowing one person could make me become a total fool, become someone I've never thought I'd be.

I've spent my whole life after hiding what I felt for them, lest I risk experiencing what I truly loathe: love.

I despised them ever since I met them, loathed them, hated them. But for what for? I ask myself countless of times, I have never gotten an answer.

When they left, I left. Thinking it would be fate that had accidentally brought two people together who held no meaning for eachothers life, that it was a mistake, and I could've been wrong with how I'm feeling.

And when I came back, they were there.

And when I approached them, it felt right.

It was a week after the incident, but no matter how I tried, I still remember how their smile felt around me. Suffering, irritating, lovely. Like I wanted to relieve it, no matter how much time had passed.

Never once did I get their name in the span of meeting them, it was useless to know anyway.

Yet, I find myself returning to the museum every chance I get for God knows what, acting as if I had unfinished business staring at paintings while the staff rambled beside me. They were better off tattooing their explanation in my skull.

I had other places to attend to, other tasks I should've been doing rather than constantly visiting museum in the afternoon as if I have duties and low-paid labor for employment.

I should've been at my apartment days ago, exhausting myself on a half-assed manuscript I would have recurring thoughts of annihilating along with severing Bianca's hands through the phone.

What terrified me is why I was back.

Standing in front of them. My hands tucked deep inside the pockets of another trench coat, looking down on them sitting on one of the blocks of granite surrounding a oddly placed tree in the middle of the hall, drawing whatever there is to draw.

"Hello." I greeted them. They almost looked startled, surprised that I was even talking to them, like I was some vengeful ghost who returned to seek revenge. Though they weren't far off.

They looked up, immediately flipping over their clipboard as they locked eyes with me.

"Oh—" They cleared their throat, "Hi. Hey, hello." They smiled, albeit awkward. But that feeling of dread, or whatever, came back. Stronger than ever, I feared. I almost had half the mind of punching them in the gut and questioning them why they had this effect on me.

"Didn't know you come here often." A chuckle followed their question, or maybe it was a statement, placing their elbows on their lap while they gazed right at me.

I scoffed, murmuring against gritted teeth why did I even approach them in the first place. "And I didn't know you draw me that often."

I look down on the piece of paper, their deliberate and aggressive brush strokes having an effect on the paper, leaving marks upon marks. It was clear that I've been their subject for days on end. Even if I were to absent, I'd still be able to be the pinnacle of their sketches.

It was funny back then, humorous in my mind on how quick they snatched the piece of paper and tried to explain with little to no comprehension that went across their mind.

"Oh, God, no, no! I just—Okay, well, maybe I've been drawing you ever since I saw you, it's creepy now that I mention it... but it's just—it's dumb of me to not draw you, you know?" They were flustered, their mouth opening and closing only for me to receive words that were out of the dictionary.

They sighed, my lips twitched.

"I'd like to ask," My voice trailed off, grimacing even at the thought of having to initiate a conversation with more or less than five words, "What's... your name?"

"Y/N," They nodded, "L/N. Y/N/L/N." They reached out for a handshake only to immediately retract after a brief awkward seconds of staring. Their name sounded familiar.

"Why are you here?"

"Do I need to reason to?"

"I suppose so, no. But I am curious." Even I don't know why I'm still back here.

Y/n sighed, like I was the one getting on their nerves while it was me who battling against whatever fucked-up demon spawned in my stomach that caused me to feel, things.

"Nothing."

I frowned. "You came here because of.... Nothing?"

"Mhm."

"You are drawing strangers you know nothing about because of nothing?"

"Thought I made myself clear on that first word."

"You've made yourself look foolish than any average person."

"Well, you never told me your name. I think that's foolish enough over my case."

It was my turn to sigh.

"Addams." I reluctantly said to them, "Wednesday, Addams."

Then Y/n looked up at me as if I was some sort of otherworldly deity going back down to earth to finish whatever I started. "Wednesday Addams. I think I've heard that name before."

"No. No, you haven't."

If it wasn't horribly obvious, the sole purpose of my visit to Italy was to neglect everything I left behind in New York—especially deadlines— and hoped my eyes would finally work some sense that would let me start anew.

It was shameful of me, passion that dwindled into something less. If I had the chance, I would've tortured myself for even considering abandoning all of my life's work.

