#and as for Palestine.. I’m not sure where this is heading. I feel for them.

[gyubby99]

Sincerely from a Filipina please don’t kill yourselves you’re all divas

[shellshocklove]

brat! | joel miller

pairing/AU: joel miller x brat!female!reader – no outbreak

summary: joel is having a brat summer.

warnings: this is an 18+ fic so mdni! age gap, enemies to lovers vibes? swearing, drinking of alcohol, smoking of cigarettes, reader wears a dress, heels and lipstick but otherwise no other descriptions, use of pet names, brat tamer!joel, dom!joel, manhandling, a little exhibitionism? fingering, choking, spitting, a little dacryphilia, oral (m receiving), cock worship, spanking, degradation (whore, slut), some sub space territory, unprotected sex (don’t do it!!), creampie, one use of the word ‘daddy’, no use of y/n

a/n: this was fun! and naughtier than i thought it was gonna be 💀 i’ve never written a reader so far removed from my own personality lol and i’m kind of obsessed with how this turned out. anyways stream brat by charlie xcx and happy reading! <3

main masterlist / series masterlist / ao3

from the river to the sea, palestine will be free 🇵�� this account stands with palestine. the creator of tlou is a zionist, and the second game is largly based on israel/palestine. please, everyone who interacts, educate yourself about the genocide happening right now, and support/donate.

Blitzes of red, green, and blue danced before your eyes. The beating in your temples in tune with the bass vibrating in your chest. Around you the faceless bodies moved in slow motion. The heat rose around you as the sweat clung to your skin.

You’re sure you’ve lost your friends. Well, not lost lost. They were in the dancing crowd somewhere. Behind you, the same ugly guy had been rubbing up against you for a minute too long. You knew because you’d tipped your head back once and his borderline bowl cut hair, polo shirt with deep sweat rings under his arms, and tan chinos, were not it.

His breath stank of tequila when he leaned into your ear, “Hey,” he slurred, “wanna get out of here?”

And that had been your cue to leave.

With a scoff, you turned around to get a good look at him. You’d sized him up, made a show of it, and laughed in his face. Then you pushed your way through the crowd, coming up for air by the bar.

The earlier buzz you’d been sailing on, had weaned off a long time ago. It had been last minute, you weren’t even going out tonight, just having dinner with your childhood friends while you were home for the summer. But then one of them had ordered shots for the table just as the last plate had been cleared, and soon you were at the club cruising on a couple of glasses of wine and a lousy shot. Not that it mattered, usually you ended up twirling some sorry man around your finger long enough to get yourself a couple of rounds, before you’d excuse yourself to the ladies’ room and leave with your friends.

Looking down the bar, you searched for tonight’s victim.

To your right a group of girls huddled around the edge, waiting for their own drinks by the looks of it.

Not them.

Down to your left, a boy with a face full of acne fumbled with his card as he paid for a round of beers. He didn’t even look old enough to be in here, but that wasn’t your problem. You had to hold back a laugh as you watched him struggle to figure out how to carry the five beers he’d ordered back to his friends. He ended up gathering them in a circle to wrap his hands around, and you’d seen this go wrong plenty of times to feel the pull of an amused smile on your lips.

When he’d vanished into the crowd, your eyes flicked back to the bar, to the man sitting there– and he was a man. Probably somewhere in his fifties you reckoned, but he looked gorgeous. A real dilf. Your interest was piqued.

You slid down the bar.

He didn’t look particularly amused where he sat at a bar stool, nursing a beer in his hands. Who sits at the bar in the club? He looked nice. Brown hair, dark jeans, and a grey t-shirt stretched deliciously over his chest. When you got closer you could see a flannel resting beside him on the bar.

Is this what older men wear to the club these days?

He didn’t seem to notice you as you sat down next to him – either that, or he ignored you. You kinda wished for the latter, it would make it more fun.

You gave him a few more minutes of silence, of your presence, to see if he’d say something to you. When he didn’t you asked him over the music, “Aren’t you gonna buy me a drink?”

You said it innocently, but like it was obvious and he hadn’t caught on yet. His head turned towards you, still unamused, but with his eyebrow raised.

Okay, you could work with that.

You didn’t say anything as he studied you, drank you in like you’d done to him from afar. You felt his gaze over your clinging dress, your bare shoulders, before they found your eyes.

Something tickled in your core, and you were reminded of how long it had been since you’d been properly fucked– fucked by someone who wasn’t some drunk guy at your college’s parties, but fucked by someone who knew what they were doing.

The man turned towards you; a smile tickling the corner of his mouth.

“Does that usually work f’you, sweetheart?”

You weren’t expecting his rebuttal, but you liked it. He wasn’t some boy who’d trip over himself for the privilege of being in the presence of you. The boys – they made it too easy – but this man would make you work for it.

Putting on your most saccharine smile you slid closer to him, “You looked so lonely over here– thought I’d keep you company.”

A scoffing laugh escaped him, and his head dipped, “’s that so?” His eyes found yours again.

“Haven’t seen you here before,” you ignored his question, and brushed your heeled foot up the length of his calf.

“Ain’t ever been here before,” he kept his eyes on your face, his drawl pulling at the words and twisting up your insides.

“So, a virgin, huh?” you teased, and that seemed to amuse him.

“What– you’re here to pop my cherry?”

This time an amused smile pulled at your face. You liked this man. “Not without a drink first,” your foot slid down his calf, “what do you take me for?”

A bright sense of pride filled your chest when you made him laugh, filling you up with confidence.

“D’you want me to answer that?” he rebutted.

He didn’t say it with any malice, it was teasing and playful, and it pulled at the veil inside you. A genuine smile pulled at the corners of your mouth, “Probably not.”

“What can I getcha, then, sweetheart?”

“G&T?” you said, and bit down on your bottom lip coquettishly.

Turning away from you, the man got the attention of the bartender. You watched his profile, followed the line of his jaw, the shape of his nose. You decided then and there that your night was gonna end in this man’s bed.

“Sooo,” you sang, when you’d gotten your drink, “first time here, huh?” The man just nodded, before he sipped his beer.  

Not much of a talker, huh?

“You here alone, or? With the wife maybe?”

That pulled a laugh from him. “I’m here with my lil’ brother… bachelor party,” he shook his head, like he couldn’t believe he’d gotten dragged in here, “he’s gettin’ married next month.”

“Ah,” you nodded and took a sip of your drink. “So, where are you heading next? A strip club?” you teased.

The man just shot you an unimpressed look, and you thought about how you’d never seen a man look so out of place, ever.

“What? The wife won’t let you?”

A sharp huff escaped him, “Ain’t got no wife no more,” he said matter-of-factly.

You took another sip of your drink to hide the smile from forming.

Bingo.

“I take it you’re a man who does what he wants, then?” you said it innocently, and subtly slid your hand over his knee. His eyes caught yours at the touch, and you swore you saw something change in them.

You’d hooked him now, all you had to do was reel him in.

He turned his body towards you – he did it slowly, like every muscle he moved had been calculated beforehand. Then he leaned in closer, his hot breath huffing against your ear.

“Takes one to know one, ain’t that right?”

Under your skin, you buzzed, your heart beating out of your chest at the new proximity. You had to stay cool, play it off, act unbothered. So, you pulled away slightly, and turned your head to meet his eyes.

“What?” he challenged with a raise of an eyebrow, “Ain’t used to people talkin’ back?”

When you didn’t say anything right away, a smug grin coated his lips, “Yeah, I know girls like you.”

“There’s no girls like me,” you argued back, his confidence both pissing you off, and turning you on at the same time.

“Oh, but there are– Spoiled daddy’s girls who ain’t had anyone tellin’ them no their whole life. They do what they want, and play with who they want– I know a brat when I see one.”

Your eyes narrowed at him as he pulled away, that infuriating smug grin not going anywhere. The worst part was that he was right, but you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

“But you like that don’t you?” you challenged, “I bet you live in some sad house in a sleepy suburban cul-de-sac, go to the same boring job every day, and wish your wife never left you.”

A flash of hurt could be seen across his face as those last words left your lips, and you thought you’d maybe gone too far. A beat of silence passed between you, the buzzing beat of the club music keeping the tune of the tension building.

You were about to apologize when he finally spoke, “You’re a rude one, aren’t ya?”

His voice didn’t sound as hurt as you’d thought, and you realize he was playing your game. You almost had him.

“And what are you gonna do about it?” you challenged, hammering the final nail in the coffin.

“That depends on you, sweetheart.”

Outside the club, Joel (the man had finally introduced himself) leaned against the bricks of the alley as you fished a cigarette from your purse. According to your phone, your uber would be there in ten minutes. The fresh air had sobered you up slightly, exchanging the buzzing alcohol in your veins with excitement.

You didn’t know what you were in for.

Over your skin, you felt his gaze roll over you, and you let him look. Let him study your body filling out your sheer, white, almost see-through dress. You didn’t offer him a cigarette; he’d have to ask for it himself, or take it, if he wanted a drag.

“So,” you took a drag of your cigarette, savoring the first tar-y breath, before exhaling through your nose, “where are you taking me?”

Joel shifted his weight against the bricks as his arms crossed over his wide chest. “Whatchu call it? My sad house?” he said, his voice bordering on cold if it wasn’t for the smug smile covering his features.

You gave him a sultry look as you stepped closer, crossing one heeled foot in front of the other, slowly.

“Mmm,” you hummed, as you tilted your head with an uninterested face, “Sounds fucking boring to me.” Your finger climbed up his chest, eyes traveling from his chest to his face. His stern face gave nothing away, as you took another drag of your cigarette and blew the smoke in his face.

Finally, he’d had enough. His large hand wrapped around your wrist, and tightened, before he turned you around and pushed you up against the wall. You let out an exaggerated huff as your body hit the bricks, your cigarette slipping from your fingers. He pushed himself up against you, and you couldn’t contain the satisfied grin on your face, pleased to have pushed his buttons enough to finally act.

“Oh, I’ll show you boring, brat.”

A rough hand danced up the side of your thigh and under the hem of your dress. Challenging him, you squirmed against the grip of his other hand around your wrist.

“Nuh-uh,” he shook his head, and he was so close now you felt his breath ghost over your lips. With a twist of your arm, he pinned it behind your back, Joel now completely in control, and a buzz of arousal spread through your body at the thought.

“You listen’ up now, and I’m only gonna say it once: you’re gonna do as I say, when I say it, and no talkin’ back, we clear?” His voice was stern, but his dark brown eyes gave him away; how they’d widened with lust, blown out and dark. Your panties already soaked at the thought of what he had in mind for you tonight.

“Yes,” you said playfully, biting down at your bottom lip through a smile.

“Yes, sir,” he corrected as his rough hand on your thigh slid closer and closer to the seam of your thong. “Good girls who do as they’re told get rewarded, you understand?”

You nodded, sucking in a breath as you felt his fingers brush over your clit lightly. He was testing you now, teasing you, and pushing your buttons. You felt like you were on fire, burning from arousal; it licked up your thighs and flickered bright in your core.

Where was that fucking uber?

“But you ain’t no good girl,” he snickered, sliding his hand past your panties, “teasin’ me– tryna provoke me,” he shook his head, and a slick sound of your arousal could be heard as he worked two thick fingers through your wet folds.  

His finger poked at your hole where it ached for him. The thick tension between you weighed heavy with arousal as Joel leaned in closer, his breath ghosting over the shell of your ear.

“Imma have to punish you for that, baby, put you in your place.”

A gasp left your lips as he pressed two fingers inside. The stretch stung slightly, but you welcomed the pain, liked it. A satisfied grin blossomed over your face as he started moving his fingers. They felt so good inside of you, so thick, almost like a cock, and the way his palm rubbed against your clit– it gave you just enough stimulation to push you towards the edge of an orgasm.

“Look at you, slut,” his breath was hot as he whispered in your ear, “so desperate to get fucked.”

A strangled moan escaped your throat, and you couldn’t help but grind against his fingers to chase the pleasure he was giving you. The degrading words and humiliation only made you wetter. Joel couldn’t get any more perfect– so far, he'd played his part to the T.

“In your– fuck!” You moaned as the pad of his fingers brushed up against your g-spot. Just a little more now, and he’d have you coming on his fingers.

“Didn’t hear you, sweetheart, y’need to speak up,” he taunted, continuing the pace of his fingers.

“In your d-dreams, old man,” you tried to spit out, but the pleasure he gave you was taking over, making you stumble over your words.

Quickly, Joel withdrew his fingers, sliding them up the front of your cunt, giving your clit a slap, before he backed off completely. You gasped; face pulled tight in a disappointed frown.

“What the fuck!?”

And then he fucking laughed, fucking laughed at you.

“I already told you, sweetheart, only good girls get rewarded.”

He stepped closer again, his hand cupping your cheek while the other pressed the fingers coated in your arousal to your lips. “Clean up your mess, and we’ll see ‘bout that reward.”

Parting your lips, he stuffed his fingers inside your mouth. They tasted of you, a sweet-salty taste. You closed your lips around them, and sucked, letting your tongue tease around his fingers the way you’d tease his cock. “That’s it, good girl,” he grinned, and it sparked a small flame of pride in your chest.

When he was pleased with you, he slipped his fingers from your mouth. He let them glide over your lips, smearing your lipstick and coating your lips in your own saliva as a set of headlights illuminated the street. Then, he patted your cheek, nodding towards what you assumed was your uber as it rolled to a stop in front of you, “Go on, get in the uber.”

In the uber Joel was quiet, ignoring you as were forced to make small talk with the driver (you’d give him a bad review just for that). When you thought the small talk had been torture enough, Joel slid his hand up your thigh, resting his big palm right at the seam of your leg as he looked out the window. If your panties weren’t already soaked from what he’d done to you in the alleyway of the club, then they definitely were now as the anticipation only grew.

Joel’s house wasn’t sad at all. It was quaint, and suburban, but homey. Nice. No expensive designer furniture, but sturdy and of good quality either way. He had no rare art, but a decent amount of family photos and what looked like a child’s drawings. You stopped in the middle of the stairs to admire them. In one of them Joel looked as old as you were now, with a baby in his arms, in another he had his arm around the shoulders of another man who looked a lot like him, just with darker hair. His brother probably, the one getting married. The little baby was a little girl, and she grew up in front of you; birthday parties, first days of school, soccer uniforms. Your eyes landed on a photo of her in a graduation cap with Joel and the other man at her side, grinning wide with a college diploma in her hands. This man wasn’t who you’d thought. He had a family– a daughter your age. The wall of memories squeezed at your heart, made something inside you always kept hidden break forth–

“You comin’?”

Joel waited at the top of the stairs for you, his face pulled into a confused frown. You skipped up the stairs, happy to have left your heels by his door. When you got to the top, you pushed at his chest, “Just looking at your sad things.” With a roll of his eyes, he led you to his bedroom.

“Get on the bed,” he ordered, but his voice was distant, the bite from the club was gone.

It felt like the perfect opportunity to play with him.

“No,” you blinked innocently, your eyes wide as you watched him unbutton his green flannel, “you’ll have to make me.”

He let out a laugh that sounded more like a sigh, “I’m serious, sweetheart, I need to talk to you first.”

Talk?

“You can’t get it up, is that it? You’re too old?” you teased but sat down at the bed either way.

“You really are mean, aren’t ya?” His laugh sounded like a surrender. “A man wantin’ to be a gentleman and establish boundaries before he ruins her, and this is what he gets?”

Shaking his head, he walked closer, and cupped your head in his hands. “I plan on bein’ rough with ya, sweetheart, and I think that’s what you want too, isn’t it? Get fucked so hard you can’t think?” You nodded your head in his arms, the velvet bass of his voice going straight to your core.

“Listen’ closely– if I do anythin’ you don’t like, you say ‘red’ and we stop, and if you can’t speak then you pinch me, you hear?”

You nodded again.

“Words, baby, need y’to say it with that pretty voice.” His thumbs brushed over your cheek.

You nodded again, “Yes, sir… if I want you to stop, I say ‘red’, or pinch you.”

“Good girl,” he praised, “Anythin’ else?”

“Um…” Your front teeth caught on your bottom lip, “I’m on birth control– you can come inside me if you want.”

A noise rumbled in Joel’s chest. “Such a naughty girl,” his thumb brushed over the plump of your lips, “letting a stranger come inside her, huh?”

You nodded again, a wicked smile breaking against his thumb before you opened your mouth, and bit down. Not hard, just enough to pull a reaction from him, and you did.

Like a switch, the warm whiskey eyes faded into a deep black. The grip on your chin slid downwards, where it found your neck. He didn’t squeeze, but his grip wasn’t gentle either, holding you in place like a warning.

“You ought to treat me with more respect, brat…” he spat, his thumb digging into the column of your neck, “Apologize for your rude behavior.”

Against his hand, you shook your head to the best of your abilities, his grip tightening with your movement. You wished he’d choke you properly, make your head all fuzzy and empty– filled with nothing except for him.

“No.”

His face turned to stone above you, and you felt a giddiness flutter in your stomach.

 He didn’t like that.  

In one quick motion his hand was ripped from your throat as he stepped away. He didn’t look at you as he sighed, his hands falling to his belt buckle, sharp metal clinking.

Taking advantage of the moment, you admired the man before you. How big and broad he was. How his t-shirt stretched tight over his broad chest, biceps bulging against the woven fabric. You studied his hands as they fiddled with his buckle, thought about how good they’d felt inside you earlier, the pleasurable sting as they’d stretched you out.

“Get on your knees,” he ordered, voice cold.

When you didn’t move, he took matters into his own hands.

“Get. On. Your. Fuckin’. Knees.”

His grip around your wrist was tight, as he pushed you down. The hardwood floor dug into your knees as he manhandled you, sure to bruise tomorrow. He stood his ground in front of you, legs slightly parted as you were now eye level with his inviting bulge. He was big, and you felt your eyes widen. Even hidden away in his jeans you could see it, see the length of his hard cock strain against his thigh – it made your mouth water as you squeezed your thighs together.

“Look me in the eyes,” he told you, and your eyes flicked upwards – obedient for once. “Eyes up here at all times– Don’t you fuckin’ dare look away.”

He made it hard to do as he’d ordered, popping the button on his jeans, and pulling the zipper down. You wanted to see his cock, touch it, feel it inside you. He couldn’t possibly expect you to not look when it was right there.

"Disobedient slut.” 

The slap came quicker than the stolen glance, and your hand came up to graze your cheek on pure instinct. It stung under your palm, like a thousand little knives.

“What did I jus’ say?” He spat out the question, his hand gripping your chin to force eye contact.

“Look away?” you tried, your voice rising an octave.

“Open your fuckin’ mouth,” he sighed, leaning closer, “I ain’t wanna hear any more of your fuckin’ attitude.”

His grip tightened on your chin and your mouth dropped open by itself, “Open your mouth– that’s it… wider, just like that.”

Then he spat, right into your mouth.

You flinched at the suddenness of it, but Joel’s grip on your chin held you still– kept your mouth open, as you felt his spit slide further and further into your throat. You had a feeling you shouldn’t swallow until he told you, so you didn’t, your head pliant in his hand as you let him study you. A wide grin spread across his face as he moved your head from one side to the other, his rough fingers denting into your skin as you waited for your next command.

“Swallow, brat.”

He let go of your face, and you closed your mouth, swallowing down his spit with an audible gulp. “Good girl,” he muttered and stood tall, hooking his fingers into the waistband of his jeans.

The rough sound of denim against skin filled your ears as he freed himself. You were on your best behavior now, gathering your hands in your lap, sitting pretty for him as you locked eyes with him coquettishly.

“That’s better,” he said, “Actin’ like a proper good girl now,” he praised.

It took everything in you not to look, as he stepped closer.

With a fist tight around his cock, he brought the head to your mouth. He tapped it on your lips, smearing the precum beading at the tip and ruined your lipstick.

You wanted to taste him so badly, but he couldn’t know that. Pinching your lips together, you shook your head with wide coquettish eyes. His eyebrows pinched together in a frown, eyes narrowing at you as he pushed his cock against your lips.

“Open that pretty fuckin’ mouth, f’me,” he ordered.

Pretty. He called you pretty, and it was enough for you, you gathered, and stretched your mouth open for him.

“That’s it, wider.”

You twitched in surprise as he slapped the length against your tongue. It was heavy on your tongue, the salty taste of his precum mixing with your saliva as he rubbed the head over your tongue, in and out, in and out – coating his big cock in your saliva, “just like that, baby, get it nice ‘nd wet.”