Though, I had my reasons. Even if I had threatened my target population and my audience, it still wouldn't be enough.

In short, I had lost motivation to pursue another book.

I felt as if there was something missing, that I couldn't even dare to even blow the collecting dust in the rims of my typewriter.

I begged for my brain to work, to even produce the slightest idea or word that could have some meaning to it. I was ready to write anything that came to mind, even if it was mediocre.

But, instead, my heart responded.

When I met Y/n, I started writing, and we started talking.

Words flowed through, and my time was wasted on Y/n.

My time was wasted, and they were wasted with their significant other.

I always thought I would suffer the thought of having to live an eternal life with none other than myself, that it was inevitable I was going to perish alone in my own woe.

It remained the same. Now, it's just having to live with the fact that my only greatest love had another.

I felt as if I ate a forbidden fruit once I heard they had someone that loved them as much as I denied myself of the same kind, like I plagued myself with hundreds of years of worry and attachment to someone who had eyes on another, a special muse they had.

Only that I would crumble immediately, tempted to take the fruit in my hands, forever stain my lips of something immoral so that I could forever crawl and weep over them.

In my time in Italy, I thought i'd be avoiding acquaintances that would be much more of a burden to me rather than someone useful. Yet there I was, watching Y/n saunter into my life like the revelation they were.

It's safe to say that Y/n turned out to be anything but a burden. They became someone I looked forward to seeing every day, though I hadn't realized they were motivation until then.

"Wends!"

Their awfully cheerful voice pierced through the air of the restaurant, almost granting the attention from other people as if they shared the same horrendous and dreadful nickname as me.

As much as I fantasized about walking out of the restaurant with y/n's half-broken jaw, I couldn't deny whatever was swirling in my head.

Ever since they knew of that wretched nickname unfortunately given to me by none other by that infectious and the ever infuriating ball of sunshine, Enid Sinclair, they've been calling me it as if I don't have a birth name.

It was a month ever since I've known Y/n, and it was a month of them being a constant presence in my life. They shared breakfast with me, lunches, and sometimes dinners that I somehow always and reluctantly accepted.

They became my routine, and it was a fact I'd sooner die with than confess to anyone.

Y/n slowly approached my table that was filled to the brim with countless of books and my oddly placed typewriter, putting their own stuff down on the seat beside them. "You're here early. You ordered something yet?"

It was 12PM. We agreed on 1, and I came at 10.

I scoffed, keeping my eyes on the typewriter. "You, of all people, should know by now that I would much rather sooner paint myself neon than touch anything on this menu."

I hear y/n setting their elbows on the table, resting their face between their hands. "Aw, c'mon Wends, it wouldn't kill you.

"Cyanide won't, but this will." I stopped writing to take one look at them, obviously and oddly, my gaze never and will never work on them. "Take my advice if you're eager to leave this restaurant with a mouth able to eat and speak."

"Ever the happiest person, Wends." They chuckled, sliding a somehow too bright and colorful menu towards them, "I'll order for you."

I stopped writing all together, "Y/n."

"Wednesday." They raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at her lips. It was over before I was even playing the game. Resistance over their lips felt futile anyway.

"Fine." I sighed, shutting my eyes closed just so that for once I can't have my stomach doing fucking acrobatics at the sight of them. "I will... allow it."

The ever-growing smile that crept up to their face was priceless, I couldn't bring myself to pry my eyes away. Murmuring something along the lines that I was too easy to lure in.

Once a waiter passed our table, Y/n ordered something along the lines of whatever the fuck 'Due Cream Soda Alla Vaniglia e Lampone con Glitter Commestibili' was. I was certain I was going to leave the restaurant with a non-working heart and a stomach turning inside and out.

It took no longer than a minute for Y/n to get a hold one of the numerous books piled infront of me. "Are you studying for something?" They asked, opening it only to close it once they noticed how outdated some of the languages are.

I let a small chuckle pass my lips. "What drives you to such a hypothesis."

They gestured to the books and my typewriter, "By how you're literally surrounded by books and you're on a fucking typewriter instead of a laptop." They pointed out, murmuring another, "Also, who the hell says hypothesis."

"People with functioning frontal lobes." I quipped, letting my fingers write on instinct across the typewriter keys as I listened to Y/n's ramblings. "I'm... writing."