Closing your lips around the mushroom tip, you ran your tongue around it in circles, teasing the underside and the slit, before you tipped your head back. His cock bobbed in front of you obscenely, a frown formed on his face again and you knew he was about to tell you off.

Gathering a blob of saliva in your mouth, you spat on his cock instead. A low humming laugh rumbled from Joel’s chest, as he collected your spit and rubbed it in over his shaft in slow strokes. The spit dripped down, down over your front where you felt it darken the fabric of your dress. Subtly, you reached your hands behind your back to pull at the zipper.

“Yeah, that’s right, get those pretty tits out f’me.”

He let you maneuver out of your dress while he stroked his cock slowly in front of your face, and finally, you could get a good look at him. He was bigger than you’d thought from his bulge. Veins lining his thick shaft as you watched the way his fist moved up, massaging the tip gently, and down again in a slow, steady rhythm. At the base unruly curls of dark hair shone in the spit gathering, and you let your eyes wander downward to his balls where they hung heavy.

You wanted to taste them, too.

With your dress discarded on the floor beside you, you sat up slightly, spreading your legs and tucking your calves up to your thighs. Almost naked, safe for the thong splitting your cheeks, you arched your back slightly, making sure he got a good view of your ass.

A groan rumbled in Joel’s chest, and a hand came down on your head, “You want my cock, don’t you, slut?” he spat, slapping his cock on your right cheek, spreading your spit on your skin.

“Do you make all your girls wait this long or is it just me?” you tutted, almost rolling your eyes at him.

“There’s that fuckin’ attitude again.”

Slapping his cock harder against your cheek, he leaned forward letting a blob of spit drip from his own lips, coating both his cock and your face as he rubbed it in with his cock.

It was obscene, degrading, and you’d never been wetter.

In desperation to taste him again, you opened your mouth and stuck your tongue out. The hand he’d used to stroke himself, wrapped around your skull, caging his cock between his hand and your face as he started thrusting against your face, his heavy balls rubbing against your chin with every slow push.

It was messy, sloppy, and wet. He held your head steady with his other hand, while he continued rubbing his cock over your cheek, nose, and forehead. His spit mixed with your own as you lapped at the underside of his cock; trying to taste as much of him as he’d give you.

“You dirty little whore,” he smiled, “You like that don’t you?”

Under him you whimpered, clit pulsing with want as he made you his plaything, did what he wanted with you.

“Yeah,” you moaned unabashedly, licking greedily at the underside of his cock.

At that, he laughed, and the grip on your head loosened as he pulled back. You only had time to take a deep breath before he stuffed his cock down your throat. It was abrupt, and harsh – the hefty length of him making room for himself inside your mouth.

You couldn’t fit him all inside, gagging as the head of him hit the back of your throat. He held you there still, one second, two seconds, three seconds. Your hand found his thigh where you tapped at him, and finally he pulled away.

You gasped for air, your breath wet with spit as small tears pricked at your eyes. His hand landed on top of your head again, grounding you to the moment as he searched your eyes, checking in.

No, you tried to convey, you’re not too rough.

Pleased, his cock bumped against your lips again, and you dropped your mouth open for him again.

“That’s it,” he murmured, thrusting his cock back in your mouth, “let’me fuck that throat open.”

Dropping your jaw, you tried to make room for him in your mouth. It wasn’t easy, your lips stretched wide around the girth of him as you tried to calm yourself, to open your throat for him to abuse. His cock was easily the biggest cock you’d ever sucked, and you told yourself you needed to relax.

He pressed himself deeper, and you let out a whimper. “Work with me, slut, hold still.”

Trying your best to obey, you breathed through your nose, staving off your gag reflex the best you could as the head knocked at the back of your throat. His other hand cupped your chin, keeping your head still between his large hands. A tear rolled down your cheek when he rutted into your mouth, testing the waters.

“Good girl,” he praised, fucking gently into your mouth. Saliva gathered in your mouth, drooling down your chin with each thrust. “Such a fuckin’ mess– Look me in the eye as I fuck your throat.”

Your hand wrapped around his wrist, keeping you steady as you locked eyes with him. It was difficult, tears clouding him in a vignette, but you did as you were told. He studied you closely, tested your boundaries, completely in control.

You gasped for air when he finally pulled back again. A wet string of saliva connecting your lips to the tip of his cock. A proud smirk coated his lips, while his hand stroked your head in praise.

The small moment of relief passed quickly, and soon his cock was back in your throat, bruising it in a steady rhythm.

“Take that fuckin’ cock all the way down your throat, whore,” he spat, his thrust a little rougher now that he knew you could take it.

He had you at his mercy now as he ruined you. Ruined your throat, ruined your body, ruined you for other men. Tears mixed with snot, which mixed with spit as it ran down your chin, dripping lewdly onto your tits where it made a mess.

Over you, Joel rambled.

“Good fuckin’ slut.”

“Choke on that big fuckin’ cock.”

“You love it don’t you?”

And you did, you loved it. Joel made you feel useful for once in a life – a fucked up thought, but then again you never said you weren’t fucked up. Joel’s words were filthy and dirty, and as humiliating as they were he made you feel wanted.

You just wanted to be wanted.

Another gasp of air filled your lungs as he slipped from your mouth. His grip on your head was tighter now, his cock throbbing in front of you. As much as you wanted him to fuck you, you wouldn’t complain if he came down your throat. He’d given you so much already.

“Fuck,” he whispered and let go of your head.

You took the opportunity to catch your breath, sniffling as you wiped at the snot that clogged up your nose. His hand came down to squeeze at the base of himself, clearly staving off his orgasm.

“What,” you croaked, your voice hoarse after his assault on your throat, “you’re so old you can’t come now?”

His eyes darkened as they locked with yours, and a giddy bouncing feeling twisted in on itself in your tummy. You wanted to see what he’d do to you– how he’d fuck you, and if you’d have to push his buttons to see it, you gladly push the big red button.

His hand wrapped around your bicep, digging into the skin as he dragged you to your feet and pushed you towards the bed.

“Still a fuckin’ brat I see,” he spat, “We can’t have that can we?”

Putting on your best puppy dog eyes, you bit down on your bottom lip. “Who me?” you said innocently.

“Bend over, slut,” he ordered, his voice coated in a tone that said he was fed up with your bullshit. Strong arms turned you around, manhandling you, and pushed your front down on his bed, “’nd spread your fuckin’ legs.”

With a kick to your ankles, he forced your legs open. Tipping your head up, you locked eyes with your reflection in the window, like a camera lens capturing your ruin at Joel’s hand. He hovered over you, his eyes trailing over your naked body, laid out for him to take.

The first smack came quickly, hard, and brutal on your ass cheek. It made you jump, the muscles in your ass clenching as you tried to reel yourself in. Joel’s rough hand soothed over the burn immediately, and you turned your neck to find his eyes.

“I wanna hear an apology from you, brat,” he said calmly, one finger hooking into the lace of your thong.

You shook your head. Stubborn. “No.”

His head fell between his shoulders, while his finger hooked in your thong tightened its grip, and with a hard tug, he ripped it in two.

“Then I’m gonna have to punish ya.” He said it with a deep sigh, like he had no other choice.

You couldn’t hide the excitement that filled you at those words, your cunt now dripping with need. A need for Joel.

With the scrap of your thong now discarded his hand danced over your ass. You tried not to hold your breath, but he drew it out, and you couldn’t help it. The tension in the air so thick, you couldn’t focus.

Smack!

He spanked your other cheek hard, and the tension was released with a whimper. A tickling feeling of pins and needles spread through your cheek.

Smack! Smack! Smack!

They came in quick procession, your hands gripping the sheets for a lifeline as he put you in your place. Moans fell from your lips without abandon, and you felt yourself drip down your legs.

Smack!

“Look how wet you are,” he noticed, running a finger through your seam, “You like it? Only desperate whores like to get spanked.”

He leaned over you, his soft belly (when had he removed his shirt?) pressed against your back, coarse hair tickling your skin, as you felt his hard cock rub up against your sore ass.

“But that’s what you are, ain’t you? A desperate fucking whore.” His breath in your ear, had goosebumps erupt down your spine, and you sobbed out a whine.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he whispered, and pulled away – taking his warmth with him.

Smack!

Tears pushed their way behind your eyes, not because you didn’t like it, but it stung like a motherfucker. Joel wasn’t all brutal, he rubbed your skin between hits, but fuck if it didn’t also hurt with pleasure.

“Say you’re sorry,” he demanded.

Turning around you shook your head, big wide eyes watching him as he spanked you again.

Smack!

“You’re tearing up, little girl– It stings doesn’t it?” he asked, voice laced with fake pity.

You nodded.

“Well, maybe you should be a good girl then– say you’re sorry.”

Smack!

“I’m sorry!” you blurted out, voice cracking.

Finally.

Joel stopped immediately, his hand twisting around your waist to flip you on your back. His eyes danced over your body, almost tenderly but still full of lust. His hand moved up and down your sides, down the thick of your thigh before they gripped your ankles and tugged.

A squeal escaped you as he manhandled you, his large hands cupping your face while he fitted himself between your legs. “Good girl,” he cooed, thumbs stroking your cheeks, “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You shook your head in his hands, popping your lip out in an innocent pout.

“No,” he cooed, removing a hand to fit between your bodies.

You gasped when you felt the head of his cock bump your clit, the first real stimulation you’d had since you’d left the ally by the club. Your hips bucked by themselves, chasing the friction of his touch.

“Who owns this cunt?” he asked you, dark eyes staring into yours as he dragged his cock through your soaked folds.

“You do, sir,” you sighed immediately, your whole body aching for him.

A wide wicked grin spread across his face, “Lookit you bein’ such a good girl– finally know your place, huh?”

With no warning, you felt the blunt head of him press at your opening, and then Joel pushed inside you. Your mouth parted in a gasp at the intrusion; eyes glazed over in bliss as you felt yourself get split in two around the girth of his cock. He was so big, filling you up inch by inch, a heavy pressure poking at the deepest part of yourself.

“There you go, baby– you jus’ take it. Take all that cock inside,” he grunted, eyebrows pinched tight.

All you could do was moan as you felt him bottom out inside you, “Shit,” you gasped, “So fuckin’ big.”

“I know, baby, you’re doin’ so good f’me,” he praised, starting to rock his hips into you.

He picked up the pace quickly when he was sure you could take it, splitting you open on his cock as he made you takeit. Under him you could feel yourself float away in the pleasure. His hand came up to wrap around your neck and a big smile spread across your face.

You felt so warm. Joel felt so fucking good.

He reduced you to a puddle, a puddle of pleasure and ecstasy. It was better than any drug you’d ever taken. Better than the first day of summer vacation. Better than anything you’d ever known. The sound of skin against skin faded away into a tranquil rhythm of pleasure. You belonged to him now, lived only for him and the way his cock felt inside you.

“Feel how deep that is?” he asked you, somehow having maneuvered your knees to press into your chest.

You couldn’t do anything other than nod, desperate and whiny. You needed to fucking come. Inside you, his cock bumped into a spot no other man had reached before, and a fluttering feeling coiled itself in your core.

You were so close now.

“Joel,” you gasped, searching for the words as he continued his pace, balls slapping hard against your ass.

“No,” he told you, teeth gritted, “You hold it, slut, you hold it ‘till I give you permission.”

Later, a thought of how he’d had you so close to coming without even a tap at your clit would graze you, but in this moment your thought were only filled with Joel. A hand found his bicep, you needed something to hold on to or you’d burst, and squeezed. Above you Joel’s groans and moans got louder.

“Hold it.”

Tears streamed down your face, as you heaved for breath. You were right there, right on the edge now.

Please, Joel, please, sir, please.

“Come.”

Arching your back off the mattress, you shook as you finally tipped over the edge of bliss. The sounds escaping your throat weren’t your own, they were someone else’s, someone possessed with pleasure.

A “Thank you,” fell from your lips, but you don’t think he heard you. Above you, Joel’s movement became more and more erratic, thrusting himself deeper and deeper before a loud groan vibrated through his chest.

“You take it,” he growled, “take all that fuckin’ cum inside.”

He slammed his hips hard against you, pushing himself as deep as he could inside you, and came with a loud primal groan. His cock twitched within your walls as he emptied himself inside your cunt, the warmth of him filled you up as he painted your walls with cum.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” he mumbled, burying his face in your neck, “That cum feels so good inside, don’t it?” he cooed, and you nodded, your hands tangling in his hair. He pulled back and thrusted inside you again, fucking his cum deeper inside.

He stayed inside you as you both caught your breaths. His weight felt good on you, you were safe, as you floated somewhere between reality and a space you’d never been pushed to before.

And you missed him when he pulled away, sliding his half-hard cock from your fucked out cunt, dragging you with him up the bed. You reached for him, laying your hand open against his sheets, but he didn't see it, eyes mesmerized by his spend dripping out of you. His fingers slid through the mess, pushing his cum back inside as his eyes found yours.

Then something in the air shifted, and whatever had come over you, was gone. His fingers left streaks of wetness down the inside of your thigh as he pulled away. For the first time in your life, you didn’t know what to say.

You were ruined now – he’d ruined you for everyone who wasn’t him.

You sat up, turning your head over your shoulder to watch him, watch how his eyes trailed your body.

“Smoke?” you asked, your voice more unsteady than you’d thought.

Joel shook his head as you slung your feet off the bed to find your purse. He sat up against the pillows resting against his broken bed frame. Your eyes raked over his naked body as you fished a cigarette from your packet; drank in his strong arms, his wide chest and followed the dark hair of his happy trail down his belly to his soft cock between his thighs, still coated in your combined cum. Between your legs you could still feel his thick spend leak out of you.

You brought the cigarette to your lips, and just as you were about to light up Joel’s rough voice spoke, “Out the window,” he ordered with a nod in the direction of the window.

Everything was back to how it was before.

A dramatic huff escaped you, “All right…” you muttered.

You felt too heavy– he’d messed with your head; made you show him the real you. He couldn’t see that. So instead, you put your mask back on, turning to face the window to conceal the mischievous smile threating to spill across your face.

“Daddy.”

Behind you, as you cracked open the window, you heard the bed creak. You played it cool, lighting your cigarette and blowing the smoke out the window.

Joel’s breath teased at the back of your neck and over your bare shoulder, making goosebumps dance down your spine, “Thought I’d fucked the attitude out of ya,” his voice was stern.

“Guess I was wrong.”

part two -> here!

i hope someone liked this? a comment telling me your favorite part is always welcome, and my ask box is always open to chat <3 other than that thank you for reading!!

© shellshocklove, 2024 i do not give any permission to repost, translate, feed to AI or redistribute any of my writing, with or without credit!

[goldfades]

FLIPPED──RAFE CAMERON

free palestine carrd 🇵🇸 decolonize palestine site 🇵🇸 how you can help palestine it's crucial that we stand in solidarity with those who need our support. right now, the people of palestine are facing unimaginable hardship, and it's up to all of us to do what we can to help. whether it's raising awareness, donating to relief organizations, or supporting calls for justice and peace, every action counts. we can amplify their voices, shed light on their struggles, and work towards a future where every individual can live with dignity and freedom. your support can make a difference! FREE PALESTINE!

for this request, for my baby jojo! @wanderlusturous

─ summary | rafe is completely devoted to his pregnant wife, spoiling her endlessly and preparing for the arrival of their baby girl, who becomes the center of his world. after a life of feeling lost and disconnected, rafe finally finds purpose in his new family, vowing to protect and love them unconditionally.

─ pairing | rafe cameron x wife!reader

─ warnings | such a sweet, domestic bliss fic! rafe spoiling tf outta reader, rafe being a girl dad, mentions of toxic family, but other than that it's just so sweet.

─ ev's notes | the chokehold that gif has on me is... insane. also wheezie needs to be included more in fics like... shes so awesome (ik she hasnt done anything but thats kinda the point) ALSOOOO I NEED MORE DOMESTIC RAFE LIKEEEE, PLS SEND ME REQUESTS. i might do a part 2 for this fic cause it's so heartwarming i cannot

ok love u bye!!! pls send me requests!!!!!!

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You’re lounging on the couch, wrapped in the softest cashmere blanket Rafe could find, a far cry from the one you had before. That one had been comfortable too, but Rafe never thought it was enough for you, not when his princess deserved the best. The soft hum of the air conditioner fills the house, the only sound in the otherwise still afternoon, while your fingers absentmindedly trace patterns on your growing belly.

Sunlight streams through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a warm glow over the room, and you sink further into the cushions, feeling the quiet luxury that has come to define your life since you met Rafe. He’s out right now, picking up God knows what — probably more baby things, even though you already have a mountain of stuff piled high in the nursery.

He never does anything halfway. Every stroller, every onesie, every diaper cream has to be top-of-the-line, the best that money can buy. He doesn’t just spoil you, he suffocates you with care, but in the softest, sweetest way possible, so you don’t even mind. No, you love it, revel in it, feeling like you’ve been plucked straight out of one life and placed into another, where all you have to do is exist and be adored.

The front door clicks open, and you can feel his presence before you even see him. He’s always like that, larger than life even when he’s trying to be quiet. You sit up a little, trying to hide the way you’ve been lazily sprawled out, but he’s already at your side, his hands gently urging you back down.

“Relax, baby,” he murmurs, his lips brushing your forehead. His eyes flicker to your belly, then back to you, that familiar mixture of awe and protectiveness gleaming in his gaze. "I've got everything handled. You just need to rest."

You open your mouth to protest, to tell him that you could've gotten up, could’ve helped him with the bags, but he’s already shaking his head, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as if he can read your thoughts before you even say a word.

"Not a chance." He sets the bags down, filled to the brim with things you know you'll never touch, because he’ll do everything for you. “You’re not lifting a finger. Not while I’m around.”

His voice, low and firm, sends a shiver down your spine, the kind of reassurance that only Rafe can offer. He crouches down beside the couch, running his hands over your legs, making sure you’re comfortable—like he always does. His touch is possessive, protective, the kind that says without words, you’re mine to take care of.

You let out a soft sigh, sinking back against the plush cushions as his hand glides up to rest gently on your belly, almost like a reflex now. You’ve noticed that since you started showing, his hands always find their way there. Like he has to be close, to make sure everything’s okay. He’s obsessed, really—your safety, your comfort, your every need. It’s like a switch flipped the moment he found out about the baby, and he hasn’t let you out of his sight since.

“Everything’s fine, Rafe,” you say softly, trying to reassure him, but the way his brow furrows ever so slightly tells you he doesn’t quite believe you. He’s always worrying.

“I know,” he replies, but there’s a tension in his voice, the kind that tells you he’s already thinking five steps ahead—about the doctor’s appointments, the vitamins, the nursery. He leans in, kissing the top of your head as his other hand gently brushes a strand of hair behind your ear. “But you’re carrying our baby. I’m not taking any chances.”

You smile at his overprotectiveness. It used to overwhelm you at first, this all-consuming devotion, but now? Now it’s like second nature, the way he hovers, always making sure you’re not doing too much, that you’re not straining yourself. He’s like a human safety net, never more than a few feet away, always anticipating what you might need before you even know it yourself.

He stands and starts unpacking the bags he brought in—high-end baby gear, of course. Another designer bassinet, this one with extra features that make it look more like a spaceship than something an infant should sleep in. You watch him move around the room with purpose, his movements fluid and sure, as if orchestrating a plan only he’s privy to. He barely spares you a glance, but you know he’s hyper-aware of your presence, always keeping you in his peripheral vision.

“You didn’t have to get all this,” you murmur, though you already know the answer. You say it more out of habit now, like you need to put up some token resistance to the endless stream of gifts and gadgets.

“I know, but I wanted to,” he says without looking up, his tone casual, but you can hear the edge of finality in it. It’s the same way he talks about everything when it comes to you—like there’s no room for negotiation. “Only the best for you and the baby. You deserve it.”

He sets down the bassinet and moves back to you, taking a seat on the edge of the couch, his hand immediately finding yours. He strokes the back of your hand with his thumb, and you lean into him, letting yourself relax in the comfort of his presence. For all his intensity, there’s something so soothing about him when he’s like this—calm, focused, entirely devoted to making sure you’re taken care of.

“Rafe, really… I don’t need all this. I just—” You hesitate, biting your lip. You want to say that all you really need is him, that he’s already more than enough. But before you can finish, his lips brush against your temple, silencing your thoughts.

“Don’t worry about it, baby. I’ve got you. I’ve got everything.” His voice is gentle, but there’s an unshakable confidence behind it, the kind that makes you believe, even for a moment, that the world outside doesn’t exist. That as long as you’re in his orbit, nothing can touch you.