"You're an author?"

"No."

"Then why—"

"Are you a painter? An artist?"

"Well... I—no?"

"Then we both don't know what we're doing."

Y/n fell silent moments after, I couldn't help but miss the sound of their voice. Admitting the mere thought aloud seemed absurd, let alone thinking it in the first place. I would've bashed my head on top of my typewriter if not for my resistance.

"How long will you be staying in Italy?" they eventually asked.

"Two more weeks," I replied. "My flight is already scheduled, I'll be leaving then on."

"Oh."

I wasn't expecting an answer anything other than a hint of happiness that I was eventually leaving their life.

"You are?" They repeated, as if they couldn't believe such a statement even escaped my lips, clear disappointment flickering across their face. "That's not... long."

"I am certainly not saying here indefinitely now that I have something to continue when I've arrived at my destination." I cleared out, doing my very best to escape the impending guilt washing over me.

"I'll miss you, Wednesday."

Their words were sincere. Lovely. It had stopped me from writing all together.

Guilt wasn't a feeling I was familiar with at the time. I rarely come across such a feeble emotion. Now it felt like I've committed something immoral. There were times that I lie for my own convenience, and nothing more than my own reason.

Now it felt like I should've lied for them.

I will forever miss you.

I wrote. I never showed them.

One week had passed and I rarely ever got to see Y/n after. Our encounters became increasingly scarce, and their voice plagued me from days on end.

I clung to the faithless hope I had that they would text me, to reach out, to even show me they're alive and well.

I returned to the museum for every day they were absent in my life, searching for any sign of their presence, but each day ended in disappointment.

Of course, fate is indifferent to my yearning, refusing to grant someone I so desperately sought.

Regret gnawed at me as the days turned into a week, and the week turned into the day before my flight.

"Addams. I've heard from others that you've been writing."

"Who others?"

"I'll spare a name to spare New York a corpse found in their sewage pipes by the time you've, hopefully I assume, returned and not jump off the plane."

"Even if I went off the grid, your nagging would've been in spirit."

"Don't flatter me."

"Don't kill yourself without showing me a video tape in full resolution for me to get through rough weeks. Or maybe take a shotgun and shoot yourself in your garage and let me have the keys to your house."

"Addams."

I sigh. "Yes, the rumors—though I would want that vampires head on a stake—are true. I've been writing."

"What happened to you there? You met someone?"

"How'd you know—No. No, I—I haven't. What makes you come to such a foolish conclusion?"

"Oh my God, someone actually managed Wednesday—I'd rather kill myself before loving anyone—Addams to fall terribly in love with them. Who's the unfortunate soul?"

"I would not be naming them because they do not exist."

"You just stuttered, Wednesday. The only thing making you stumble your words is when you're overdosing on whatever poison you're having for breakfast."

"They're no one."

"How are you such a bad liar when you have countless of bodies hidden across the globe?"

I sigh again, this time, it was out of annoyance. "I'll be hanging up. Goodbye, Barclay. If ever you are considering to kill yourself, call me. I'll be at my most happiest to watch."

"Wait, no, Wednesday! I need progress on your—"

I hung up. It was pointless to answer her calls when I was a mere few step away from boarding a plane. She always had a way of getting under my skin, even from across the damn globe.

But there was one name that would always surface in my thoughts: Y/n.

The mere thought of their name will forever remind me of how my heart wasn't programmed to love.

I reached for my phone, fingers tracing over the cold screen. My mind was tired, blank. The only thing I could ever do is stare at their contact and wish I could've done something better.

I typed out a hesitant message, my thumb hovering over the send button as if it was something that could end my world. Only two thoughts ran to my mind: Would they reply, or would my message be nothing to them?

I almost hit send before I heard footsteps approaching me.

"Y/n?"

I whispered their name, the love I carried for them being surrendered like I'd crawl for them once I reached purgatory.

"What are you doing here?" My eyebrows furrowed. How could they leave me, only to return as I was about to depart? "Why are you here, you disappeared, avoided me, why—"

"He proposed to me."

Oh.

I always thought a near-death experience with a loved one would be the deepest I could feel.

I realized I was wrong.

Now my eyes ached to the sting. Like I was weeping for someone that perished in my heart, I grieve for a living soul that was me. It was pathetic.

I expected them to be overjoyed, over the moon as they would express themselves from time to time.

But when I met their eyes, all I saw were tears streaming down their face.

Oh, how I wished to wipe their worries away.

"Then why are you crying?"

"I don't know if I love him."

"Nonsense... You told me you loved him—"

"Well, maybe I haven't been saying anything true to you!"

"Look, I don't know what I'm doing—I don't know what the hell are we doing. I'm living in some apartment with some guy I don't even know I even love, I'm currently standing here like an idiot to a girl who's just about to leave my life, and you're—"

"You're everything."

It was that moment I realized I was lost in a haze of admiration and love for Y/n.

That I was far too deep in their life that they became mine. I never knew I needed them as much when I told them to leave with me and break up with their significant other.

I never knew I needed their lips onto mine until the moment I pulled them close to me.

Now I ache of them.

"Do you regret it, mother? Being such a fool for someone, you became what you hated most. But you endured it all for them."

Wednesday Addams, seating across the bed from her daughter, Blair Addams. She looked just like you, she'd always wonder.

Wednesday sighed, her hand reaching out to gently touch Blair's. "Do you know the phrase, 'Come ti vidi M’innamorai, E tu sorridi Perchè lo sai?'" she asked softly.

"You know I've never indulged myself in whatever you're reading." She shook her head with a smile. She looked even more like you.

She let her fingers trace patterns on her hand, her gaze wandering else where. "Well, it translates to 'When I first met you I fell in love, and you smiled because you knew," she explained.

"And do you believe in that, mother?"

Wednesday could almost smile. Her daughter was always the curious one, yet she always managed to be privy of her life from them. "I always believed Y/N knew the moment we first laid eyes on each other, I fell in love with them."

"So, yes, my raven." She nodded, "I do."

"I never knew Y/n would make me their title, their theme, their muse," Wednesday pondered, "I always wondered why i fell for them."

"Falling is an accident, gullible, like with people who fail to do basic things. But I am one of those people if not more if I fell for their on accident and continued to do so."

She sat beside Blair, her legs crossed beside her. "I've never told you at the time, but Y/n was a painter. And they wanted nothing more but than to forget about their past. They have never told me as to why, but I believe them.""

"I worried that my love was violence. It was pain, it was suffering. But y/n took care of themselves, they took care of me. There is no one in the world who had loved me more than them, I fear that it would break them, that I am deemed no longer someone who is a part of their story."

"Yet here we are."

Wednesday couldn't see the smile creeping from her daughters lips. But she knew it was there, just like how you looked like before. She will always and forever take pride in it.

She always thought her greatest love could be something of a passion, a talent, a hobby perhaps.

But no one told her it could be a person.

Blair stretched and turned on a light beside her bed, opening a drawer and taking out two of Wednesday's books. "Must they be the reason your books has been off to your prior ones, mother? You've written all your life of gore and mystery. Now it's romance."

"Well, I—"

"Oh, I'm definitely the reason why your mother has been subtly—not-so-subtly, switching to the romance genre."

You peered through the door, your body wrapped up in a cozy boritto style and everything with a train draping it's way to your back like some met-gala dress.

"Oh, mon chéri," Wednesday's face lit up at the sight of you, immediately standing up and pulled you close, her arms enveloping you in a warm embrace.

Her lips met yours in soft kisses, leaving the taste of faint vanilla chapstick lingering on your lips. "Why are you up so late?"

"Well," You grinned against her lips, "I felt our bed getting cold and to my surprise my wife isn't nowhere near me. You know how I can't sleep without you." She pulled away, you whined at the lost of contact, but you couldn't smile more brightly as she led you towards your daughter. "G'evening, Blair."

"Evening, Y/n." She greeted you before you kissed her on the forehead.

You leaned against Wednesday's shoulder, whispering softly, "You're telling her our story again?"

Wednesday would've thought her small chuckle went unnoticed, but you definitely heard it. The stupid smile on your face told everything.

Her hand found yours, giving it a gentle squeeze. "She loves it."

"You love it, mother. Probably more than me." Blair retorted back, evident that she was holding back a laugh.

"I do not! When did I ever—"

"Oh, honey, you know love turns your mother into a girl version of your abuelo.