You glance over at the bassinet, the sleek, modern design standing out starkly against the warmth of the room. It’s absurd, really, how much Rafe is willing to spend, how nothing seems too extravagant when it comes to you. But that’s just him—lavish, obsessive, determined to give you a life where you never have to want for anything. And despite how overwhelming it can be sometimes, you can’t deny how intoxicating it is to be the center of someone’s universe like this.

“You think you’ll ever let me out of this house again?” you tease, half-joking, half-serious. He hasn’t exactly been keen on you going anywhere without him lately. Even the grocery store is off-limits unless he’s there to push the cart and carry the bags.

Rafe chuckles softly, but there’s a protective gleam in his eye. “Not until the baby’s here. And even then, only if I’m with you.” He’s only half-joking, and you both know it. The idea of you out in the world, vulnerable, without him by your side—it’s something he can’t stand.

You roll your eyes playfully, but the warmth that spreads through your chest is undeniable. It’s not like you want to go anywhere without him. Not really. The truth is, you’ve gotten used to this, the way he dotes on you, the way he watches over you like you’re the most precious thing in his life. It’s addictive, being adored like this.

“Fine, fine,” you say with a mock sigh of defeat, settling back against the pillows. “I guess I’ll just have to get used to being spoiled.”

Rafe’s smile widens, his eyes softening as he looks at you. “Good,” he says, leaning down to kiss you again, slower this time, lingering. “Cause that’s not changing anytime soon.”

───

The moment he found he was having a girl, his world flipped upside down in the best way possible. The baby shower was small and private, only inviting your close friends and family. And for Rafe, he only invited Wheezie. He doesn't really have family or friends he'd want to be around—he only needs you, really.

Rafe never really had a family, not until he met you. Sarah was... well, Sarah. She used to be a part of his life, but they were worlds apart now, and Rafe had long since stopped trying to bridge the gap between them. She had her own life, her own people, and it didn’t overlap with his anymore. Rafe had always felt like an outsider in his own family, never really fitting in, never living up to what was expected of him. His father was distant, his mother gone, and his siblings—well, they weren’t exactly close.

But you? You were different. From the moment he met you, something shifted. For the first time in his life, he felt like he had something solid, something real. You gave him a reason to try, a reason to build something better than what he grew up with. He didn’t just want a family—he wanted your family. One that wasn’t broken or full of secrets and betrayals, but one where he could be the man he’d always hoped to be.

The moment he found out you were having a girl, everything inside him shifted. He wasn’t just Rafe Cameron anymore. He was going to be a father—a girl dad. The idea scared him at first, the weight of it hitting him harder than anything ever had. He wanted to be perfect for her, for both of you. He wanted to give his daughter everything he never had growing up: stability, love, safety. Things he never knew he craved until now.

The baby shower was intimate, just the way you liked it. Soft pastels draped the room, and delicate decorations hung from the ceiling, a far cry from the over-the-top events Kooks were known for. But that wasn’t you. And that’s why Rafe loved you. You made everything feel simple, real, stripping away the excess that had always suffocated him growing up.

Wheezie was there, of course, quiet and awkward as ever, but Rafe didn’t care. She was the only family he had left that mattered, the only one who hadn’t looked at him like he was too far gone, beyond saving. She wasn’t like Sarah, who had washed her hands of him long ago, or Ward, who saw him as nothing more than a disappointment.

As you sat in the corner, surrounded by a small group of friends, Rafe couldn’t take his eyes off you. You were glowing—literally glowing, your skin radiant, your hands instinctively resting on your belly. You were laughing at something Wheezie said, but all he could think about was how surreal this all was. How he’d gotten here. From the chaos of his old life to this—a quiet, perfect moment.

Rafe didn’t need anyone else, not really. His friends? They were more like shadows of a life he’d left behind. Toxic, empty relationships that had never filled the void. But with you? He felt whole. He didn’t need the Outer Banks, the parties, the fake smiles and empty promises. All he needed was sitting right in front of him—his future, his family.

You caught his eye from across the room and smiled, and just like that, the world shrank down to just the two of you. It always did. Everything else faded away when you were around. He crossed the room, ignoring the small talk and the laughter, his focus entirely on you.

“Hey, princess,” he murmured, kneeling beside your chair, one hand instantly finding your belly like it always did. He pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder before leaning his head against it, closing his eyes for just a second to ground himself in the moment. “You good? Need anything?”

You shook your head, resting your hand on top of his. “I’m fine, Rafe. You don’t need to keep checking on me every five minutes.”

He huffed out a laugh, but there was no humor in it, just a soft kind of affection. “Can’t help it,” he said quietly, opening his eyes to look up at you. “I’ve gotta make sure my girls are okay.”

Your heart melted at that, at the way his entire face softened whenever he talked about you and the baby. Rafe Cameron—the guy everyone thought was a lost cause, a wreck waiting to happen—was now the most devoted man you’d ever met. He wasn’t perfect, far from it. But he tried—tried so damn hard for you.

“Everything’s perfect,” you reassured him, squeezing his hand. “And you’re spoiling me too much. Again.”

A mischievous grin tugged at the corner of his lips. “Not possible. I’ll spoil you both for the rest of my life if I have to.”

You laughed, leaning down to kiss him on the forehead. “You already are.”

He looked up at you, his eyes full of something soft, something vulnerable. “You know… I never thought I’d have this. A family. Not like this.”

You reached out, gently cupping his face in your hand, your thumb brushing over his cheek. “Well, now you do. And you’re going to be a great dad, Rafe.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, his eyes flickering with emotions he didn’t quite know how to put into words. But then he nodded, his grip on your hand tightening slightly, as if he were afraid to let go.

“Yeah,” he whispered, his voice thick with something unspoken. “I guess I do.”

And when his baby girl finally came, his world cracked open in ways he never thought possible. Everything changed in an instant—the noise of the hospital, the rush of doctors, the sterile white walls—all of it faded into the background the moment he saw her. Tiny, fragile, perfect. His heart seemed to stop and race at the same time as the nurse handed her to him, her soft whimpers breaking through the silence like a delicate melody.

Rafe had never known he could love something this much. Not until he was holding his daughter in his arms, her little fingers curling instinctively around his thumb, her eyes barely opening to reveal the softest hint of blue. In that moment, every bad decision he’d ever made, every reckless move, every mistake—it all faded away. Nothing mattered anymore except this.

She was his.

His chest felt tight, his throat constricting as he tried to wrap his head around it all. The weight of responsibility hit him like a wave, but it wasn’t fear that came with it. It was a sense of purpose, a deep, unshakable need to protect her, to give her everything. To never let her feel the kind of emptiness he’d grown up with.

You were lying in the bed, exhausted but glowing, watching him with a tired but content smile. Rafe caught your gaze and smiled back, tears threatening to spill over as he gently cradled your daughter against his chest, her tiny body fitting perfectly in the crook of his arm.

“She’s so small,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion, barely above a breath. He felt like he was holding the most precious thing in the world, something so delicate he was terrified of breaking her. But at the same time, he didn’t want to let her go. Ever.

“She’s perfect,” you murmured, your voice soft and full of warmth. “She’s ours.”

Rafe swallowed hard, blinking back the tears that were quickly clouding his vision. His thumb gently brushed over the soft tufts of hair on his daughter’s head, his heart swelling with so much love it almost hurt.

“She’s more than perfect,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “I—I don’t even know what to say.”

You smiled gently, reaching out for his hand. “You don’t have to say anything. You’re doing it, Rafe. You’re already her father.”

The words hit him like a punch to the chest. He’d never been sure if he’d be good enough for this, good enough for you, for the family you’d built together. But looking at his daughter, her tiny face so serene in his arms, he knew he’d never stop trying. He’d move mountains, tear down the sky, do anything and everything to keep her safe.

Rafe stood there for what felt like hours, rocking her gently as you dozed off, exhausted from labor. He couldn’t take his eyes off his daughter, couldn’t believe she was real. She had your nose, your delicate features, and he could already see hints of his own wild streak in her.

It terrified him, and yet it filled him with a pride he couldn’t put into words.

As she shifted slightly in his arms, letting out the tiniest yawn, Rafe felt his entire world center itself around her. His priorities had changed in an instant, everything he’d once thought was important—money, power, even his own survival—seemed so insignificant now. The only thing that mattered was the little girl sleeping soundly against his chest.

He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, his lips lingering as he whispered, “I’m never letting you go. I promise.”

And in that moment, he meant it. Every word.

He didn’t need anything else—no approval from his family, no redemption from his past. He had you, and now he had her. His little family. A family that was his to protect, his to love, his to spoil with every fiber of his being.

Rafe knew he’d made mistakes—plenty of them—but as he held his daughter close, he made a silent vow to her. He’d be better. He’d always be better for her.

Because now, his world wasn’t just about him anymore. It was about her, about you. And for the first time in his life, he had something worth fighting for that didn’t come with strings attached or conditions. It was just love. Pure, overwhelming, unconditional love.

And Rafe Cameron was never going to let that go.

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↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[ohlawdthebirds]

Date Night

Platonic!141 x reader

Synopsis: You and Gaz discover Soap's date night present for Ghost.

A/n: And if you find yourself asking why Soap left Ghost’s gift in the bathroom…let’s just say he was making sure it worked properly.

Daily Click for Palestine

Banner credits to @cafekitsune

There were several pros and cons that came with sharing a flat with four other members of the armed forces. Among the various pros were having basically four live-in guard dogs that kept you safe. Among the various cons however…well…erm…

-

Gaz gently called your name from where he stood in your doorway. You slid your headphones from your ears and looked at him expectantly. You noted his sheepish, almost embarrassed look and the way he refused to meet your eyes. You asked if he was alright but instead of answering, he lobbed a question your way.

“Did you…” Gaz cleared his throat and began again, “I believe you’ve left something in the bathroom.”

Confusion was clear on your face. You were certain you hadn’t left anything in the main bathroom, save for your towel and washrag. Nevertheless, you got up and followed him. The moment you stepped into the bathroom your eyes immediately latched onto what had given Gaz such a fright.

“Good God almighty,” you coughed out. “T-that’s not mine! I don’t even think I could even fit something like…that in me.”

“That” in question was an absolute behemoth of a dildo, violently red and violently large. Nine inches in length and an inch and a quarter in girth. Huge silicone balls and all. It sat, almost menacingly, atop the toilet lid. There was something unnerving about it, in the way the sheer weight of its head caused the dildo to bow forward.

“Kyle…Kyle, I didn’t know they made dildos this big. Dude, who is shoving this in them?”

“That’s what I’m sayin’! Nearly screamed when I saw this. Was just tryin’ to take a shower and was greeted by this hunk of silicone.”

You stepped back to cower next to Gaz in the doorway. “This is spooky. That means there’s someone in this house that not only purchased it but is able to handle it.”

Gaz pressed in closer to you. “What kind of freak would do that?” he mused.

You wracked your brain for answers. “Well, I don’t think Price is the type to be a size queen. I feel like his toys would be a bit more modest.”

Gaz nodded. “And Ghost just doesn’t strike me as the type to leave his stuff about. So, that leaves only one person.”

“’Scuse me, gonnae need th’ twa of ye to move,” a voice said from behind you. In a flash, you and Gaz whipped around to make eye contact with Soap. He was unperturbed, shouldering past the two of you to get into the bathroom. He made a noise of satisfaction upon seeing the monstrous dildo. In one fluid move, he yanked it off the toilet lid, the suction cup underneath letting out a loud POP as it unstuck itself. Soap whistled a tune as he rooted around in the cupboards. He emerged holding a bottle of lube. He continued whistling as he waltzed past you and Gaz once more. Before he fully left your lines of sight, he turned back around, a devilish glint in his eyes.

“By th’ way, Ah suggest ye twa git good headphones fer th’ night. It’s Simon n’ Ah’s date night. N’ this,” Johnny held up the monstrous dildo, “Is his gift.”

Needless to say, you camped out in Gaz’s room that night, as it was the farthest from Soap and Ghost’s shared room. The two of you kept your headphones on tight and your music cranked up. Price, upon receiving the memo that his subordinates were dancing the devil’s tango, booked a room at a nearby hotel and was not seen until you gave him the all-clear via text the next day.

[devskindawritingblog]

Heey, I was wondering if you could write a Natalie x rich!reader who loves to spoil Nat, and she doesn't know what to do with all that attention.

Like, they're at a record store where they usually hang out, but this time is different cause they're finally together, so r says that Natalie could get whatever she wanted and that r would pay for it and Nat doesn't know how to react, maybe getting a little defensive

Click to help Palestine 🇵🇸 🍉

And I love her

Natalie scatorccio x reader

AN: I tried to do a song title, but I don’t know any like nirvana songs. So I picked one that I felt kind of went with the vibe. Please don’t come for me nirvana fans 😂😂😅😅. This request sounded much like @yameoto Natalie bot. So I want to make sure I say that here. This is my own fic but I’m like 99% sure it’s based of her bot. But please check her bots out, they are great.

word count rounded: 3.4K

divider from @strangergraphics-archive

You and Nat have been together for a while now. You knew about her shitty family life and how she grew up. Everything Natalie got she worked for, she saved up for a while just to buy herself that leather jacket. But you grew up on the opposite side of the spectrum. Growing up on the other side of town, your parents were rich. Big house, lots of money; parents made six figures. You basically got anything anytime you wanted. It was a pretty lonely childhood. Your parents were also off on business and out of town most of the time.

So you spent a lot of time with Lottie, having lived in the same neighborhood. So when she joined the soccer team at the start of ninth grade, you joined with her. From there, you and Natalie became friends. At first, she didn't like you, but Nat never liked anyone at all. She thought you were annoying and a brat. You got everything you wanted, and she was jealous, and she knew it. She never thought you’d be nice.

One day, you invited the Yellowjackets team over to your house. Nat would never be caught dead at your sleepover, but she was curious about your home and, deep down, wanted to be close to you. She caught a ride with Van, as they lived close to each other. As Van pulls up to your house, Nat stares up at your house, raising an eyebrow at Van. ”Rich people, man,” Nat scoffs as Van shuts off the car, and they both get out, heading toward the house.  

Before Natalie could even knock, you swung open the door, already dressed in your pajamas. “Hey guys! Come in! Come in!” You usher them in before Van or Nat can even greet you. The other girls are in your bedroom getting set up for movie night. Natalie walks through your hallway, trailing behind you. She glances at old family photos of you when you were little. She tries not to notice that she smiles at an old photo of you as a toddler. 

She enters your bedroom after you as she feels the soft carpet underneath her feet. She walks in, taking it to your bedroom. It's much bigger than any room in her house. The girls are laid across your bed, and some are on beanbags on the floor. 

 She makes her way over to the end of your bed and notices a record player sitting on a table. She scoots closer, silently admiring it. She breaks out of her trance when Taissa throws a pillow at her. She whips around, scoffing dramatically and flipping her off. She positions herself at the end of your bed, focusing back on the girls trying to pick the movie, but every so often she finds herself staring at the record player.

 You move over while also sitting on the end of your bed as Shauna and Van argue over which movie is “the best." “You like it?” you ask, nudging Natalie's shoulder.

 “What? ” Natalia snaps out of her trance again to look over at her. “My record player. It was a gift from my last birthday. Do you like records?” You ask, staring at her as Natalie tries to process. “Uh, well yeah, I just don’t really have that much.” She trails off, avoiding your eyes. You understand what she means. 

People gossip all the time about how Natalie lives in a “dump” and how much of a “whore” she is. You knew she had it hard, but the girl that they were describing was nothing like the one sitting in front of you. 

You ended up dropping it and watching the movie with the girls. 

As the girls all filed out the next day, you noticed Natalie was still admiring your record player. You walk over again, tapping her on the shoulder. She jumps, clearly not hearing you approaching.

“Hey, you have a record player, right?” You ask as Natalie shifts, still embarrassed that she was caught again. “Uh.. yeah. Old thing. It used to be my grandpa's, but he’s gone, so he let me have it.” Natalie replies a little awkwardly. "Oh, I'm so sorry.” You respond sympathetically. “No, it's alright. I didn’t really see him often when I was little.” Nat responds, trailing off, still awkward.

“What albums do you have?” you ask excitedly as you sit down on your bed next to her. “Uh, well, it's mostly my dad's old ones. I have Guns & Roses and Metallica. And my grandpa had an Elvis Presley one.” She states, naming them off. “Nice, I’m kind of a music "freak,” so to speak. I go to the record shop at least once a month. I don’t always buy new records, but I love to look at them. Wanna check out my collection?” You basically jump off your bed, grab her hand, and drag her over to your bookshelf. Natalies smiles a little, never having seen someone so excited to show her vinyls.

 “OK! So obviously, Madonna, AC/DC, Kate Bush, and Stevie Nicks I was so excited to get this one. Whitney Houston, Janet Jackson, and The Smashing Pumpkins as well. Ooh! Nirvana, the Cranberries. You go on and on, showing her your extensive collection. She wants to be annoyed, but deep down, she knows it’s pretty cool.  

“You have Nirvana. That’s so cool. I wish I could get their albums.” Natalie says it mostly to herself. “You want to barrow?” You ask, holding it out for her to take. Natalie locks eyes with you and is almost confused by the fact that you're not a bitch to her. “Wha-t? No. No, I couldn't; it's your record.” She says she is pushing her hand out. “It’s one of my least favourites anyway. I’m not going to miss it; I have so many Nat.” You insist on putting it in her hand. 

After much convincing, Natalie takes it home. She listens to it and couldn’t possibly be happier. She brings it back to you at school because you share an English class. “So what did you think?“ you ask, smiling. “Really good; I love it.” She smiles back, and that’s the first time you’ve seen Natalie Scatorccio smile, let alone look at you at school. 

 “Why don’t you keep it then? Gotta be honest, I’ve only listened to it once.” You say, passing it back. “ uh…. It’s alright, really. I don’t need it.” She replies awkwardly again. “Okay, Nat. I’m going to ask you a question and just answer with yes or no.” You say, and she narrows her eyebrows but sighs and nods. 

“Do you like the album?” 

 “Yes”

 “Did you have a good time listening to it?”

 “Yes”

 “Do you want to keep it?”

 “Well………kinda…..” She replies, slowing down her words, and you raise your eyebrows before she sighs and gives in. “Fine, Yes.” She replies, trying not to sound too excited. “Yay!! It's going to go to a great, loving parent.” You smile, giggling at your own joke.

 After that moment, you and Natalie Scatroccio became so close. It really shocked both of you and the whole school. The whispers and rumours didn’t bother you. You now have someone to talk about music with and share yours with. You began hanging out at the record store together almost once a week. Digging through the albums and talking for hours about music. Sometimes you would buy something, but Natalie would never. 

 She wouldn't express it, but money was really tight lately, and she didn't have the type of money to spend on a new record. Her dad would also get mad at her for “wasting” her money. She already has three records. How many more could she need? Mostly, her dad didn’t like seeing her happy, and he craved control. So she would mostly follow you around; you picked them out, and if asked, she would make something up at first. After spending crazy amounts of time together, you picked up on things. You never went over to her house; you never met her parents or even learned about them.

But you also picked up on her favourite songs and artists. Her likes and dislikes. She was such a closed-off person, and you wanted to learn everything you could about her. You found out her birthday and her favourite foods. After hanging out with her as friends for months on end, you developed feelings. And unbeknownst to you, she did as well, not that she would admit it to a single soul. 

You decided to just go for it. You invited Natalie over under disguise to show her your “new record." She was a little suspicious because anytime you went to the record store, it was with Natalie. But still, she shrugged it off. She had grown fond of you, and much more than that. She comes over and lets herself in, seeing that your parents are away again. She heads up for you calling out to tell you that she is over. When you don’t respond, she furrows her brow, calling out again before she makes it to your bedroom and opens the door.

She finds you wearing one of your favourite outfits, quickly whips around, and hides something behind your back. “Hey!! Nat, you’re here!!” You say it overly enthusiastically. She can’t help but laugh at your inability to play it cool, but she decides not to press you about it. You smile a little too wide and hide whatever you have under a blanket. “Come in! Come in!” You say, shutting your door and pulling her so she is sitting next to you on your bed. “Hi, are you good?: she asks, smiling at your eagerness.

 “Me? Yeah, wonderful, so great.” You respond a little too quickly. "Soo, what's the new record you got?” Natalie inquiries. “What?” You respond, your face twisted into confusion. “OH! Right! Uh, that was a lie.” You decided not to lie to her this time and just ripped off the bandage.

“Well, the truth is... I don’t have a new record. I haven’t been there since our last hangout. But I knew it would get you over here. The thing is, I have been thinking about us recently. I love hanging out with you; you’re one of my best friends. But I don’t just want to be your friend. When I hang out with you, I never want it to end. You just kind of get me, and you love what I love. I guess what I'm saying is that I like you a lot." You confess, finally making eye contact with her, trying to read her expression. You reach behind you and pass her another Nirvana album with a cute little handwritten letter.

 You find her staring back at you, her expression extremely unreadable. Her face is twisted into confusion, as you can see her thinking intensely. “Really?” Natalie finally asks quietly, almost worried about saying it too loud for fear of you making fun of her.

 “Yeah! You think I insisted on giving you my record because I wanted to just be friends? I want to be your girlfriend, Nat." You proclaim, grabbing her hands and smiling. You see her face light up and smile back. “I want to be your girlfriend too!”. She admits, and you smile, tackling her in a hug on your bed. She yelps in surprise as you giggle. She lands on her back, and you hover over top of her.

She looks up at you, placing her hands on your hips before looking at your lips. “Can I kiss you?”. She asks as you smile and nod. She pulls you down, capturing your lips in a kiss. She rolls over, and you laugh as she hovers over you now, pulling you back into the kiss. You both spend the rest of the night cuddling in bed and listening to music together. 

It's now been over a year since you asked her to be your girlfriend. It was a Saturday morning. You slowly woke up to the soft glow of the sun through your white curtains. You tried to rub your eyes, but Natalie was cuddled up to you, her arms locked around your arms, which were by your side. You smile softly, tugging an arm free to fix your hair and rub your eye of sleep. 

You smile, reaching up to run your fingers through her freshly blonde, messy hair. You lean closer to give her a kiss on the nose, giggling to yourself as her nose scrunches up. She blinks awake and groans, burying her face in yours. “Babe”. She whines, “Your blinds don’t do anything." She rewraps her arms around you, holding you as close as she can. “I like them, Natty; it’s nice and bright in here. It helps wake me up." You say, kissing her forehead and tracing your fingers down her spine. 

“If you needed help waking up, I'm sure I could help you with that." She smirks, pulling her head out of your chest. Her eyes finally adjusted to the light. You roll your eyes and giggle, "Uh, huh, and how are you going to do that, babe?”. You smirk, pushing her hair behind her ear.

“I can think of a few ideas...”. She trails off before you feel her hand sneak under your pyjama shirt. She places her hands on your hips and pulls you into a heated kiss. You wrap your arms around her neck as she kisses you deeply. She pulls back after a few minutes before she finds her way to your neck. 

You glance over at the time and almost push Natalie off, trying to sit up. She whines and pushes you back onto your pillow. “Baby, come on. It’s Saturday”. Natalie whines into your neck as you giggle at how whiney she is when you interpret your guys' make-out time. “I have a surprise, Natty. Fine, one more kiss." You give in as Natalie makes out with you again. She finally pulls away and sits up, getting off the bed with you as both of you get ready.

It was your one-year anniversary, and you both have been talking about what you want to do. You told Natalie that you didn’t need anything for it because she was already enough. But unbeknownst to you, she saved up a bit to buy you a CD. She wanted to buy you a walkman, but they were way too expensive. She understood why she was never able to get on when she was younger, even now.

"Baby, I have a gift for you.” Natalie says, smiling shyly as she pulls out a CD in the case with a cute pink ribbon tied around it in a bow. "Awwww, babe, you didn’t need to get me anything. Today is already perfect because of you.” You smile, but take it from her, pulling her into a hug and a soft kiss as she wraps her arms around your waist. 

 “I saved up a bit; I wanted to do something nice for our anniversary. And we both love our music." She smiles, proud of herself that you liked it. You both pull back, but you pull her back into another kiss. 

 “I have a little surprise for you, but it's not here right now. It's more of an activity; get ready, then we can go." You say, pulling her into a little kiss and smirking. The both of you got ready and took your car to the record store. As you pull up, Natalie grabs your other hand, smiling. “Our hangout spot?”. You nod and kiss her cheek, shutting off your car and holding Natalie's hand as you walk in. 

 You enter the shop together, and you both walk around looking at all the records together. Natalie eyes up a certain album—the first album you gave her. She cherished it; it was so special to her. Before her dad died, he came home drunk out of his mind, and when he heard Natalie’s music coming from her room, he went in there and broke it. She went over to your house and stayed over for a few nights. She apologized to no end, and you comforted her all night before she fell asleep and cuddled with you.

Same with the day her father died. You went over to her house for the first time because Natalie wanted to show you her mixtape, and that's when it happened. He came home early and shoved you out of her house. You didn’t want to leave her, but you didn't have a choice. You called her house phone every hour, praying and stressing about her. You ended up finally throwing on a sweater and heading to your front door. 

 You swing it open and find Natalie, her eyeliner smudged and running. Her face was speckled with blood. You were in shock and pulled her into your house, bringing her to your bathroom and wiping the blood off her face. She didn't say anything the whole time; she was visibly shaking. You brought her back into your room and let her cuddle with you.

 She told you everything after an hour. It all just came out at once. She broke down, talking about how it's her fault and how you should hate her. You, of course, didn’t hate her. The first time you met her dad was that day, and you already knew you didn't like him. You reassured her until she cried herself to sleep in your arms.

 After that, you knew she couldn't live like that, so you offered her to stay with you. She was reluctant at first, but she also wasn't super excited to go live alone with her mom. So in the end, she decided she would stay with you. Having your girlfriend with you every day was great, and knowing she was safe was another layer of happiness.

 As you watched Natalie stare at the album that started all of this, you went over, wrapped your arms around her waist, and kissed her on the cheek. You knew about what her dad did to the last album and knew it would be a great gift. “That's my gift to you, baby; I'm going to buy you the album." You say, "Smiling." "Awwww, babe, that's so sweet. I know you're sentimental, but that's adorable.” 

 She grabs the album and turns around, giving you a little kiss. "Oh, and the second part: Do you want anything else? I'll buy you whatever albums you want for today." You say as you take the album from Nat, holding it for her.

 “What? Babe, come on. I don’t even need the first album.” she counters 

“It's our anniversary; you bought me a CD. I get to spoil you. We are not going to argue about this because I am not leaving her until you let me buy them." You say back, insisting. 

“You already got me a place to stay, and I don't deserve this." She says she is getting a bit defensive. 

You stop stepping closer and hugging her. “You deserve the world, Nat. I want to spoil you, and I won’t take no for an  answer." You pulled back, looking into her eyes, not relenting until she sighed, and you smiled in triumph, giggling excitedly.

 She walks around the shop at a slow pace. She was still reluctant to pick out albums. But you ended the day with six new records. It took even longer to convince her because after every one she picked out, she tried to talk you out of it. You doubled down, and she knew you wouldn't give up. 

You both returned home and cuddled in your bed while listening to her new records together. She thanked you more, and you again told her that she was worth it. She told you she would do something better on our next anniversary. But you told her she didn't need to. Being your girlfriend was already enough for you. You didn’t need things to know how much she loved you, and neither did Natalie, but new records are pretty good.

[thatguywhomightbeagirl]

You mother fuckers astound me, truly. You had Biden and who has two big negatives

- the question of his mental capacity

- his stance regarding Palestine

Now that Harris is up to bat you idiots are still like ���aw I don’t know’ what the fuck? She’s not 80 years old, she has previously been kinder to Palestine when the potus she serves under seemed to make his stance very clear. WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT!?

‘I didn’t like Biden but now that there is someone that’s better and still has a chance I’m going to vote independent’ or ‘I live in X state so my vote doesn’t matter I’m gonna vote independent’

You’re in a fucking tug of war for your life and the lives of those around you. ‘There’s some super buff people on the other side, but we can work together and win this to make sure women actually have rights’

And you idiots are like ‘no I don’t think I’m gonna make a difference in a tug of war for the fate of my soul, I’m just gonna go play basketball where the rings are 50ft high and the ball is deflated. But good luck though.’

Like I get that OnE vOtE dOeSnT dEcIdE the ElEcTiOn but a hundred votes does and those hundred votes are made up of one hundred single votes and I know it’s how it works in the US cause your country is a million kinds of fucked but what is the harm in trying to do the thing that could actually help people?

‘But she used to be a cop’

You absolute morons. I’ve seen so many people say this. I get it, I don’t like police I really don’t, but in what world is a politician really that much better? AND IN WHAT WORLD IS THE AVERAGE COP WORSE THAN ronald drumpf?

You dense shits decide to say ACAB because it gets you fucking brownie points but when you can actually choose not to help evil and malice you decide to look the other way because you don’t want people calling you out on what’s on your profile?

‘I won’t vote for the best choice because I wanna slide in the dms of this vegan trans girl’ fuck off. Did she work in a place that’s 99%filled with the worst fucking white men you know? Yeah she did but the alternative is John Wayne Gacy but he owns a bunch of properties. Do you know how much worse he is than the average police officer? I know it’s not really easy to compare evils and there’s lots of problems with it but this feels pretty cut and dry. One had jobs that people I don’t like have the other has committed some of the worst crimes imaginable and continues to enforce systems that allow them to happen.

For the love of God get your head out of your ass and vote blue, I don’t care if trump jr is announced as the newest Democrat choice, almost anyone is better than trump. It’s like if Ronald Reagan had late stage dementia or someone who seems comparable to Obama who was a very well received president and you bitches are letting Reagan go so the onlyfans girl feels comfortable calling you a good (gender).

I appreciate the idea that if the good option won’t win you guys are happy to go with what you think is the perfect option. But the perfect option has a 0% chance to win and you are doubling down there when the great option has a 40% chance to win and by going with the 0% chance it gets more likely that the absolute worst nuclear option wins?

Some of you truly astound me.

[aizenat]

That Maya girl is the dumbest most egotistical fake activist I’ve ever seen in my entire life. Like I have to wonder if she was a long time psyop operative because how can she be this stupid?

I feel so bad for Palestinians suffering in Gaza because while they’re suffering, she’s on tik tok pissing black people off in their names and calling it activism.

Also, it is clear to me that Muslims in America do NOT speak for Palestinians at all. I think some are trying to use the situation in Gaza to advocate against Islamophobia as a whole and it’s like bruh a time and a place. Palestinians in Gaza want Kamala in office but YALL are telling us to not vote for Kamala to “punish” (their direct words) her and democrats? And that’s helping Palestinians how? And every time you ask that, how not voting helps them, they talk about sending messages and Palestinians don’t need messages being sent to politicians, they need someone who can pressure Netanyahu into a ceasefire! And guess who is already doing that while their opponent said they wanted to give Netanyahu the means to “finish the job”?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!

Like, I can’t understand the ego of these people. I can’t imagine claiming to be advocating for people experiencing a genocide in real time and telling people in one of the countries with SOME power to help to NOT vote for the side that would pressure and support a peaceful resolution! Especially when people IN Palestine want that side! Do you think you in your western nation where you go to school and get to wear nice comfy clothes made by slave wage workers and get to make tik toks on a phone with materials mined by enslaved children should be speaking over Palestinians? Do you think you know better than they do what they need? Why do you think we should be listening to YOU over THEM???????

That is what really gets me. It’s like when ppl create all these useless programs claiming it’s to help black people but it doesn’t do shit and when we tell ppl that they just pat our heads like we’re silly niggers who don’t know what we need and just let the white (and non black poc) tell us what we need. Like hello I’m living this life and I know the EXACT help I need! You offering me shit I don’t need isn’t helping!

It’s the same thing! Palestinians are like “hi, can you make sure Trump doesn’t win so we can continue these negotiations and get food out here and maybe we can return to our homes to rebuild?” And yall said “silly Palestinians in Gaza, I know what you need: FOR US TO NOT VOTE FOR KAMALA AND LET TRUMP WIN TO STICK IT TO THE DEMOCRATS FOR NOT DOING ENOUGH!”

Like what is WRONG with you ppl?????

[fischerbees]

Bite Me!

click to help palestine before reading

[word count: 3953]

VI. Worry Knot

His eyes snapped open but he could not see. His legs were leading him somewhere but he had no idea where he was. All of his senses were drowned out, the only thing he was aware of was the herd of horses stomping right beside his ear. Or inside his head. Definitely not inside his chest and that was wrong. For some reason, he was sure it was not the only thing completely amiss.

The weird feeling forced him awake, put a dark bag over his head and the next thing he knew, he was trying to escape. Hopefully. Whatever was happening made alarm bells go off in his head, created vacuums inside his lungs, threw sticks and branches under his feet, so it was a miracle he somehow managed to remain somewhat upright and did not plummet to the ground right away. 

He let his legs do their thing as he had not the slightest idea where to go or what to do. He just needed to get away. Something was wrong, so wrong, and escaping was the only thing on his mind. The panicked rush will probably leave him with some bruises, although if he hit anything on his way, he did not process any of it. Either it was pitch-black wherever he was or his eyes were good for nothing. Technically both could be right but why think about even worse possible scenarios when he already felt like dying?

Once there was not enough air and energy, he could only hope this was a place where he could be heard and found. He could only hope he managed to bang his fists against the wood because, over the loud thumping, it was difficult to recognise any other sound.

Was it his heart going crazy or just him?

“Cole,” someone else rasped out. It had to be someone else, he had no recollection of opening his mouth, let alone having the strength to speak. “Cole. Are you there? Cole?” His shaken words hung in the air and he clung to them. He could only hope someone would come to save him. Someone, anyone, really. Kai was sure he was going to die right then and there, one hundred per cent, if not because of his malfunctioning lungs, then because of whatever was coming after him.

There was something coming after him, there were footsteps. He was a dead man, he was a dead, dead man. Cornered, ready to be slaughtered without any hassle as he lacked the strength to put up a fight. His mind was filled with useless junk of thoughts clustered in a chaotic ball that zipped around erratically at lightning speed. Escape. It was like a lonesome billboard on a dark highway but his body would not obey.

“Kai, what the hell are you doing? You’re gonna wake everybody up!”

The voice, although almost drowned out by the heartbeat, was a small flicker of light. Just the tiniest flicker of a firefly but at least now he could see he wasn’t swallowed by complete darkness. There seemed to be shapes around him. Unfortunately it also meant he was unable to flee freely. Contained. Actually cornered, set to worry what might be hiding just behind the turn.

“Kai? Bud?”

The moment he got near, Kai used the opportunity to grasp onto his pyjamas. It was so much better than to plead the unyielding walls to keep him standing, even if all of his muscles could equal to sacks of wet flour.

He desperately wanted to scream into his face but all that came out of his mouth was a weak, “Am I dying?” like a last puff of steam from a machine that gave up. Reality shook along with him but he was not dreaming, was he? No, there were too many sweat-drenched clothes for it to be a dream.

“Oh no, as long as I’m alive, you’re not dying, buddy.” Then came more words. Kai tried to focus on his mouth in order to understand him but it only did the opposite. He did not intend on stopping anytime soon, however.

The living room was one of the few rooms where they all could bundle in and still have some personal space. Which would probably have some value if there was anyone in the house who grasped the concept of personal space. It was, in most cases, an oasis of comforting memories, evil was not allowed there. Even food crimes were prohibited behind its door. Pillows on the couch required to be frequently fixed or newly bought, it would not be a proper game night without feathers bursting out of the pillowcases.

Maybe that was why Jay led him in there, because things were always so easy in the living room. At least so it seemed. It was designed to wind down, to relax. Just Kai kept ruining it with his consistent frowning at the dead TV screen. He had to keep reminding himself to relax his jaw, only to clench it again and again. He was freaking out over nothing but even when he gained enough conscience to realise that, the uneasiness never left his side. Sticking to him like another coating of his skin, it made all his hair rise and muscles twitch in need of movement.

It felt like hours before he could breathe regularly again and even then he remained tied up, thrown away in the corner of his own head.

What was he doing? He can't just sit around doing nothing! He was an easy target, a sitting duck, simply waiting for its predator to use the opportunity, to jump out of its hiding spot… A pair of eyes burning right into his back, through his spine into the spinal cord. Claws gnawing at his skin, seductively teasing to tear all of it off until another rush of goosebumps threw him back to reality.

He was at the monastery. At home. Home filled with elemental masters or spinjitzu, armed with otherworldly technology, what was there to be so afraid of? Which part of him was the one being irrational? The feeling just would not budge.

“Something’s wrong.” Kai sprung up from his spot on the couch and paced around the room, tugging at his hair. “Something’s seriously wrong.”

“What’s wrong, Kai?” 

“I don’t know! But something is definitely wrong, I feel it in my bones.” And cells and every single one of his nerves. The sound of a wildly thumping heart made him want to bash his head through a wall just to make it stop. Just shut up, please.

“Did you have one of those, um, prophetic dreams? Like Zane?” Jay asked, timidly looking over him from his spot on the couch as if Kai was going to combust into flames any second.

He refrained from answering, that would probably dig his hole only deeper. All he had was a weird feeling, what exactly was he afraid of? It could be a bad dream he didn’t remember. He would also rather avoid having to say anything about the weird quirk of his mind lately, that was between him and Cole and it was enough. No more people needed to know about it.

So he let Jay talk him down and he did take the tea from him. He might have set it to boil in his own hands, it was too cold no matter how heated up he felt.

His spine prickled in alert no matter what Jay said but numbly listening to his rambled attempts at calming him down was tangibly better than weeping to himself because of a stupid, nonexistent heartbeat. Two dragons fought for the prey and it meanwhile ran away; now that the two noises clashed, Kai had a little window to think.

He was losing the ground underneath his feet lately and realising so only made it worse. Crying and hyperventilating in the hallway? That was so not him, he had years to gain control over his emotions, he can’t just stumble like this. Now he had Jay watching over him as if his life depended on it which was considerate but Kai would have preferred to beat himself up over it in privacy.

On the other hand, he appreciated not being alone.

He could talk about it to someone. He could. After all, it would not be the first time admitting defeat, and it wasn’t the end of the world before. Maybe he could speak to Cole first, once he gets the sleep he needs. If they don’t figure something out together, then they come up with the next plan of action. Yeah, talking to Cole was always easy, he will just wait for morning to come…

“Knowing you, you could use some distraction, how ‘bout that?” Kai could only hum, until now, everything Jay said went one ear in and out the other without leaving a trace. “You ever did origami?”

Well that sprung some life back into him. Turning to him, Kai frowned, this time with a clear target. “Last time I checked, we’re not the old married couple.”

“Come on, it’s a relaxing activity and you can make pretty cool stuff with it.”

“Like what? Pop-up Valentine cards? Folding paper, fun.”

“Hey, it’s not about what you make, it’s about keeping your mind occupied so it can’t freak you out.” Kai rolled his eyes, back to staring at the black screen. Jay hurried to get up. “I’m getting some papers,” he said, already leaving the room.

Curse the others for sleeping in the middle of the night. Kai hissed after him, “If you seriously think I’m gonna do origami, you’re even stupider than I thought!”

__________________________________________

Kai spent the entire night folding colourful papers into different animals. In front of him, Jay dozed off on the conference table. His steady breathing morphed together with the birds’ singing outside and Kai did not register any of it. Once he got into the motions, he got hypnotised. In front of his eyes was just another piece of paper until it turned into another creation, helping the ridiculous pile grow. It was quiet – at least Kai thought it was – and the silence was addicting.

“Good morning, Kai.” Finally morning?

Kai turned to see Zane standing in the doorway, eyebrows raised as he watched him fold without looking. “Morning, Zane, wanna crane?” He reached out with his hand, showing off another crane sitting in the palm. Zane stepped forward and took it from him, his eyebrows still too high for comfort. “Did you know you get a lifetime of happiness if you fold a thousand of ‘em? I lost count.”

“I take it your insomnia is still going?” His eyes moved to Jay drooling on the table.

“We’re getting a happy ever after, didn’t you get the wedding invite? Together forever,” Kai sing-sang. The lack of sleep was seriously getting to his head, that’s what was going on.

Of course Zane completely glossed over his words. “Your adrenaline levels are higher than usual, did something occur?”

“Nothing you have to worry your brilliant brain about.” Kai stretched into the air, away from all the paper. That was more than enough for the rest of his life. “You’re making breakfast?”

“Kai, when it comes to your well-being, I need you to be more honest with me. It is for your own good.”

At least he could avoid eye contact with all the stretches he had to do to bring his muscles and bones back to life. Yep, never again. “Fine. I might have panicked over a stupid dream and Jay found me. Nothing serious.” Wiping off Zane’s sceptical face proved to be pointless. “Honestly.”