"Do not ever refer to me as my love drunk father or I will subject you to sleeping on the couch." Wednesday rolled her eyes, pinching the back of your palm. "And please do not shame my work of referring to it as such. I've worked hard day and night yet you proceed call it by such an exasperate—"

You turned your head and pressed a kiss on her cheek, the same spot where her freckles resided, causing her to pause mid-sentence. After atleast ten years of being with her, it always made you so giddy.

"Not even in marriage am I spared by your passive aggressive comments," you teased, your lips curling into a smile as you leaned in closer to her.

You hear your daughter sigh after a brief second, "Addams."

Wednesday almost looked shocked, "My Raven, do not call us by our last—"

"Please exit my room. I'll be going to sleep."

And then, the both of them were shoved off before they could even hug their daughter and kiss her goodnight like they always did.

"I... We were rejected, Y/n." Wednesday exclaimed, like she just got struck with the most heartbreaking news. "She used to love our stories together when she was an infant."

You'd think Wednesday was the non-chalant mom who's strict on her child. But, to your surprise, she was the opposite.

She loved Blair just as much she loved you. Hell, you even considered just maybe, maybe not, disowning your daughter because she gets Wednesday's attention more than you do.

You shrugged, taking her hand and leading her to your upstairs bedroom. "It gets stale once in a whileeeOW!" You winced as Wednesday pinched the back of your palm, again. It was starting to become her love language at this point.

"I'm just kidding!" You reassured her, intertwining your fingers with hers as you walked up the stairs together, pulling the door open for your wife. "She's just in her rebellious teen phase, let it go."

Wednesday rolled her eyes, "Too cliche."

"You used to have one too," you scoffed, settling onto your side of the bed and watching as she laid down on hers.

It was a routine you found yourself often doing, taking in the sight of your beloved as if your life with Wednesday was all a dream. You pinch yourself like almost thrice a day just to really make sure.

"Since when?" Wednesday asked, raising an eyebrow in amusement, quietly shuffling towards you.

You sat up for a moment to undo her braids. You always liked playing with her hair, and that one time she asked of you to undo hers, it became a routine. "Since the beginning of time. And somehow, you never grew out of it."

"You didn't even meet me in my teenage years. I am far from rebellious."

"Yes, baby, but not too far from a death penalty." You chuckled, reaching out to gentle stroke her hair, leaning in to press a soft kiss against her forehead.

"Oh, you flatter me," she replied, a smirk across her lips, but the room was too dim to even notice it.

By now, if you were any ordinary person, Wednesday would've made you disappear entirely. But, the thing is, Wednesday always seemed to look at you as if her life never really started until she found you.

Silence managed to take over the atmosphere, you laid back on the comfortable mattress, feeling Wednesday's head nestled on your arms that were tucked under her hair.

You could almost fall asleep in pure bliss knowing that you've met and loved the girl of your dreams if not for her calling out for you.

"Amore." She whispered.

"Amore?" She whispered again, her voice softer than ever before.

You blinked, momentarily. You swore you just heard an angel. "Yes, amore?"

"Can I... Can you—"

You smiled, almost too knowingly. You knew Wednesday, for someone who's such a romantic soul, she's not too expressive on simple terms like these. "Do you want to be the little spoon?"

She grimaced, you could even hear her grunts of disapproval. "I would highly refrain from calling it that before I jump out of bed and skin you from limb to limb. But... yes, I would like to."

A soft chuckle escaped your lips at her response, suppressing a grin to avoid from literally being murdered as you wrapped your arms around her and pulled her close.

Ten years before, if someone had told you that you're going to be doing this to girl you've met at a museum while trying to escape your past, let alone be happily married to her, you would've told them "How the fuck do you know that and please stay away, I have... a boyfriend. I guess."

But now, it seemed so believable. Wednesday was always so relaxed in your arms, your warmth and hers bringing a sort of comfort for the both of you.

You nuzzled your head against the back of her neck, gently moving strands of her hair aside as you pressed soft kisses against her skin, hoping to kick away her tension from the day.

"Stop pouting, Wends," you murmured softly into her skin as you closed your eyes in pure relief.

You hear her scoff, "I am not doing such a humiliating act."

"Oh but you so are." Your grin widening as you pressed another gentle kiss against her nape, "I can hear it from here."