After that, Zane indeed went to make breakfast, but it was painfully clear he was not satisfied with Kai’s answers. Oh well, he can live with it, disappointing others was his shtick after all. It was also easier to handle than admitting he might be losing his mind. It was stupid. Plus, if he was going to Cole with this, he was not doing anything bad in the end, right?

As the sun rose and lit up the world some more, the rest of the team began waking up and shuffling into the dining room, from where the smell of fresh food travelled into their bedrooms, luring them out. Jay had a hard time trying to not fall asleep on his plate of eggs, Nya kept glancing Kai’s way as she got the same half-hearted excuse as Zane from him.

The spot next to him was cold with Cole’s absence. They did not sit side by side every single morning but right now Kai would welcome him being there. Maybe their shoulders would bump into each other, maybe he would tease Lloyd’s stormy looks, the hypocrite. When Kai was busy with all the night patrols and fighting his sleep bankruptcy during the day, the lack of time they spent together didn’t faze him much. On the other hand, now that he stopped and everything could catch up, he woefully missed hanging out with him.

Well, if Cole feels better, Kai could replace Zane in the caretaking. He had to make up for the way he shut him off yesterday.

After the enervated breakfast, they all went their own way – Lloyd was going to prepare some exercises, looking enthusiastic and filled with energy in the morning as ever, Zane sent Nya to Cole’s room with breakfast before he went on to clean up, and Jay beelined to his bed. While Kai considered giving Cole some time, he found himself following Nya’s footsteps, too restless to wait for Cole to have his breakfast and properly wake up.

Halfway there, he ran into her and they spoke at the same time,

“I can’t find Cole.”

“How’s Cole? I need to– What?” Kai furrowed his eyebrows, looking between her and the food she was carrying. Untouched.

“He’s not anywhere in his room!” Nya’s voice was ready to jump to incredible heights.

“Well– Maybe he’s in the bathroom or something, you know how he is.” She left him with a frustrated grunt, Kai trailed behind her, peeking through open door for a glimpse of Cole.

When living with a team of ninja, it becomes normal that finding someone might take a while unless they have the decency to let others know of their whereabouts. So Kai was not stressed out, knowing Cole, he probably just wanted to have some ime for himself after being under the watchful eye of everyone in the house. Until the number of rooms remaining to check shrunk in no time, and no one else saw him that morning yet, and,

“What do you mean gone? He’s been bedridden for a week! He couldn’t walk to the WCwithout sounding like a dying horse!” Maybe that was why Jay didn’t drink coffee, his own voice must have been more than enough.

Lloyd stepped into the conversation before it could get a chance to explode, taking the plate from Nya, although it was almost empty anway. The sun barely cam eup and she was already stress-eating. 

“Guys we can’t start freaking out now. Cole might need our help, not our yelling.” Piercing green eyes jabbing into the lightning ninja, as if the redhead could see anything through his bird nest of hair.

“Right, maybe he just ventured somewhere, over-confident that he doen’t need our help. As usual.” Nya’s sigh spoke of murder, no mercy for the ill. Kai looked over everyone assembled in the courtyard, arms crossed, wooden beam boring into his spine. The tension could be sliced and served on a plate, despite Lloyd’s best efforts. This was a fairly new kind of situation, losing someone right under their noses, where they deemed safe.

“Who saw him last?” All eyes turned to him, Kai’s cue to stop digging his nails into his palm and pay attention to the conversation. His muscles itched to start doing something more useful than to idly stand around and chat.

“What? I haven’t seen him since dinner. I cleaned up and went to sleep, you guys were hanging around.”

“Oh boy…” Jay’s face turned pale and his eyes comically widened as he covered his mouth. For some reason he looked even worse when his and Kai’s gazes met.

“Don’t be so cryptic, Jay, spill it,” Nya commanded when he decided to keep them all waiting in anticipation.

“I think I was the last one to see Cole,” Jay muttered, then put his face into his hands, letting out something between a whine and a groan. “He said he just wanted to take a short walk after the food. I shouldn’t’ve let him go by himself! I’m an idiot.”

“Yeah you are.”

“Kai!” Great, he was the target again.

“What? He said it himself, didn’t he?”

Completely unfazed by the stressed-out chaos, Zane prodded further. “Jay, did you see where he went?”

While Jay uncovered his eyes to look over them all, his mouth remained hidden, his words coming out  abit muffled. “I thought he was just gonna pace behind the walls for a little! He seemed happy with the trees in the afternoon…”

“We would hear it if he got in trouble, though.” Kai wanted to get rid of the image in his head but his brain had a mind of its own. Memories came flooding and Jay’s intense stare wasn’t helping. “He must’ve worn himself out, he’s probably witing for us to find him, you know.”

“Something’s wrong…” Jay muttered, now relentlessly staring at Kai. “Kai, what if–”

Nope. No, this was not on the program for that day. No, he was supposed to talk to Cole first. “Shut up.”

“But–”

“What?” Nya jumped into their so-called conversation, only for them all to be silenced by Lloyd again.

“Guys, calm down! We have to start looking for Cole. Kai, you wait here if he happens to get here before us or something.”

“What? No. Why! Wu and Pix can do it, why do I have to stay here?”

“It’s strategic.”

“It’s stupid. I can help.”

“You’re sleep-deprived and not in the right headspace, it’s better this way, trust me.”

He kept frowning the entire time the rest prepared some things to bring along (first-aid box being one of them but everyone was nonchalant, of course), he burned them with his stare as they walked outside the gate but the farther they went, the faster his fury extinguished into fear. His fists were quivering even when he clenched them with all his strength, his breath became unsteady and his eyes burned from time to time but he refused to let anything out. Jay wasn’t too far off. What is this was it? What if Cole got into trouble, his gut feeling screamed for him to do something and he just ignored it? What if Cole was— No. But it would be his fault. But it wouldn’t be this easy. Cole wouldn’t go out without a proper fight. Cole would never—

Thank Master for the wooden dummies always being there to welcome his inner conflicts bursting to the surface.

__________________________________________

His eyes burned as if the sun was right in front of him but once he got used to it, there was barely any light. Branches were crossing the sky, lightly swaying in the breeze, he could hear some birds sing above him. It was definitely earlier than he was used to waking up and it showed – everything ached, everything hurt and all he wanted was to roll over and continue where he left off.

It took a long while of staring at the forest canopy for everything to click; for him to realise that the sight was wrong. Trees? Those weren't the cherry blossoms behind the monastery's wall.

Cole jolted up, then quickly regretted it as he fell back on the ground. Did he pull every single one of his muscles? Broke all of his bones? More pain, he couldn't keep quiet. As if his body wanted to turn inside out, he lacked the strength to keep his sobs to himself.

As his senses began finally catching up, he realised how cold it was, how all the needles and cones and sticks and stones embed and stabbed into his back. He could feel wetness over his body but it was not raining and there was… blood on his hands?

They shook as he held them in front of his eyes. The darkness made it difficult to recognise the signature red colour but it for sure was not water, not even muddy.

At least he got his explanation for some of his throbbing pain. Now all he needed was an explanation for his weird bedding in the middle of a forest with deep gashes all over.

He was basically naked, bleeding out on the forest floor, this certainly took the cake as the worst nap he ever took. What on First Master's green earth.

His thoughts were jumbled and useless, he had to get moving, he had to get back up to the monastery. But even just turning around took so much effort. His body burnt and he was so cold. Luckily the woods were full of trees he could cling onto to stay straight, also luckily, the mountain didn't seem to be that far. It also meant there was probably no one who could witness him at his lowest. Was this good or bad? This was not a sight he would wish upon anyone else but his hopes for getting all the way home diminished the moment he saw the crimson pool he left behind.

The last thing he did… There was dinner, Kai was acting off, something about Uno… He just went for a walk? The stairs are wide, how could he manage to fall off? Branches would not make these kinds of wounds, no, something had to attack him.

Too much thinking, he needs to focus. He needs to get to the monastery fast, he was leaving a bloody trail behind and his eyes were getting heavy, this wasn't good. He cannot panic but it was the only comfort. Tears can’t block his vision, premonitions of his early death cannot cloud his mind, weakness cannot knock him down when he’s so close.

Not so close. Although the mountain was not far, it felt like it kept walking away as he tried to reach it. Chasing fog. And then, once that endless journey came to an end, came the stairs. The stairs leading into white clouds, he can’t even see the monastery and he wants to cry. Was it his home waiting there for him or was this already a different kind of journey? His body might as well be falling apart, piece by piece.

He has to keep crawling up, no matter what is waiting up there for him. He ignores salty tears mixing with sweet blood. He forces his defiant muscles to work… He can’t fight back the sparks of pain his bones shoot out.

Now it’s panic fueling him and he can’t make a sound to call for attention.

The stone is freezing cold and the shaking of his body just worsens the ache.

As much as his self-preservation instinct yells at him to go on, he can’t. He’s too weak. He’s too tired and cold and brethless. Why do they have to live on top of a mountain? Why was he losing touch with his senses for the second time?

This was it. This was how he dies. Naked and shivering, crying and bleeding onto the stairs leading up to the monastery. And the last thing he will see is a bunch of colourful blurs calling his name.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

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[hoghtastic]

I’m glad she posted that actually. This has been on my mind non stop recently. There are innocent people on both sides for sure. But they have to think, it is the Israeli GOVERNMENT that is attacking and murdering innocent people just for some land. It is HAMAS, a small terrorist group FROM Palestine that went in and started terrorizing people by their own free will, putting the lives of millions of their people at even higher stakes because they want to take revenge in defending Palestine the worst possible way. The Israeli government and Hamas is who we should be shaking our heads at, I’m absolutely disgusted by their actions. Isreal went about it all wrong immediately, from the beginning. 75 years ago, instead of asking to share the land, they stole it. Then put them off on one little piece of land to be stuck on for years so they can slowly, but surely, take them out. They were waiting for the perfect opportunity to do exactly what they are doing right now. The innocent lives of peoples children, parents, brothers, sisters and friends are being taken just for some land? some fucking profit? Its sick. And now my government decides to again put their nose where it doesn’t really belong (American) and sends 2 million (insanity) to ISREAL for support during these “hard times for them” (no gluten free bread omg 😱) but Palestinian children, pregnant women, wounded men and women, doctors, all of their civilians, all those people are sitting there with now food, no water, no electricity. ALL of the supplies they need to survive is being bought by go fundmes, and organization meant to help during this war, but is being hauled into trucks that are just sitting right outside their gate. None of it is being let in. And I bet the stuff on those trucks isn’t even enough to help with half the damage that’s been done to them and their home, and Bieden wants to send 2MILLION to isreal? It’s devastating honestly. There are people even talking about what they’re gonna do with that strip of land once they are “done” with Palestine?What the actual fuck is wrong with those people saying these things? Humanity is gone. There is a huge lack of empathy and just general concern for another persons being and it is so scary. We are too desensitized as a whole and that is exactly what has lead us to where our society is today, and what lead us to be witnessing this tragedy against Palestinian people.

Thank you so much for sharing your thoughts on this, anon! 😊🙏

You summarised it very well, and this statement from Johanne’s story says it all — people are not their governments. There are civilians on both sides, who didn’t want for any of this to happen, who are now suffering immensely. I thought in a modern world, nations could have learned from past mistakes and avoid such wars at all costs. There are innocent lives at stake, and just thinking about what these people are going through is both terrifying and heartbreaking. I pray that one day power-hunger and greed will be replaced by empathy and peace, but humanity (mostly those in positions of power) still has a long way to go… 😔

I wish we could do more to help/raise awareness, and even though this is just a small platform, if anyone has any links with information/petitions/donations and would like to share, please feel free to do so! 😊💖

[perfectlyvalid49]

I am afraid as a Jew.

I know that we are on the “how dare you say we piss on the poor” piss poor reading comprehension website, but the vast, vast majority of my original post is about the antisemitism that I experience in my life today, and the antisemitism that my ancestors experienced before Israel became a state. Zionism has little impact on either. If you can’t tell the difference between antisemitism and anti-Zionism, it may be that your anti-Zionism is antisemitic, whether you mean it to be or not.

You said that something didn’t sit right with you when you read my post, and I think that something is a part of you realizing that some of your behavior in your advocacy for Palestine is the sort of behavior that I and many other Jews view as antisemitic and you didn’t like that. The good news is that the discomfort you felt can lead to growth, but only if you let it.

I appreciate that you have Jewish friends, but the Jews that show up to pro-Palestinian marches are the sort who are the most tolerant of antisemitism, and the most likely to not call it out when they see it. The Jews who will not tolerate antisemitism have essentially been forced out of the pro-Palestine movement in the last six months for being “Zionists,” regardless of their actual political beliefs. Because of this, I’m not sure you are as educated on the subject matter as you think you are. I hope you will read this and that it will give you some things to think about, and maybe choose to learn more about.

In this post, if I am conflating Judaism and Zionism (and I think that’s happening more in your head than it is in the text), it is because the people who are attacking “Zionists” are attacking Jews. I don’t think the people who might hurt me are going to ask me my opinion on Israel before they strike, and in fact, I have seen people on this website call anti-Zionist Jews Zionists for doing something as simple as pointing out antisemitism, so even if they do ask, I will probably be found wanting.

In addition, there are more Christian Zionists in the United States than there are Jews in the world. And yet, I have not heard of a single Christian Zionist being attacked for their beliefs, nor are Christians routinely called upon to defend their views on Israel in the way that Jews are. Meanwhile, I have watched a non-Zionist Jew lie though his teeth to his six year old about why we all had to leave our synagogue so fast because “they hate us” is so, so hard to explain to a young child.

I’m actually going to ask you to answer your own question. Why would a post about JEWISH TRAUMA feel the need to mention the displacement of JEWS in Israel, but not the displacement in Gaza, a place where there are ZERO JEWS? Or am I not allowed to center myself and my people in a post about my experience of our communal pain? If not, could you imagine asking that of any other minority group?

I think that if you can call Gaza a concentration camp, you need to study up on either Gaza or the Holocaust. I am not saying that conditions there were good, nor am I saying that I think that they should have continued as they were. And I’m certainly not advocating for them continuing as they are. But to say the two are equivalent is like saying that Earth and Jupiter are both planets, so they are the same size. There are some key differences that you are missing. I made a quick chart.

The antisemitism of BDS is well documented. In particular it leaves a bad taste in my mouth because the House Representative from the district next to mine came to several synagogues in the area, claimed to be pro-Israel, and didn’t mention that BDS was part of her platform until after she was elected (literally, it was not on her website until after she was elected). I know that’s just the actions of one person, but that, in association with the movement’s antisemitic rhetoric, makes it worthy of inclusion on my list.

I went and googled a definition of apartheid, and got this from Cornell Law: “Apartheid refers to the implementation and maintenance of a system of legalized racial segregation in which one racial group is deprived of political and civil rights.” If Israel denies Arabs political and civil rights, how come Arabs serve at all levels of Israeli military and government, including sitting on their supreme court, holding office in the Knesset, and holding high ranking military positions? If your problem is with how Palestinians are treated, you must remember that Gaza and the West Bank are not actually a part of Israel (nor do they wish to be) and therefore the Palestinians living there do not live in Israel and are not Israeli citizens. Most countries have limits on what non-citizens can do, why should Israel be different? Palestinians should certainly be allowed to form their own country, and I’m in favor of a two state solution, myself. But it sounds like you don’t think Israel should exist. I’m curious as to why you’re in favor of Palestinian self-determination, but not Jewish self-determination.

It’s not genocide. Simply put, if Israel wanted to kill every man, woman and child in Gaza, there would have been no one left by the end of October. They would not have sent in ground troops, they would have just bombed them from the air. They would not have sent in aid, because why bother. The intent is to destroy Hamas, NOT the Palestinian people. Without the intent to destroy the Palestinian people, it’s war, and it’s terrible, but it’s not genocide. The fact that you either don’t understand that, or need to use the worst accusation possible to make your point is one of the reasons why I don’t think you’re as educated on the topic as you believe.

I want to know your definition of Zionism. My definition (one of the more common ones among people who identify as Zionist) is the right for Jews to have a self-determined state in the area now known as Israel, their indigenous homeland. Why should anyone with a conscience be against that? What part is morally objectionable? If you object to only the location, where should their homeland be, if not their land of origin?

Why do you think so many of those words were in quotes. The right hates the “other”, but I put other in quotes because people on the right will decide they don’t like you, and then work out how you fit into the category of “other” regardless of whether you’re different or not. Similarly, the left hates “privileged/elite/oppressors” IN QUOTES because people on the left will decide they don’t like you and then work out how you fit into the category of “privileged/elite/oppressors.” In this case, if you are Jewish and therefore a member of a minority with a history of oppression that goes back thousands of years, you will get called an “oppressor” by the left so that they can give themselves moral permission to attack you. I have a problem with actual oppressors, but the left has shown that they don’t believe that words have meaning. Holocaust, oppressor, apartheid, genocide – all of these words have definitions, and the definitions are being ignored so that the left has mean words to use against Israel. Until I can believe that the left is using words in a meaningful way, I will not hate a group just because the left says I should. You should consider doing the same.

You say that “the most egregious act of antisemitism since the 40s is the State of Israel conducting ethnic cleansing, massacres, apartheid, occupation, shoot-to-kill policy, theft of homes and land, and latest of all: genocide under the banner of the star of David.” That’s not Jew-hatred. That’s not antisemitism. That’s the excuse that people use for their antisemitism though. If you and others like you can’t help coming after Jews in the Diaspora as “oppressors” because of the actions of Israel, that’s not Israel’s fault. That’s the fault of the people who choose to be shitty to Jews “because Israel!” If a person can understand how attacking a Chinese American isn’t an appropriate response to the crimes committed by the Chinese government, but they can’t understand why attacking a Jewish American isn’t an appropriate response to the crimes committed by the Israeli government, then the problem is that the person is antisemitic and looking for an excuse.

If every oppressed person has the right to fight back, then you should be happy to know that there’s a long history of Jewish oppression in the MENA area. Consider the 1948 war the act of the Jewish people fighting off their oppressors and founding a new state where they could be free. Does that narrative make you feel better about Israel? It’s what you seem to be indicating that you want. Or is that narrative only ok if it’s the Jews being overthrown? Why might that be?

There are no laws in the United States aiming to reduce the rights of Jews or harm Jews right now. Two years ago, women in the United States had a constitutional right to abortions. Things change, and they can change quickly. And do you know where else there were no laws aiming to reduce the rights of Jews? Germany in 1930. The Jews have a long cultural memory, and part of the reason for that is because we ALWAYS need to run eventually, and so we need to remember what it looks like when it’s time to go. I think that if you don’t understand that every place that Jews have lived for the last 2000 years has been safe right up until it wasn’t, then you missed out on one of the major points of my post. Maybe read it again for understanding instead of just trying to find bits of it that you want to use to talk about how Zionists are terrible.

Not that I should have to defend my statements to you, and it’s really nitpicky for you to call it out, but here is a list of people I “know” in Israel:

My penpal from middle school – it’s been at least 20 years since we last wrote.

A handful of Israelis that I follow – I’ve even had positive interactions with some of them on Tumblr!

Some cousins on my mom’s side. They’re like fourth cousins and we’ve never met. But I know they exist! I don’t know if they know I exist.

My husband’s cousin’s wife’s family – we’ve met once, at my husband’s cousin’s wedding in 2009.

Does that explain how I can have family and acquaintances in Israel, but not consider any of them close (a clause that you very conveniently cut off in your quote)? I don’t talk to them, I’m not kept up to date of their activities. If something bad has happened to them, I haven’t been informed. Their existence hasn’t impacted the trauma that I was writing about.

Anyway, Am Yisrael Chai refers to the people of Israel – a name that Jews have called themselves for centuries prior to the founding of the state. In fact, the state was named for the people – “We are the people of Israel, so we will name our state Israel,” not, “Hey we named this place Israel for no apparent reason, I guess we’re the people of Israel now.” If you don’t know that, it tells me that you’re REALLY not as educated on the topic as you ‘re trying to make yourself sound. And given that there’s already been an extensive conversation about why people who don’t know what Am Yisrael Chai means jumping in to this post to attack Israel is antisemitic, in the comments section ON THIS POST, I don’t feel like going over the whole thing again. Either read the link, or accept this TL;DR on it: If you read a post about antisemitism and feel the need to redirect focus to Israel, you’re being antisemitic.