Wednesday let out a sigh, of annoyance? Maybe. But was it tinged with pure adoration and love? Much so. "You don't hear pouts, Y/n."

"When it comes to you, I do and I can."

Silence washed over. This time, you're worried you've teased her that much, she actually got annoyed with you.

"You're awfully quiet. By this time, you're probably threatening to kill me."

"I'm... Sorry." Wednesday whispered, it has an undying tone of tenderness that you don't often see it being expressed through words from her. Slowly, she shifted her body to face yours.

One thing is for certain: She was still so terrifyingly bewitching if not more. She looked pretty in every way possible, it's hard to even believe, it left you in awe.

You feel her gaze darting on your eyes and then drifting down to your lips, hesitating even. It was ridiculous, in the most adorable way possible there is for an Addams like her.

"May I kiss you?"

"You know you're always welcome. It's pointless to ask."

She was the first to reach out, her hand finding it's way to the curve of your cheek, her touch gentle than ever as she traced the line of your jaw as if she was memorizing every feature of yours.

You cupped her face in reciprocation, leaning in closer to where your lips were just hovering inches away from hers. Then, you closed the space between the both of you.

You pulled away, your eyes meeting hers with a soft smile. It was impossible to think that this woman held your heart in her hands like it was nothing.

"Have I ever told you that you're pretty?" you whispered, letting your hands fall to her waist and pulled her close.

"Ever since you've met me."

“You know, I’m surprised you even remember our first meeting.”

“Oh, how could I ever forget my lover?”

You laughed, a symphony that always gets Wednesday to have a slight tug in her lips. “Stop being so romantic. You are a grown woman with a daughter.”

You continued to stare into her eyes as you drape the rest of the blanket for the both for you. "It's hard to think you're the first one to fall in love and not me."

"It's hard to think of anything when you're here with me, te amo." Wednesday replied, her gaze softening almost immediately.

You sighed. "You know I love you, right?"

Wednesday blinked. "I always will."

You smiled.

And Wednesday smiled back.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

a/n: this was longer than i thought. i yap too much in stories i fear

[mohamedabushaban06]

https://gofund.me/a8606c82

Dear My friends and Supporters❤️✌️,

I want to begin by expressing my deepest gratitude to each and every one of you🥹❤️. Your kindness and generosity have allowed me to reach my initial goal of 3,000€, which will help me continue my education and indeed it has helped me to pay my tuition fees for my university registration THANK YOU FROM MY DEEP OF MY HEART😭🙏. Words can hardly capture the impact this has had on me, and I am forever grateful.

,But Today At This Moment, I come to you with a matter of life-or death request that is even closer to my heart🙏🥹🤍. While I am pursuing a brighter future, my family remains in Gaza, facing the ongoing challenges and dangers from bombing and killing😭 that have become part of their daily lives. The weight of knowing they are still there, while I am working to secure my future, is a heavy burden to carry.

I humbly ask for your support once more🙏🙏😭— I know i’m asking too much 🥹not for myself this time, but for my family. I want nothing more than to bring them to safety, away from the uncertainty and hardships they endure. I dream of a day when they, too, can live in peace with me, without fear or struggle, please, please 🙏Do Not stop sharing or reblogging🙏🥹

Your contributions will go directly toward helping me reunite with them and provide them with the safe and secure life that every family deserves😢. Please know that any support you offer, whether it be through donations or simply sharing this campaign, brings me closer to this goal.

I am not asking for me—I am asking for my family, who are waiting for the same chance I’ve been given. I hope you can find it in your hearts to help us one more time. Thank you for continuing to believe in our journey, and for not forgetting those still in need, With heartfelt appreciation to each one of you 🥹❤️

#DON’T FORGET MOHAMMED AND HIS FAMILY..🥹❤️🙏

@monstermashpotato @mauesartetc @malcriada @malewifeandgirlboss @mahoushojoe @briarhips @victoriawhimsey @gofuckdear @gofundmereach-blog @commissions4aid-international @90-ghost @el-shab-hussein @khanger @mushroomjar @beezonia @jezior0 @kibumkim @cherifaouachani @palestinegenocide @calladraws101 @kinojoy @timetravellingkitty @lesbianmaxevans @lesbiandardevil @bisexual @kyra45-helping-others @imjustheretotrytohelp @sar-soor @sarakipin @softwaring @pollackpatrol @peoplespartiesbyjonimitchell @libertineangel @laz-laz-ace-pilot @lemony-and-zesty @toiletpotato @appsa @tododeku-or-bust @deepspaceboytoy @mangocheesecake @fromjannah @rhubarbspring @omegaversereloaded @feluka @fromjannah @postanagramgenerator @pcktknife @transmutationisms @wellwaterhysteria @neechees

[nidalzomlot]

Help me and Support My Family in Gaza

I am 34 years old, and my family and I are in desperate need of assistance.