And honestly, reading through your response, the whole thing seems in bad faith. You’ve either deliberately missed the point, or given the worst possible faith reading to everything I wrote, and then came on to my post about how antisemitism is upsetting (deliberately on a joyous holiday) to talk about why you don’t like Israel, and how you think that things would be better for me if I were a Good Jew and just denounced Israel and the 40% of the Jewish population that lives there. I will not throw my own people under the bus to be kept as a favored pet for as long as I am willing to agree with you. There were Jews that did that in Nazi Germany, and they were killed just as surely as the Jews who did not. There were Jews who did that in Soviet Russia and it got them deported to Siberia just as surely as the Jews who did not.

Frankly, for someone who is so uneducated in Jewish history, I find your tone in this post condescending, and I find your claims of “I’m not antisemitic, I’m just an anti-Zionist,” to ring incredibly false. I think that at best, you’ve been drinking Hamasnik propaganda Kool-Aid at your pro-Palestinian marches and don’t realize how much false or biased information you’ve been told, and I think that more likely, you live in the West and have not interrogated just how much antisemitism is just present in Western culture and therefore present in you. Like I said at the top, I hope that you will maybe do some research involving conflicting viewpoints to your own and maybe learn something about Judaism before you hop on another post to lecture a Jew about something you don’t understand.

On being Jewish, and traumatized (It’s been 5 months and I want to talk):

Judaism is a joyous religion. So much of our daily practice is to focus us on the things that are good. I know that there’s a joke that all our holidays can be summed up as “they tried to kill us. We survived – let’s eat!”, and you might think that holidays focused on attempts at killing us might be somber, but they’re really not. Most are celebrated in the sense of, “we’re still here, let’s have a party!” When I think about practicing Judaism, the things I think about make me happy.

But I think a lot of non-Jews don’t necessarily see Judaism the same way. I think in part it’s because we do like to kvetch, but I think a lot of it is because from the outside it’s harder to see the joy, and very easy to see the long history of suffering that has been enacted on the Jewish people. From the inside, it’s very much, “we’re still here, let’s party” and from the outside it’s, “how many times have they tried to kill you? Why are you celebrating? They tried to KILL YOU!”

And I want to start with that because a lot of the rest of this is going to be negative. And I don’t want people to read it and wonder why I still want to be Jewish. I want to be Jewish because it makes me happy. My problem isn’t with being Jewish, it’s with how Jews are treated.

What I really wanted to write about is being Jewish and the trauma that’s involved with that right now.

First, I want to talk about Israeli Jews. I can’t say much here because I’m not Israeli, nor do I have any close friends or family that are Israeli. But if I’m going to be talking about the trauma Jews are experiencing right now, I can’t not mention the fact that Israeli Jews (and Israelis that aren’t Jewish as well, but that’s not my focus here) are dealing with massive amounts of it right now. It’s a tiny country – virtually everyone has a friend or family member that was killed or kidnapped, or knows someone who does. Thousands of rockets have been fired at Israel in the last few months – think about the fact that the Iron Dome exists and why it needs to. Terror attacks are ongoing; I feel like there’s been at least one every week since October. Thousands of people are displaced from their homes, either because of the rocket fire, or because their homes and communities were physically destroyed in the largest pogrom in recent history – the deadliest single day for Jews since the Holocaust ended. If that’s not trauma inducing, I don’t know what is.

And there is, of course, the generational trauma. And I think Jewish generational trauma is interesting because it’s so layered. Because it’s not just the result of one trauma passed down through the generations. Every 50-100 years, antisemitism intensifies, and so very frequently the people experiencing a traumatic event were already suffering from the generational trauma that their grandparents or great grandparents lived through. And those elders were holding the generational trauma from the time before that. And so on.

And because it happens so regularly, there’s always someone in the community that remembers the last time. We are never allowed the luxury of imagining that we are safe. We know what happened before, and we know that it happened again and again and again. And so we know that it only makes sense to assume it will happen in the future. The trauma response is valid. I live in America because my great grandparents lived in Russia and they knew when it was time to get the hell out in the 1900s. And the reason they knew that is because their grandparents remembered the results of the blood libels in the 1850s. How can we heal when the scar tissue keeps us safe?

I look around now and wonder if we’ll need to run. We have a plan. I repeat, my family has a plan for what to do if we need to flee the country due to religious persecution. How can that possibly be normal? And yet, all the Jewish families I know have similar plans. It is normal if you’re Jewish. Every once in a while I see someone who isn’t Jewish talk about making plans to leave because they’re LGBTQ or some other minority and the question always seems to be, “should I make a plan?” It astounds me every time. The Jewish answer is that you need to have a plan and the only question is, “when should I act?” Sometimes our Jewish friends discuss it at play dates. Where will you go? What are the triggers to leave? No one wants to go any earlier then they have to. Everyone knows what the price of holding off too long might be.

I want to keep my children safe. When do I induct them into the club? When do I let my sweet, innocent kids know that some people will hate them for being Jewish? When do I teach them the skills my parents and grandparents taught me? How to pass as white, how to pass as Christian, knowing when to keep your mouth shut about what you believe. When do I tell them about the Holocaust and teach them the game “would this person hide me?” How hard do I have to work to remind them that while you want to believe that a person would hide you, statistically, most people you know would not have? Who is this more traumatic for? Them, to learn that there is hatred in the world and it is directed at them, or me, to have to drive some of the innocence out of my own children’s eyes in order to make sure they are prepared to meet the reality of the world?

And the reality of the world is that it is FULL of antisemitism. There’s a lot of…I guess I’d call it mild antisemitism that’s always present that you just kinda learn to ignore. It’s the sort of stuff that non-Jews might not even recognize as antisemitic until you explain it to them, just little micro-aggressions that you do your best to ignore because you know that the people doing it don’t necessarily mean it, it’s just the culture we live in. It can still hurt though. I like to compare it to a bruise: you can mostly ignore it, but every once in a while something (more blatant antisemitism) will put a bit to much pressure on it and you remember that you were already hurting this whole time.

On top of the background antisemitism, there’s more intense stuff. And usually the most intense, mask off antisemitism comes from the right. This makes sense, in that a lot of right politics are essentially about hating the “other” and what are Jews if not Western civilizations oldest type of “other”? On the one hand, I’ve always been fortunate enough to live in relatively liberal areas so this sort of antisemitism has felt far away and impersonal – they hate everybody, and I’m just part of everybody. On the other hand, until recently I’ve always considered this the most dangerous source of antisemitism. This is the antisemitism that leads to hate crimes, that leads to synagogue shootings. This is the reason why my synagogue is built so that there is a long driveway before you can even see the building, and that driveway is filled with police on the high holidays. This is the reason why my husband and I were scared to hang a mezuzah in our first apartment (and second, and third). For a long time, this was the antisemitism that made me afraid.

But the left has a problem with antisemitism too. And it has always been there. Where the right hates the “other”, the left hates the “privileged/elite/oppressors.” It’s the exact same thing, just dressed up with different words. They all mean “other” and “other” means “Jew.” It hurts more coming from the left though. A lot of Jewish philosophy leans left. A lot of Jews lean left. So when the left decides to hate us, it isn’t a random stranger, it’s a friend, and it feels like a betrayal.

One of the people I follow works for Yad Vashem, and a few weeks ago she mentioned a video they have with testimonies from people who came to Israel after Kristallnacht, with an unofficial title of “The blow came from within.” The idea is that to non-German Jews, the Holocaust was something done by strangers. It was still terrible, but it is easier to bear the hate of a stranger – it’s not personal. But to German Jews, the Holocaust was a betrayal. It wasn’t done by strangers, it was done by coworkers, and neighbors and people they thought were friends. It was done by people who knew them, and still looked at them and said, “less than human.” And because of this sense of betrayal, German survivors, or Germans who managed to get out before they got rounded up, had a very different experience than other Holocaust victims.

And I feel like a lot of left leaning Jews are having a similar experience now. People that we’ve marched with or organized with, or even just mutuals that we’ve thought of as friends are now going on about how Jews are evil. They repeat antisemitic talking points from the Nazis and from the Protocols of the Elders of Zion, and when we point out that those ideas have only led to Jewish death in the past they don’t care. And if someone you thought of as a friend thinks of you this way, what do you think a stranger might think? Might do?

The Jews are fucking terrified. I’ve seen a post going around that basically wonders if this was what it was like for our ancestors – when things got bad enough to see what was coming but before it was too late to run? And we can see what’s coming. History tells us that they way people are talking and acting only leads to one place. I’m a millennial – when I was a kid the grandparents at my synagogue made sure the kids knew – this is what it looked like before, this is what you need to watch out for, this is when you need to run. I wonder where to run to. It feels like nowhere is safe.

I feel like I’ve been lucky in all this. I don’t live in Israel. I have family and acquaintances who do, but no one I’m particularly close to. Everyone I know in real life has either been sane or at least silent about all of this (the internet has been significantly worse, but when it comes to hate, the internet is always worse). I live in a relatively liberal area – there’s always been antisemitism around anyway, but it’s mostly just been swastikas on flyers, or people advocating for BDS, not anything that’s made me actually worry for my safety. But in the last 5 months there have been bomb threats at my synagogue, and just last week a kid got beat up for being Jewish at our local high school. He doesn’t want to report it. He’s worried it will make it worse.

I bought a Magen David to wear in November. At the time it seemed like the best way to fight antisemitism was to be visibly Jewish, to show that we’re just normal people like everyone else. Plus, I figured that if me being Jewish was going to be a problem for someone, then I would make it a problem right away and not waste time. I’ve worn it almost constantly since, but the one time I took it off was when I burnt my finger in December and had to go to urgent care. I didn’t think about it too much when I did it, but I thought about it for a long time after – I didn’t feel good about having made that choice.

The conclusion I came to is that the training that my elders had been so careful to instill in me kicked in. I was hurt, and scared, and the voice inside my head that sounds like my grandmother said, “don’t give them a reason to be bad to you. Fight when you’re well, but for now – survive.” It still felt cowardly, but it was also a connection to my ancestors who heeded the same voice well enough to survive. And it enrages me that that voice has been necessary in the past. And it enrages me that things are bad enough now that my instinct is that I need to hide who I am to receive appropriate medical care.

I wish I had some sort of final thought to tie this all together other than, “this sucks and I hate it,” but I really don’t. I could call for people to examine their antisemitic biases, but I’m not foolish enough to think that this will reach the people who need to do so. I could wish for a future where everything I’ve talked about here exists only in history books, and the Jewish experience is no longer tied to feeling this pain, but that’s basically wishing for the moshiach, and I’m not going to hold my breath.

I guess I’ll end it with the thought that through all of this hate and pain and fear, we’re still here. And we’re still joyful as well. As much as so many people have tried over literally THOUSANDS of years to eradicate us, I’m still here, I’m still Jewish, and being Jewish still makes me happy.

Am Yisrael Chai.

[nickyhemmick]

A Very Stressed American Jew here again,

Hi! Thank you for taking the time to respond to my ask and yes, I’m someone who loves hearing as many perspectives as possible so I’d love some sources from you. I also very much appreciate the fact you are being very careful to only reblog posts that are anti Israel, not antisemetic (which is frankly a breath of fresh air, the internet has been a bit exhaustingly full of both antisemitic & Islamaphobic content these past feel days as I bet you’ve seen)

I’ve also been to Israel on a Birthright trip. We met people who ( both Palestinian and Israeli) on various sides of the conflict and learned a ton about it, from both perspectives which I was lucky to have the opportunity to do. We even went a little into the Gaza Strip to talk to these people running a pro Palestine peace movement and it was so important to me hearing those stories.

I never said they were on equal footing militarily, they definitely are not, Israel definitely has that advantage. But you are incorrect about Israel always being the aggressor since 1948,they’ve defended themselves about as often as they’ve attacked. Isreal is a small country comparatively to the ones surrounding it, so it makes sense it defends itself heavily in case of an attack.

I 100% agree that there are too many people who are compliant with the mistreatment of many Palestinians! I’m not anti #freepalestine at all! I get why that is a thing. But I also stand with Israel( but that does not mean I condone every action they take. ) Overall I think the situation is extremely complicated and some sort of compromise should be reached.

It’s just been very frustrating to see so many people reblog things on a situation just bashing Israel because so many others are doing it. Especially when then don’t know what they are talking about or using big buzz words that they don’t know what they mean, or spreading misinformation. It’s been on both sides and has been very very draining. I just want peace and some sort of solution. It makes me extremely happy you know what you are talking about and can debate politely yet happily about it. The internet has been so ‘ either agree with me 100% or you a bad person’ about this so it’s refreshing to see you are not like that.

I’ve done a lot of research into it from as many perspectives as I can get my hands on.

Some extremest Israelis are hurting Palestinians

Some extremest Palestinians are hurting Israelis

Both sides are throwing rockets at each other and it’s terrifying.

Both sides claim the other side is brainwashed

There is so much biased propaganda out there on both ends it’s hard to know what is truly happening.

I know people living in Israel who have sent me videos they’ve taken of rockets flying over there heads and I’m so scared for them. I’m so scared for all the innocent people caught in the crossfire on both sides.

Thank you for a more nuanced response and I’d love some of your sources,

A Very Stressed American Jew

Hi anon, 

I wasn’t going to respond to this until after my math final tomorrow but I’ve spent the past two days thinking of your ask and the things I wish to articulate in my answer. 

I am going to start here: how can you say you support Israel but say you are also pro-free Palestine (as in, you said you are not anti free Palestine). In my opinion, these two ideas cannot coexist. Simply because, the entire establishment of Israel has been on violent, racist, colonial grounds. 

(Super long post under here guys)

You said you don’t support all Israel’s actions, and definitely, just because you support something doesn’t mean you can’t criticize it. However, in my opinion, if you do not support Israel’s actions against Palestinians there’s not much left to support? I admit this is a very biased view as I am Palestinian, but many things that people support about Israel have existed before its creation: as in, these are things and qualities that have existed in Judaism and are not due to “Israeli culture.” There is no Israeli culture. There’s Jewish culture--100%. But there is no Israeli culture, because Israel does not only steal Palestinian land, but Palestinian culture, too. Such as claiming Levant food is Israeli; hummus, ful, falafel, shawarma. I mentioned food from this article I know is culturally and traditionally of the Levant, and has been for centuries, it is not something that has come to culinary creation in the past 73 years. 

I do not think this is a complicated issue. I said that in the previous ask and I’ll say that again. Saying it is a complicated issue is trivializing the deaths of innocent Palestinians, the violent dispossession our ancestors endured, and the apartheid they live under. I hope if anything comes from this discussion it is you removing the “it’s a complicated issue” phrase from your vernacular. 

This is not complicated. A journalist reporting the death of martyrs only to discover that of them include two of his brothers is not complicated. The asymmetry of Israel vs Palestinian armed forces is not complicated, nor is the asymmetry in Israeli vs Palestinian suffering (which I will get to later). It is not complicated.  Destroying the graves of martyred Palestinians (or just in general, the graves of the dead) is not complicated. Little children being pulled from the rubble, children being forced to comfort one another as they are covered in the ashes of their decimated homes, attacking unarmed citizens in peaceful demonstrations (you can find videos before this attack where they were playing with kites and balloons), destroying an international media office and refusing to allow journalists to retrieve the work they are spending every waking hour documenting but claiming it was because it was a hide out for a “Hamas base,” fathers who are trying to cheer their frightened children up only to end up dead the next day, while many Israeli have the privilege and the option to go to hotel-like bomb shelters is not complicated. 

This brings me to my next point: the suffering of Palestinians cannot be compared to the inconvenience of Israeli’s. On one side, you have children who are happy to have saved their fish in the face of their homes and lives being decimated behind them to Israeli’s in Tel Aviv having to cut their beach day short to get to bomb shelters. You have mothers and fathers ready to set their lives down for their children to save them from bombs to Israeli’s enjoying their brunch only after making sure there are bomb shelters there. You have Palestinian children being murdered to blocking out the sound of sirens in the safety of your bomb shelters. (The first picture of the Palestinian child is not from footage of the recent problems). You have the baby lone survivor of a whole family recovered from rubble. His whole family, gone, before he ever had the chance to realize that he even exists, while Israeli’s decide to flee out of the country,(Translate the caption from Twitter, it checks out), or have to leave the shower due to sirens. Who is really suffering? 

I won’t sit here and pretend like the thought of rockets flying over my head, no matter which side I am on, is not terrifying. It is. It’s scary to just think about. But Israeli’s have protection beyond Palestinian’s, they have sirens to warn them (Israel does not always warn Palestinian building members that it is about to be bombed), they have the Iron Dome, they have simply the threat of nuclear power (which I am not saying Israel would use, but the simple fact they have it would make me feel a lot better if I were an Israeli citizen) and they have bomb shelters. What do Palestinians have? Hamas? That smuggles its weapons through the ocean? That only ever reacts to the action Israel instigates? And yet Gazans are branded terrorists and that it is their fault that they “elected” a terrorist organization that only was ever created due to no protection from any armed country? (There are so many links I want to add in this paragraph but it is simply impossible for me to add everything I want, a lot of what I’m referring to can either be found through a Google search, or you can stalk my Twitter account, all that I am posting now is about Palestine, and will include sources of things I cannot add in just this one post.) 

Look, I see myself in the genocide happening in Palestine right now. I see myself in this ten year-old girl. In this three year old girl. I see me and my family in videos of cars being attacked in Ramallah and Sheikh Jarrah (I cannot find the Ramallah video, should be somewhere on my Twitter), I see my father in the countless videos of fathers crying out for their children, of kissing the corpse of their loved ones (again, translate the Tweet, the man holding the body is saying “just one kiss”). I see my grandfather in videos like this (old footage). I see my younger brother, I see my grandmother, my mother, my aunts and uncles and cousins. I see myself and my life and my family were my father not lucky enough to get a scholarship to the UK and out of Palestine, were my maternal grandfather not been lucky enough to make it to a refugee camp and build a life in Jordan. I have an unbelievable amount of privilege to be born into the life I was born in to, in terms of I do not have the threat of bombs and violent dispossession around me, and I do not even live in the US. I have privilege and sheer luck that my parents were able to go to the US so that me and my brothers can be born, because now I have both the protection of the most powerful country in the world while at the same time being part of a people to have suffered so generously the past seventy-three years. 

On the other hand, you saying that Israel has “defended themselves about as often as they’ve attacked. Israel is a small country comparatively to the ones surrounding it, so it makes sense it defends itself heavily in case of an attack,” I offer you this question: why are they using military grade guns and stun grenades in mosques to “defend” themselves from rocks? And before you mention that Hamas hit Tel Aviv, I remind you that Hamas did that due to the violence in the Al-Aqsa mosque square and the attempted ethnic cleansing in Sheikh Jarrah. The violence didn’t begin with us; the violence was brought out of Palestinians in resistance to the generations of oppression we have endured and the attack on Palestinian Muslims during the holiest night of Ramadan. Hamas has since asked for a ceasefire multiple times and Israel is refusing. New reports say there is a possibility of a ceasefire in the coming days, but Israel could have decided this a long time ago and spared many lives. (Remember, no matter what resistance we make, Israel is the one in power).

Israel has been the aggressor since 1948. Just read up about the Nakba! 700k Palestinian families were dispossessed violently. The only reason Israel was established at all was because it simply declared it was now a country and the US and many other countries recognized it as such. (Of course, there are many other historical details here, like the British Mandate of Palestine, the Balfour Declaration, the Oslo Accords and many others. I am aware of them but these are for a different post all together). My paternal grandfather was a little younger than me when Israel as a state was created. The hostility that followed was due to this independent declaration being listened to over Palestinian voices. 

Here is a very, very simplified analogy, one that can also answer some people’s questions as to why Palestinians (not Arabs, we are Palestinian before we are Arab) did not like what happened in 1948 and why they refused a two-state solution (that Israel was never going to go through with anyway). (I am also aware other Arab nations got involved, and that is perhaps what you mean when you said they had to defend themselves, but my response to that would still be we didn't start it, that we only responded to it).

Let’s say you are a farmer. You have many fields of trees, ones you have taken shelter under from the sun since you were a child, or hid behind when you wanted to avoid your parents when you misbehaved. You have seen your trees grow from a seed, to a sprout, to a flower, to a large, beautiful tree with fruits the size of a fist. You pluck the fruits from one tree, and make a jam from it. I don’t know how to make jam but I know it takes a lot of energy. So, you make this jam and from it, produce a lovely, mouth-watering pie. Once it has cooled from the oven, you take it with you outside your balcony just so that you can admire the years, months, weeks and hours this one pie has taken to be created. Suddenly, a stranger walks past and yells to you, “That pie looks delicious, I want it!” And you, shocked at their boldness but ready to share, say, “I will give you a bite.” But the stranger says, “No! I do not want a bite or a slice or whatever you want to offer me, I want the pie!” And they grab it from you. You and the stranger start screaming at one another about who the pie is for, who is allowed to decide what happens to it, and who you can share it with. Then, another stranger comes by and says, “Why all the problems? Let’s cut the pie in half and the both of you can share it!” But why should you, who has spent years cultivating the fruit and grain inside this pie, share it? Why should you give up half of the 100% that you already owned? Of what you already had? So you disagree, and now a crowd has formed around you. “What’s the problem?” someone in the crowd calls. “They don’t want to share their pie!” another voice says. Then you become branded a selfish, mean bastard. Again, this is a super simplified analogy, so don’t take it too seriously, but I am trying to show you why Israel is the aggressor.

In addition, I do not know too much about the Birthright program, just that American Jewish people are sent to Israel, all expenses paid. I tried my best to find the Twitter thread but I read it so long ago, about an American Jewish person who went on their trip and they talked about the propaganda that they were exposed to on that trip. I can’t say for sure that it is true, because I haven’t been on it and never will, but that is the first thing I thought of when you mentioned your Birthright trip. Either way, I think it is still great you went and saw the country. However, I must ask you this: are the people you met ones you, yourself, sought out, or ones you were organized to meet?

Now, I haven’t been to Gaza, so I don’t know what you really saw or didn’t, but did you speak to Palestinians who lost their homes to airstrikes? Did you speak to siblings, parents or children of loved ones who had been lost beneath the rubble of buildings and towers? Outside of Gaza, did you speak to Palestinians that live in poor quarters? Ones who have been victims of an IDF soldier shooting them, or who have family members who have died from such attacks? Did they take you guys to Ramallah, to Nablus, to Beit-Imreen, to Jenin, to small villages in the West Bank, far away from Jerusalem and Tel Aviv? Did you speak to people there? Ask them their stories? Because if you did I have a very hard time believing you still think Israel is “defending” itself.

I’ve been to Jerusalem, many times, even Tel Aviv and Jaffa and Haifa. All the times I visited Dome of the Rock there were IDF soldiers with huge guns strapped to their person, standing menacingly outside the courtyard. For what? Genuinely, genuinely for what? It is nothing but an intimidation tactic. The same way we are not allowed in through the airport. If you could see the struggle some Palestinians actually go through just to get into Palestine, through the land border, you would be disgusted. I love Palestine, it is my ancestry land, it is my culture and tradition. But I always hated going to visit because I knew the way to getting there would be hell.

My father worked in Tel Aviv through the first Intifada. My maternal grandfather was forced out of his home in the Nakba and was forced to leave behind his belongings and the orange trees that have been in his family for generations. Hell, the town they lived in was destroyed! It doesn’t exist anymore except in the memories of my aunts and uncles, who never even saw it, but just heard of it from their father!

I’m not saying there aren’t Palestinians who are racist and anti-Semitic (though, tbh, I will direct you here for that) and who support Hamas in killing Israeli’s, but talking about how there are many “extremist” Palestinians who are hurting Israeli’s and in the next line say there are extremist Israeli’s who are hurting Palestinians is not correct. There are extremist Israeli’s killing, lynching, stealing the houses of Palestinians, and there are Palestinians who are fed up and fighting back. (I am not talking about Hamas vs the IDF here, I am talking about the citizens). I have not seen one reported death of an Israeli due to Palestinian violence (if you have, from a trusted source, send it to me), but I have seen countless of the other way around. I have seen images of charred little bodies, of a baby being dug out of the rubble, of a child’s body that had been so mutilated that you can literally see the insides of their body coming out. (I don’t know if it’s on my Twitter, I didn’t want to save that shit). If this was my country I would be absolutely ashamed of myself and my people and what they are doing in the name of my protection. So you have to forgive me, and forgive other Palestinians, who don’t give a fuck about Israeli’s having anxiety over rockets flying over their heads when we see these images. Where is the protection of our kids? Why does no one seem to mention them except when mentioning the poor, innocent ones in Israel? At least more than the majority of them have their parents to comfort and rock them. At least many of them will probably be saved of ever having to be beneath the rubble of a destroyed building, or digging in it, to hope to find the parts of their parents or siblings just so that they can bury them. Just the links from the start of my answer is enough to support what I am saying.

I have soooo much more I can say, like how Israel uses religion to distort the image of what’s going on (tbh, just check my Twitter for that: language is EVERYTHING), but you didn’t mention religion in any of this and so I won’t either. The only reason I decided to respond to you in such length was because you have been one of the few respectful anons in my inbox in the past few years of me being on here talking about Israel, so I appreciate that from you. 

As promised, some more sources: decolonizepalestine is a good place to start if you haven’t used it already, it has reading materials, myth busting, and more. Here is a map list of destroyed localities from pre-1948 until 2017, run by two anti-Zionist Israelis. Here and here are the articles I promised of a former IDF soldier-turned Palestinian activist, I read these two last year in June and remember coming out much more informed than before I read them. I suggest looking into the writer and his organization, which, if I remember correctly, collects accounts from previous IDF soldiers. I would suggest not to follow Israel and the IDF accounts on any platform, or any Israel times newspaper, simply because they will not tell you the truth. In fairness, you do not have to follow any Palestinian Authority accounts (which I am not even sure there are), but to follow on-ground Palestinians like Mohammed El-Kurd, who has been speaking out since he was 12 (he is now 22) and he is part of the families in Sheikh Jarrah. I have noticed that this and this account have been translating Arabic headlines and tweets for non-Arabic speakers, I have just started following this person but their bio says they are a Palestinian Jewish person so I am interested in their view of things. You can also follow Israeli’s on-ground and see their perspective on things, but I would also advise to compare the Palestinian and Israeli side of things from the people, and critically analyze the language used in each case. Also, this article references Jewish scholars opposed to the occupation (I have not looked into them myself but I plan to after my exams), and Norman Finklestein is another great Jewish scholar to look into if you haven’t. Twitter is better than Instagram and Facebook, so I would stick to getting live-info from there, Twitter does not censor Palestinian content as much as Insta and Facebook so you’re more likely to see things there.

I will end this by saying I personally do not see any other option for peace than to give Palestinians our land back. Whether we may be Muslim, Jewish or Christian, it has always been and will always be our land. I only hope to see it free in my lifetime. 

Free Palestine. 

[regina-del-cielo]

Immortal Siblings AU | Four, then three, then four again

I mentioned that the bulletpoint post describing how the Guard from the Immortal Siblings AU found Joe had totally run away from me. It has, in fact, become a study on them grieving over Lykon and then finding Yusuf. 

I have, somehow, reached a sort of natural end to the amount of bullshit my mind can add to this list/fic draft. So, if you want to give it a read... grab a snack. It’s long. I’m sorry.

Warnings for Wikipedia levels of historical accuracy - I added links to the relevant pages when quoting historical events, but since I was just trying to work out a timeline (famous last words), the research wasn’t extensive. There’s a lot of hand-waving.

By the end of the 11th Century, I think Andy, Quynh and Nico haven’t been in Europe for a while, not really. They moved south, and then east, after the sack of Rome of 410 CE. Seeing the great cities fall has become hard for them, especially for Nico, who is a nomad at heart but has a soft spot for cities, together with Lykon, the true city boy in the group. He’d seen it happen to Athens, he wasn’t sure he could deal with seeing Rome wilt.

For reasons I cannot fathom, my mind is settled on them having been in India when Lykon dies (possibly sometime around the middle of the 6th century, in the mess that was the crumbling of the Gupta Empire???)

Seeing him die destroys them, and they take a break from any battlefield to grieve their friend and brother. They wander, occasionally helping but almost never raising their weapons, too leery of injuries and of losing each other.

(Quynh, who was the first to notice Lykon’s wounds, has nightmares that make her cry in her sleep. Andromache holds her so tight Nico can feel the tension on her muscles against his back. He and his sister barely sleep, scared of the open spaces of Asia as they’d never been before. Lykon was the youngest of them and he died, what if they stop healing too?)

(If Nico stands guard over his sisters and feels an ache in his chest seeing how they hold onto each other, he’s never going to say it out loud. His Mache deserves the love she shares with Quynh. But sometimes he wishes he had someone to hold him like that, one he can call his heart.)

The first time they go to battle again like in the old days it’s almost the end of the 10th century, and they’re helping Quynh’s lands gain independence from China. They have a reason and a specific side to root for, and it’s the kind of cause Lykon would have approved of. They find purpose again.

They are distantly aware of how things are holding up in the west – they know Constantinople has crowned itself capital of the Roman Empire (what is left of it anyway); they know of the new religion, Islam, and how it was brought further east with the armies conquering Persia. They met the Varangians on the Northern Plains of the Rus’, when Andy insisted on going back to their steppes for a while.

They acquire new swords, repair the old weapons, make improvements on their bows. They travel, and help, and listen. They learn new languages. They heal.

They’ve just spent the winter in Samarkand when they hear merchants newly come from Constantinople talk about the Frankish armies that took Antioch and making their way further into Palestine. 

The words ‘freeing Jerusalem from the infidels’ make Andy sigh in exasperation and twist Nico’s guts. The three of them don’t really understand the point of going to war for a god, but Jerusalem is old, and she’s been coveted by many throughout their long lives. Things like this never end well, they know it intimately.

But they’ve been away for a long time, centuries at this point. Things are very different from when the Romans had the power. They are less eager to throw themselves into the battlefield now, and there’s much they don’t know about the dynamics of Europe and the Levant. Still they’re worried, and decide that they’ll move west to see if something can be done, for the civilians at least.

At first they travel slowly, keeping an ear out for gossip spoken by the caravans coming from the west. Things radically change, however, when they dream of a new immortal (a man, with a curly black beard and shining dark eyes) dying on the walls of Jerusalem and reviving to an unprecedented slaughter – said man is, obviously, absolutely terrified and they feel it.

He’s also woken up surrounded by living enemies, with high risk of being killed or injured multiple times, and of being seen.

They are still too far away to do anything more than hope that the new guy is clever enough to keep himself alive until they can reach him, but now Nico is all for moving west at full speed to get him out.

“What the everloving FUCK is happening over there?!” is the common theme in their thoughts; nothing about this war they’re walking towards is making any sense.

Yusuf al-Kaysani is, in fact, clever enough to keep himself (and a few other civilians to boot) alive and get out of Jerusalem when it becomes clear than no matter how many Franks he kills he can do nothing to stop them alone. (It’s a fucking carnage, and he’s so tired). He walks away from the battle and tries to reach some sort of safety in the desert.

When he’d decided to stay in Jerusalem and fight instead of escaping the siege, Yusuf had considered the possibility of dying. He had not accounted for waking up from a fatal wound with no sign of having been hit in the first place.

And then there are the visions. Or dreams, he’s not sure. They don’t seem to make any sense? Who are those people?! Is his mind so addled by the war that he’s conjuring scary warrior women and a stupidly handsome man, armed to the teeth and camping in the desert?

(fantasizing about handsome men in his sleep isn’t exactly news for him, but there were never women in those. And none of his usual dreams involved weapons. Something is definitely off)

For the following days, Yusuf makes sure to stay away from human settlements while putting as much space as possible between Jerusalem and himself – the last thing he needs is to become a potential target for any invader that may cross his path.

But he’s alone, having nightmares, constantly on edge, and in a body that suddenly doesn’t feel like his own anymore, since he doesn’t even have the scars to prove that the injuries he sustained were real to begin with.

After a couple of weeks, the appearance of the strangers in his dreams starts feeling safe and comforting; they seem to operate like a little family, and God knows how much he misses his own.

(should he try to go back home? Would news of the siege reach his family before he does? Would he be able to go back to his previous life in the state he’s in? Could he keep this secret from them? Would they still love him or think him a monster?)

Despite their impressive warrior appearance, they feel... kind. And gentle. Sometimes, it feels like they’re trying to reassure him, even. Especially when he dreams from the perspective of the man.

The sensation those dreams leave on his skin is like a cape. You’re not alone, it whispers. Wait for us.

Andy, Quynh and Nico have just left Baghdad when the dreams change, and not for the better - Yusuf was passing through a village when a band of marauding Franks started harassing the locals. He moved to defend the villagers, but was overwhelmed and what’s worse, the Franks saw his wounds close too fast. Their reaction was vehement: they called him a demon, incapacitated him and then brought him back to their garrison, with every intention of ‘properly getting rid of him’.

Nico wakes up screaming and Andy has to sit on him so he doesn’t just sprint ahead without actually knowing where the fuck he’s going.

“We can’t just raid every single Frankish encampment in a twenty mile radius around Jerusalem, Nico!” “TRY ME” *Aggressive Sibling Bickering follows* *Quynh doesn’t bat an eye and just rolls out a map of the area she purchased and starts mapping out the fastest routes*

Yusuf is having a Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Week at the hands of his captors, who are getting disturbingly creative in their tortures, but whenever they let him fall unconscious he sees the people of his dreams travelling much faster than before, looking Royally Pissed Off, and the surroundings are... starting to look familiar too? 

If he tries to pay more attention to the conversations his torturers are having with each other outside of the tent he’s in and hoping the dreams go both ways, so the maybe-real trio can find him easier, now that’s nobody’s business but his own.

(spoiler: it works)

When they are in sight of Jerusalem, the immortals find a drunk “pilgrim” boasting about his band capturing a ‘pagan demon’ while coming back from their victory at Ascalon, follow him back to his camp, and as soon as it’s feasible they attack.

(Andy will later gripe that Nico didn’t leave her anything to do because he just paved his way through the Franks like he was harvesting wheat.)

seeing the Stupidly Handsome Man of his dreams standing in front of him covered head to toe in blood, with a double-bladed axe in one hand and a sword in the other, staring intensely at him as if to peer directly into his soul is... an experience for Yusuf.

(he may have composed a lot of poems about that first vision of Nico through the centuries. The words ‘avenging angel’ have been used quite profusely, too)

The protective instinct that Nico has felt for the newest immortal since the first dream clutches at his throat when he finally sees him, chained to a pole and so thin his clothes barely cling to his body, but with the softest dark eyes staring back with a glint of recognition when he comes closer.

(he could cry with relief at the knowledge that he’s not scared of him. Nico has seen the faces of the men that were keeping him captive, he knows he looks a lot like they did, and that he paints a gruesome picture.)

“Are you alright?” Nico asks first, in Greek. (He knows, from the dreams, that his captors prayed in Latin. He wants to make sure that the other knows that he’s not like them.)

“You were in my dreams. You came.” Yusuf answers back in the same language, although his sounds much newer than Nico’s.

“Of course. We’re not meant to be alone… and no one deserves to be in a cage”.

Nico uses the axe to break the chains, and by the time he’s done Andy and Quynh have reached them and his sister throws the keys at him to open the shackles.

“Couldn’t take a moment to get them yourself, little eagle? You wanted to show off your skills to the new one?” Quynh teases, just to see Nico blush. Andy stares at her brother and their new companion for a few beats, before finally asking his name.

“Yusuf ibn Ibrahim ibn Muhammad Al-Kaysani, known as al-Tayyib” he answers, letting out the first smile in weeks at the raising eyebrows of his saviours. “Just Yusuf is fine.”

“You have a sense of humour, brother. I like you!” Andy snorts, before cutting her palm with the edge of her axe, and showing him her fast healing.

“We are like you, Yusuf. That’s why you dreamt of us, and we of you” Nico adds gently, while Quynh offers her waterskin to Yusuf. They also offer their own names.

“We need to clean up this mess and move away from here” Andy says, while Nico helps Yusuf up. “One of those fuckers was boasting about an undying demon with others in a tavern, the last thing we need is to fight our way out against their whole army because someone else decided to come check if he was saying the truth.”

“It’s been a long time since we were in Kush” Quynh whispers, and Yusuf sees their faces open in a look of affectionate grief he remembers seeing on his Baba’s eyes when he talked about his own mother.

“We can talk about it more when we’re somewhere safer” Andromache suggests, before moving to set up the stage of an ‘accidental’ fire.

As they’re riding away, Yusuf turns slightly to watch the camp burn, leaving no trace of the invaders that hurt him. Jerusalem looms in the distance - lost, and wounded. If he were a little less exhausted, he could  easily work out a metaphor about his own situation.

But then he looks at the three people of his dreams – Quynh, Andromache, Nikolaos – that came for him. Who are the same as him, immortal.

His world has turned upside down, and there are so many questions to ask, and he could sleep for a month straight – but one thing is certain. 

He’s not alone anymore.

[pebblysand]

[DECEMBER ‘21] - THE LIFE/WRITING UPDATE NO ONE ASKED FOR (AND SOME QUICK LINKS)

happy december! i hope you’re all doing well, i certainly am glad the shittiest month of the year is over. i had a rather bizarre november where i spent the first half writing for nanowrimo and the second half being sick (covid? bronchitis? i’m not sure but i was coughing my lungs out) so now that i’m feeling better, i’m glad to be moving into the holiday season! whichever holiday you celebrate, i hope it’s a great one and hopefully, 2022 treats us kindly.

Anyway, before diving into more life/writing updates, here are some quick links to different blog pages you might not see on mobile :

to read my fics

to read my original work

fic recs [updated]

to read my tumblr rants about stuff

[NOTE: i am currently not accepting prompts but maybe soon-ish?]

Castles (chap 10) ETA: december? january? february? who knows? (more on that below)

links extended a/n-s: chapter v ; chapter vi & vii ; chapter viii ; chapter ix ; chapter x

[more life/writing updates under the cut]

what i’m reading:

books:

in typical pebblysand fashion, i went from finishing two books in a week last october to reading none at all this month. i started enfant de salaud, sorj chalandon’s latest release, but am only about 50 pages in. i’m not sure if i’ve ever spoken about this on here but whilst i am originally french, i very rarely ever read fiction in french (nor write it, for that matter) and probably haven’t done so for at least fifteen years. that is, of course, save for my love, sorj. he is without a doubt my favourite contemporary french author, the only one for whom i still read in my mother tongue.

this being said, while i am a hardcore stan of his work, his books are deep and heavy. like, castles is nothing compared to what this man writes. so, i will admit, you sort of have to be in the mood to read his work. he’s a former war reporter who covered most contemporary conflicts including the troubles, palestine, but the klaus barbie trials, etc. and, the way he writes fiction is very reflective of that (his books are actually often half fiction and half not). his style is quick and crisp (almost journalistic), and i would argue that, as i put it in castles for harry, the man has a battlefield in his head. most of his books are either centered around literal or metaphorical fights for survival. and, whilst i do feel a strong kinship and have a deep admiration for his work as someone who, perhaps to a lesser extent, also writes quite a lot about fighting and determination, i find that i have to be in a certain headspace to read his work. his are the kind of books that you read in one sitting and never feel the same afterwards (god, certainly, the first one i read, return to killysbegs fucking lives in my head, still, ten years later). so, i’m kind of holding back on this new one until i have proper time to dive and digest it over the christmas holidays.

fics:

i’m still reading: knowing where to look by ala_baguette and still loving it.

i also read don’t you tame your demons (but always keep them on a leash) by ellasticella. i don’t know man. it’s a concept. au slytherin!hermione. i feel like this fic could have gone into a place and then it went into another place. i’m still not sure how i feel about it but it’s very well written.

i completely gave up on love in a time of a zombie apocalypse but oh my sweet holy jesus mary mother of god, THIS FIC: the squid by nargles15. now, as a preamble i will warn you: whilst nargles has assured me that they are working on this fic, it’s sort of their side project so it’s not finished and gets updated… whenever they feel like it. which, fair enough. it doesn’t matter, i will wait two years if i have to, because i am obsessed. I literally sometimes go and check the number of kudos on it because i want more people to read it. i found nargles because they left a very kind comment on castles and because i am a stalker (lol). i have single handedly decided that we are now best friends haha (they agreed though!!). no, jokes aside, i saw this fic on their profile and thought the pitch was interesting, so i added it to my tbr and here we are. think: canon-compliant up until the end of DH (minus the epilogue), but then the muggle prime minister decides, as payback for all the violence against muggles committed by voldemort, to launch a war against wizards. and… well, shit ensues. now, first, that is a brilliant plot. i find this version of an apocalyptic/dystopian hp world so believable and easy to fall into. i could totally see muggles launching a decimating, ruinous war in the early 00s, can’t you? second, i love the way the writer here keeps so much mystery as to what happened and how things unfolded. the point at which the fic starts isn’t the start of this war, but months (years?) into it. that gives a sense of normalcy to the abnormal that i’ve always been fascinated with and which, i find, is not very often acknowledged in the genre. a bit like when the trio is hiding out in the forest in dh, there is a routine to being hunted, there is a routine to war, and nargles does that beautifully. and, because you don’t get all the details of what happened, you’re sort of reading through the fic thinking: ohhhhh, but what happened before this? for reasons that i have explained before, mystery is something i can’t really play with in castles (we all know how it ends since i always said i was following canon) so while reading this fic, it’s like i’m getting to do that by proxy. in terms of ship, i would say it’s mostly canon couples. harry and ginny are an established item, so are ron and hermione. there’s some dean/seamus but that’s basically canon, yeah? then of course, the writing is gorgeous. i mean like, hands down, one of the best written fics out there. some of the quotes still live in my head. i wrote a very embarrassingly excited comment when i finished reading, listing all the quotes i had loved, and found myself almost quoting the whole thing. it’s funny because i generally find it hard to find fics i love in the potter fandom. that’s not a diss to anyone out there writing or anything, but it’s just that i have a very particular style, and i like things written in a particular style, and most of the stuff i see is written in another style. i’ve had a number of people look through my recs/ao3 bookmarks being like: ‘it’s funny, you never recommend the same stuff as other people do.’ and this fic 100% fits within that category. i find the writing absolutely gorgeous, but it’s not the type of thing you’ll mostly see in the fandom and i’m soooo happy i found it cause i absolutely adore it. okay, i’ve just realised i’ve written an essay about this fic and could probably write a lot more but i will stop here in the hopes that i have sufficiently sold it to you. go send nargles some love please.