We are living in constant fear for our lives and the lives of our loved ones. We urgently need your help to find a safe haven where we can live or to escape the horrors of this war.

My Story

Before the war, I lived a normal life with my family in Gaza. We worked hard to build a better future, but unfortunately, everything was lost in an instant. Our home was destroyed, and we lost everything we had. Now, we are living in extremely harsh conditions, lacking basic necessities like food, water, and electricity, and we are suffering from a lack of essential medical care.

Our Current Situation

My family consists of myself, my children Omar, Odi, and Alma

Me and their mom, Azhar, worn down by the relentless struggle, our living conditions are dire, lacking the most basic facilities. Clean water or acceptable diapers are a rare luxury, and the constant threat of violence surrounds us.

We have to believe someone will hear our story. Someone will help us."

You can be that someone. Your donation can help my family escape the horrors of war and start anew in a safe place. With your support, Omar can play soccer again, Odai can build his dreams, and little Alma can finally know peace in a brighter future.

Medical Needs: Some of my family members are suffering from serious health issues that require urgent treatment and medical care, which are unavailable in Gaza.

Shelter: We are currently living in temporary shelter that does not provide adequate protection from the ongoing bombings and the constant danger surrounding us.

Our Goal

We aim to raise funds to:

Safe Shelter

We need a safe place to live peacefully and securely, away from the horrors of war. To secure a suitable apartment with basic necessities—such as a bathroom, water, protection from diseases and pollutants, and shielding from radiation and shrapnel—costs approximately €900 monthly.

Medical Care

Ensuring that our family receives necessary medical treatment and healthcare is crucial. We need funds to cover medical treatments, milk, and diapers for my baby, amounting to €500 monthly.

Escape the War

Our ultimate goal is to relocate to a safer place outside of Gaza hopefully to Egypt. The costs are significant, but the safety of our children and ourselves depends on it.

Here's a breakdown of the costs involved:

Coordination fee for leaving Gaza:

€10,000 per person. We need €20,000 to ensure both my wife, Azhar, and I can leave Gaza safely.

Travel and entry costs to Gaza: €2,000.

Purchasing a home and living essentials in Egypt: €30,000.

Educational and medical expenses in Egypt: €30,000 annually.

Monthly living expenses for food and beverages: €3,000.

How You Can Help

Financial Donations: Any donation, no matter how small, can make a significant difference in our lives. Help us reach our goal by providing the financial support we desperately need.

Share Our Story: Please share our story with your friends, family, and on social media to raise awareness about our dire situation and attract more support.

Moral Support: Words of encouragement and prayers can give us the strength to continue fighting for survival.

Thank You for Your Support

We are grateful to everyone who contributes to helping us during these difficult times. Your generosity and solidarity give us hope and bring us one step closer to safety and stability.

With heartfelt respect and gratitude,

Nidal Zomlot

DONATE HERE

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#help

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[applecore6]

cw: use of she/her

“Do you think if we went to high school together we’d be together? Like high school sweethearts?”

“Hm?—” Her head perks up at the sound of his voice before processing the question. “—Oh we did go to high school together.”

“Hah?” Kuroo’s caught off guard by her matter-fact tone—as if it was common knowledge.

“Mhm. You went to Nekoma, right? I do recall hearing about the volleyball team. Weren’t you guys like really good?” She’s being way too nonchalant about this..

“Good is an understatement— What do you mean we went to high school together?”

“I mean we both attended the same educational facility??”

“No I mean, why have you never told me?”

She hums a sound as if saying I don’t know

“I’m not really one to come up to people and say “Hey, I recognize you. Did we go to school together?” that’s just breeding grounds for embarrassment.” She continues tapping on the screen in her hands, playing the mindless mobile game that just finished downloading. “Plus high school was a horrible time for me. I try not to dwell on it.”