.

what i’m watching:

i tried succession. man, i’m sorry, i know the whole of tumblr is obsessed but i just cannot get into it. i have just so little sympathy for the patriarch character that i just want him to die and the long agony is wearing me out. i do like siobhan though. i mostly still watch for siobhan.

i obviously watched the new series of tiger king which was amazingly tiger-king-esque, and maybe she did kill her husband and maybe not and i don’t really care because this is prime entertainment. a few days ago, i also had what i refer to as my ‘night of outrage’ where i watched dark waters and spotlight back to back. both are excellent films which i would recommend. this being said, i then went to bed late, quite rightfully outraged.

i lastly watched the 9/11 turning point documentary on netflix which is good. and that is all i will say because it’s not like i’m currently writing a story that happens in the 00s and that would require context on the period in the muggle world. not at all. that is absolutely not where that story would hypothetically be going. at all. (yeah, i’m a fucking tease, soz).

.

what i’m hearing:

divorce, babe. divorce. enough said. i’ve been listening to the queen’s 30 on loop since it came out. man, strangers in nature and my little love. i am still speechless.

in terms of podcasts, i’ve recently discovered the irish time’s women’s podcast and it’s surprisingly good. they did a stan episode on sally rooney (but, don’t we all stan sally), also talking about the boom in popularity of irish female writers in general which was very interesting.

.

what i’m writing:

okay so. i said last month i would do nanowrimo and write 50k of castles which i both did and didn’t do, let me explain.

basically, i started strong until i hit a wall around 21k. my main issue was that i was so focused on the wordcount itself and getting through the plot that i sort of lost the ‘feels’ of my characters along the way. it was around the 15th of november and i decided to pivot because i cared more about writing this well than about just vomiting words on paper. so i went back and started editing what i had and ended up with 23k. then, when i was finally in the groove of writing, i got sick. i don’t know whether it was covid or not (i tested negative but did the test after my symptoms had abated so i not have been carrying enough virus to test positive) but the point is, i started coughing my lungs out on the 20th of november and have been struggling to focus until now. today (1 dec) was honestly the first day that i felt almost normal again, so it is what it is. i am hoping to be able to write later this week/this weekend but we shall see.

i would say that my updated goal is to get the next ‘chunk’ of castles written by end of december, to be posted by end of january. and by ‘chunk’ i mean probably two chapters? like, to me, there is a ‘chunk’ that happens between now and when harry and ginny get back together and i estimate that chunk will be between 25-30k words. of those i have 23k rough draft and about 13k actually edited. the way i currently see it, it’ll be two long chapters of circ. 15k each which i will probably post, if not back to back, as least in very quick succession, sometime early next year. i’m splitting them more for theme coherence and readability but i’m writing them both as a unit. so @blinkngone i guess there’s your answer to the question you asked on this post earlier today. basically h&g don’t get back together in next chapter but it’ll feel like next chapter cause i’ll post 10 and 11 at the same time-ish.

as i already said, i’m really enjoying this chapter so far, though. as a lawyer, writing the trials and the intricacies of the post-war wizarding justice system is fascinating. i think this chapter (and the next) will also be a big reflection on what justice is as a concept and it’s something i’m having a lot of fun exploring.

.

what i’m doing:

i have very much enjoyed hanging out in floreatcastellum’s canon discord serve lately. i’d joined a while back but never really participated, then i got sick and was on my phone all the time and the lads on there have been a lovely blessing.

aside from that, i wrote this post this month, and this one, which should give you kind of an idea of where my life is at. i’ve been seeing someone who we will refer to as The Boy and i don’t know how i feel about it. it’s funny cause i’m 28 and i’m starting to feel… settled? i get up and i work from home and then a couple of nights a week i have pints with people. that’s it. ngl, the most exciting thing in my life right now is a piece of fanfiction and i keep feeling guilty about it because i feel like if i’m making writing a priority, i at least ought for it to be original writing. in the past when i’ve felt like this i’ve moved countries but we’re in the middle of a pandemic and also i don’t want to leave ireland, so i dunno. my job’s a bit of a deadend but i can’t bring myself to care cause it pays well (i actually told a friend, the other day: ‘covid has killed my ambition’) so i dunno. i’m not unhappy but i need a plan or something. i’m not the kind of person who likes feeling ‘settled.’

lots of love,

pebblysand.

[devskindawritingblog]

Jackie’s Twin sister x Shauna

Click to help Palestine 🇵🇸 🍉

AN: hiiiii I’m back. I’m so glad I was able to finish this 2 months after it was requested 😅😅. I’ll be working on all the others after I promise. This was a request but I responded to it here . It was basically Shauna and Jackie’s little sister. I decided just to make them twins because I can 😝.

summary: Shauna and you have been sneaking off behind your sisters back for a while now but how will it work when your stranded in the woods.

word count rounded: 1.5k

You knew it was a bad idea to sneak off like this with your sister's best friend. But you couldn’t stop; you and Shauna had been a “thing” before nationals. The first time was when Jackie was sick, so you and Shauna went to see Scream by yourselves. Sure, you and Shauna were friends, but she and Jackie were best friends. You were only really around her because you and Jackie shared a bedroom as kids. So whenever Shauna was over, you also hung out with them. 

So it was just you and Shauna in the back corner of the movie theater. It was a bit awkward without Jackie, but it was still a good time. You never really loved horror movies, but you made an exception for this one. The theater was pretty full, but the back corner was mostly empty. You were a little antsy and nervous going into the movie, but you didn’t want to show it in front of Shauna. You jumped a bit and instinctively reached out to grab onto something, which happened to be Shauna's hand. You jump in surprise as you realize that it's her hand. You quickly pull your hand away. “Sorry I-” You panic, rubbing the back of your neck. 

“No, no, it's ok.” Shauna assures cutting you off. You turn your head to catch her gaze as she smiles softly and holds out her hand, looking just as nervous as you. You take her hand in yours as you intertwine your fingers with hers.You relax as she gives your hand a gentle squeeze. You both continue to watch the movie, but now every time you get scared, you squeeze Shauna's hand. For the rest of the movie, you hold Shauna’s hand, and you can feel your cheeks heat up every time you feel her thumb rub the top of your hand.

After that movie, you couldn’t look at Shauna the same way. Anytime you saw her, you knew you were in too deep. You and Shauna never established a relationship or even talked about it, but you snuck off more times than you could count to make out together. It mostly ended with an awkward walk back to Jackie. This continued even after the crash. You, of course, didn’t mind; with the stress of the situation, it was a blessing when Shauna would drag you away to make out. You found a secret little circle of trees to be out of any prying eyes.  

Today was just like the others. You finished your chores early and had nothing to do. You walked over to where Shauna was draining the deer that Nat and Travis had just shot. You walk over to her, scrunching your nose up a bit at the sight. “Ewwww, that smells awful. How can you stand the smell?” You ask, holding your nose and turning your face away from the bloody deer. “Poor thing”.

“It's not that bad, and do you actually feel bad? He's our dinner tonight." Shauna states as she puts down the knife. "Well, kinda, what if he had a deer wife or husband and some deer kids?” You stay, taking a step away from the deer, as Shauna follows. “They will be fine; it's just how the food chain works. And we need to eat to stay  alive." "Fine, I guess; I don't really want to starve; I just don’t have the stomach for this.” Shauna walks over to you and smiles softly.”Well, that's why I'm doing it, not you.” 

“Yeah, yeah." You sigh, looking at Shauna, before looking down at her hand, grabbing it, and pulling her closer. Shauna’s eyes widen just the slightest, but she doesn’t pull away. As she gets pulled closer, she plants her hands on your hips. “You know...” you trail off, a playful smile spreading on your face as your arms find their way around her neck. “You could take a little break. I could keep you company.” You say this as you smile fully at her and giggle as she raises her eyebrow. She glances around and grabs you by the hand before tugging you deeper into the forest toward your usual makeout spot.

Shauna stops as you both make it to the tree line. The soft breeze of the warm summer day rattles the branches. You can faintly hear the swish of the river a calm woosh. You turn to look at her and then at her lips as you take a step toward her. She takes a few steps back, almost tripping over a root, but ends up with her back against the nearby tree. The rough bark scratches against her overworn flannel, but she is far too distracted to notice. You lean closer to her and pull her into a kiss. She kisses you back as her hands find their way around your waist. She pulls you into her, chest to chest, as you continue to make out. Her hands find their way up to your neck as her arms drape over your shoulders.

You both pull away for a breather, and Shauna pushes herself off the tree and spins you so that you switch places. She presses you back against the rough bark, and it scrapes the back of your shirt, likely staining it. Before you can worry too much about it, she leans forward, pulling you back into a kiss. Her hands find their way under your shirt near your hips, her fingers digging in to hold you in place. You hum into the kiss as Shauna's fingers massage your lower back in a continuous circular motion. She pulls away again, and you sigh, but she quickly leans forward again, but this time she misses your lips entirely and begins to kiss your neck. You rest your head against the tree as she kisses you from the base of your neck all the way up to your jawline.

SNAP! 

A twig crunches under someone's foot as both of you jump. Shauna's arms slide down to your waist, ready to run if it's something you both can’t handle. But it turned out to be even worse than a bear. It was Jackie. You both go silent, eyes wide as you freeze, almost as if you don’t move, then maybe she won't see you. Jackie's face switches between confusion, shock, and amusement in under 5 seconds. “Wowza Shipman, your “too busy cutting up that deer to go for a walk. But it turns out you’re sucking on my sister's neck.” Jackie smirks, looking you up and down. You go to speak, but nothing seems to come out. Shauna untangles her arms from your neck as she steps away from you. Jackie raises her eyebrow. “ What? Were you even going to tell me that you're making out with my best friend behind my back? She turns to you, looking stern, and it makes you feel guilty. 

"Well, it's not like we're dating Jax just... You know, having fun, I guess?” You're avoiding your sister's eyes as you rub the back of your neck sheepishly. “I’d say,” she teases. "Well, I'm not mad, I guess; I just wish you didn’t lie to me.”

“Like I get you keeping it a secret, you're my sister.”She says this while pointing at you before narrowing her eyes at Shauna. “But Shauna? Really, at least tell me if your lips are going to be on my sister.”

"Oook, Jax, that's enough.” You say, shoving her shoulder. She giggles and pulls you into a hug, squeezing you. “They grow up so fast.” She says she is wiping away a fake tear. "Oh, shut up; I'm only 3 minutes younger.” You say pushing her face away. “You’re still my baby sibling.” She says smiling and pulling you into a hug before she lets go and turns her attention to Shauna. “I'm happy for you, Shaunie, but if you ever hurt my sister, I will make you regret it. You better treat them right.” Jackie says this as she lets you go and walks over to Shauna. Shauna's eyes widened a little. She has never seen this version of Jackie, and she won’t admit it, but it truly scares her.

“I promise.” Shauna says she is afraid to oppose her best friend. “And well, I was wondering if all this sneaking around isn't really helping either of us; do you want to be my girlfriend for real?” Shauna asks, looking nervously at you, hoping that it's something you want as well. A smile grows on your face as you nod rapidly. “Yes, I'd love that,” you exclaim, pulling her into a hug.

“Great, now I'm going to be third-wheeling during sleepovers.” Jackie jokes, nudging you with her arm as the three of you make your way back to the cabin, you and Shauna hand in hand.

[xenowlsome]

And also questions 1, 3, 11, 13, 17, 20, 22, 25, 29, 37, 39, 41 for Brian

1. what kind of clothing does your character like to wear? do they have a style? anything they avoid wearing? 

you’re not allowed to have a style in the templar order but brian probs appreciates linen clothing, especially in the palestine. besides that he has standard noble opinions on clothing except for like ankle-length bliauts beccause that’s a lot of material to get in the way of a fight

(brian was oppressed by not being born in the 14th century bc he didn’t live to see dagged sleeves and codpieces come into fashion he would have had a field day)

3. is your character more articulate in their thoughts than their words? if yes, do they do anything about that? do they care?

i actually think brian is LESS articulate in his thoughts! he’s someone who makes incredibly dramatic but well articulate speeches but in his head he’s just. screaming like a possum

11. how do they feel about casual endearments? (babe, etc)

he’d drop them ALL the time he’d be disgustingly sappy

13. what helps them fall asleep when they're having trouble doing so?

probably going for a late ride if he were allowed to

17. do they fidget? how and/or with what?

brian paces a lot when he’s agitated though it doesn’t have to be something upsetting (also leg jiggles bc that’s what i do)

20. do they like to keep plants/growing things in their space? 

he’d forget about them if he had a plant :( the solution here is to get succulents

22. when they speak, do they have a default tone of voice? if yes, do they try to change it? why?

he definitely has a “good little templar“ voice but besides that i’m not sure

25. do they keep books on their person? what kind?

oh no books are way to pricey and also huge

29. if they wear any, where did they get their jewelry?

everything he wears (cross, rings, fibulas) probably comes from the templar vaults bc they got donated lots and lots of expensive shit that would not always be in the form of coin

37. how would they pass the time on a train?

catch up on sleep, get extremely bored and try to chat with other passengers, get bored with them, go for a smoke

39. do they keep working even when their wrists start to cramp? if they do, do they give themselves a break when the work is done?

well when you’re fighting there’s no option to just... stop so. if brian is writing the main problem for him would not be wrists but his eyes, bc i headcanon that the longer he strains his eyes the worse his double vision gets, and the combination of that and the aging-induced onset of farsightedness does not make for a good experience

41. what's the silliest thing they've used magic to do? if they don't have magic, what's something silly they'd use it for if they did?

100% some stupid prank

[taliawi]

Being Arab / 1

I had a friend of a friend visit, here in London. Both my friends are Italian, among a community of other friends who are mostly Italian. But this visiting friend in particular had an interesting story. It started to unfold when I understood that her grandparents were born and lived in Beirut, to a family of Jews who are originally from Aleppo. It struck me! “So, your grandparents, do they speak Italian or Arabic?” I asked her. “Both,” she replied, “but mainly French by virtue of education, and Arabic. Their Italian is not the best.” Wow, I thought to myself. Here I am again in front of an Italian of Arab origin, in fact syrio-lebanese, or you could say shami, for levantine, since we’re talking about exactly the time that this political distinction came to effect, resulting in the carving of a Lebanon, by the French mainly whose colonial mandate it was under, from Syria then, early 20th century. 

In any case, we didn’t draw on any of this history, it was merely in the back of my head as I listened to our friend telling us about this captivating journey that her grandparents went through, having grown up in Beirut and educated in French schools, and how by the late 40s early 50s they had to leave. In my mind, that’s a sorry but familiar story that I’ve heard over and again about Arab Jews finding themselves at the temultuous front of nationalist quasi-post-colonial states and the forming of the formative Arab-Israeli conflict, and having to leave. I grew up on my own father’s stories about his jewish neighbors, and the jewish tradesmen with which his father traded, along of course with copts, as well as other diasporic (European origin) communities that lived in Cairo at the time like the Armenians, the Greeks and the Italians. 

Our friend told us about how they first left to Tokyo, where they lived for a while and how the grandfather wrote from there for a Lebanese newspaper. Eventually, seeking to settle after the birth of our friend’s mother, taking advantage of a post-war European scheme to provide residency and citizenship for Jews, they ended up in Italy, which they knew nothing about. My friend, of course, feels assuredly Italian by virtue of this decision, whose timeliness would inform hers and her mother’s upbringing in Milan, this city her grandfather picked on the map and actually made the trip to. 

The fact that her grandparents in Milan spoke Arabic and maintained a memory of their past-life in Beirut intrigued me. I asked my friend if she identifies with being Arab at all, she replied “no” straight away. She considered that she had middle eastern origins, because for example the typical food that her grandmother would make for her was kibba and hummus and those dishes, no pasta included. I told her yes those are typical Arabic dishes. She was puzzled and the discussion carried along with our friends. I didn’t manage to ask her how she thinks her grandparents identified themselves. Our discussion bordered into mentioning the Arab Israeli conflict, though without getting into it. I am not sure how my friend, who studied history and journalism in New York and here we are meeting in London, would have weighed on it. I had the sense that she identified with being Jewish, at least as it pertains to her search for stories of her family’s origins. 

It was interesting and strange for me. Particularly as it comes in a time where I am personally reckoning with and rediscovering being an Arab, here in London, along with a growing Arab diaspora of friends and colleagues who are spread around cities in europe. In a time as well when an Arab-Muslim migrant crisis is overshadowing Europe, it’s relation both to itself and to the world, and when a cartoon and series of statements by Macron lead to widespread mutual-hate speech and daily lone-wolf terror-crimes are erupting across different cities in Europe. I as an Arab at this present moment bear this weight in my presence here, in people’s perplexed looks, insinuations and misunderstandings. The popular theory goes that as there is no fire without smoke, and as we might not believe in stereotypes, we nevertheless think that there are reasons behind them, and it is to those roots of the stereotype of the Arab male backward and violent jihadi that the perplexed eyes keep looking. 

I never really identified as an Arab before. I identified more as an Egyptian who is reconciled with his Arab ethnicity, along with the African and Mediterranean affinities, although I am culturally oriented towards the west, for many reasons. Part of my childhood and all of my travels were in and to the west. Only last February I visited beirut for the first time, and, realizing that it was my first visit to an Arab state other than Egypt, I felt warmly home in it, digested its crises and social malaise. I understood in a novel way what and how it means to be Arab the minute I arrived to the airport and was confronted with the lax but authoritative security officer, I automatically understood how things here are done, even if they speak with a shami accent and seem to be lighter-skinned. 

As recently, and I could almost argue that it was by way of peer-pressure, I am feeling in need to reckon as well with how the word Arab echoes, and what it resonates or connotes. And as I spent the past year here in london, half of which under lockdown, and as i suffered from social isolation, estrangement, and an almost medical need for sun, spontaneity, kindness and warmth, I slowly discovered how in fact Arabs are lovely people. They are generally kind and natural, saturated with a high level of corruption and cynicism and usually crushed under the heavy weight of decades-long national and collective crises, very attached to where they come from but also actively dreaming to leave it ‘behind’ to a better place since there’s almost no hope for things to change. Arabs also have a colorful shared cuisine, full of breads, cheeses, olives, vine leaves, hummus, felafel and beans much of which is shared with the southern Mediterranean and other regions. A significant stretch of the Arab geography, is the Fertile Crescent from Palestine-Israel as they border Egypt, tying Jordan, Lebanon and Syria. My visit to Beirut, and more precisely outside of Beirut in Lebanon, I admit, opened my eyes to this tasteful landscape of green hills that Gibran described, bordering arid desert from the back and overseeing a generous stretch of the Mediterranean Sea on the front, with a temperate weather saturated with sun, warmth, and a fertile soil rich with produce, and archaeological remains necessary for understanding how civilization transformed at a certain moment in time around the agricultural revolution, bringing forth writing and scripture, cities, prophets, and god. 

This is what my imagination projects if I say that I’m an Arab. I’m not sure if that what my friend understood when I asked her if she identified with her Arab origins.