“Horrible?” He tries not to pry. Tries.

“Yeah. Horrible.”

They had only been dating a couple months. A group assignment in their biology class marks the first interaction they ever had. He thinks about what she said a little.

“So.. if you hated high school so much, what drew you to me,” he vocalizes.

“The eccentric hairdo,” she replies curtly. “No but— I don’t know I’m not the best with words at the top of my head, but you really.. opened me up(?) not in a weird way. I just would’ve never voluntarily gotten to know a guy like you, but we started—y’know— being with each other a little more, and I thought, woah this guy is not what I expected at all.”

The words coming out of her flow out into the air straight into Kuroo’s brain. He feels the entirety of his face heat up at such a vulnerable confession from her.

“Umm.. back to the original question,” he mumbles out.

“Huh— oh yeah. No I don’t think we would’ve dated in high school. I was waayy too cynical. I probably grouped you with the rest of the jocks. At least now I know you’re a harmless little shit.”

Despite the lighthearted atmosphere, Kuroo couldn’t help but feel a little let down(?).

She hums out a sound at the sight of his face. If he had cat ears they’d definitely be pointed down.

“Hey. What’s with the face, don’t tell me you’re hurt little 17 year old me didn’t wanna date 17 year old Kuroo,” she teases him, but she can’t help the little bubble of pride she felt in her chest.

“I don’t know you’re just, you know, you. You’re really cool, and to be honest I’m kinda-what’s the word- I don’t know like. You’re telling me I could’ve known you even longer, spent even more time with you, maybe even know you a little better.” The words on his mind spilling out his mouth faster than he realizes.

It’s silent. She feels her chest tighten a little, and the feeling drops down to her stomach, spreading throughout her body. If this were a dumb 90s cartoon, she would’ve definitely gone comically red with hearts floating around her head like birds.

“Don’t worry you didn’t miss much—”she pauses thinking of the right way to word what she’s thinking “—I don’t remember much from high school if I’m being honest, but I remember the first time we met, I remember getting to know you, and I remember it felt good. I understood what people meant when they talked about young love, it feels like life before meeting you was kinda blurry, sometimes I forget that I’m a full fledged adult that’s lived years before this.”

It’s buzzing in both his ears. He doesn’t know what to say except—

“I love you, too”

Maybe they didn’t take the first chance they had together, but they’re with each other now. And they know they’ll be with each other tomorrow.

my writing is very bland and dialogue heavy, but i’m trying to get into it which is why im just vomiting into my tumblr drafts rn. forcing myself to write so i can get better T_T. theyre also very dialogue heavy cuz i dont rly have many ppl to yap to so in my head im having yap sessions with these characters.

this is kinda inspired by troy and annie from community with little crumbs of myself. (i fear im projecting myself onto the reader too much, but who cares this is my outlet)

[minniiaa]

Education on sexual identity is important because after 15 years of failed relationships it wasn’t until I discovered I was actually just aspec that I was able to stop blaming myself and realize I was trying to force a square peg into a round hole.

I’ve had a lot of LGBT friends in my life and I always fully understood that I didn’t fall into any of those categories but there was always something that felt wrong. However, in my teens/early 20s, there wasn’t really a gray area, at least in the communities I was a part of.

It wasn’t until I rejoined the fanfic community and tumblr last year that I learned more about asexuality, specifically gray asexuality and realized “oh. yeah. that makes sense. That’s me.” and suddenly everything in my life beforehand made a lot more sense.

I’ve never actually spoken about it publicly, and probably never will. I breached the topic with my family one time and they said it was “weird” and they couldn’t understand it. And frankly, I am not a person who exists to be perceived and accepted in this point in my life so I am not looking for their approval.

But it makes me happy that the spread of media and shared experiences is allowing the younger generation understand themselves better than ever, so teens and young adults alike will be able to know themselves for who they are from the start and not having to spend years wondering why they can’t love the “normal” way.

As for me, I’m just a washed up almost 30 year old who will continue to be looked down on for choosing to be alone, but that’s fine with me. I know I’m NOT alone and that my choice is the correct one so that’s all that really matters in the end. 💜