#and it's painfully obvious what this is about iykyk but oh well

[germiyahu]

And also, I saw a (presumably) American Jew get in a fight with an Israeli because the Israeli expressed... uncharitable thoughts toward Palestinians. This came from a place of frustration and resentment that non Israelis simply won't understand on a visceral level.

But the American Jew decried the Israeli as "not living up to Jewish values." I hope everyone realizes that half of Israelis are completely secular. Their Jewish identity has nothing to do with religious beliefs or practices.

The IDF does not consult the Shulkhan Arukh before making military decisions. The Israeli government is not pondering what the Great Sages of the Talmudic era would think of every law they pass. I'm sorry but for millions of Israelis they don't care. Your invoking Tikkun Olam or Pikuach Nefesh or this or that or the third thing won't sway many Israelis.

They don't live their lives by the Torah, and you come across as incredibly preachy and corny when you try to lecture them about how they're not "upholding Jewish values," when they, in this example, don't give Life unparalleled primacy. That's one of your values, and that's awesome, and most Rabbis would agree it is a core value of Judaism, but Israelis are not failing to be Good Jews when they don't live their lives by this or any other value.

Israel is a real country with real concerns, full of real people who need practical solutions to everyday problems. We as Americans probably are more religious than non-Orthodox Israelis on the whole, because religious thought and practice is a more necessary component of a Jewish identity here. You need to define yourself against the gentile majority. That's not the case in Israel. And religious Israelis often simply can't afford to have this demure affectation of nonviolence.

I don't know it just rubbed me the wrong way, to see an Israeli declare they didn't care about Palestinians going hungry, clearly from a place of pain, and to see Americans wag their fingers and say "Ugh you're being such a bad Jew!"

[ghostssweetgirl]

Injured, Pt. 1 fem! reader x Simon 'Ghost' Riley

a/n - I published this on Wattpad, so I'm putting this here. New to writing (and I chose to write smut as a newb so I'm sorry if it's no good) Find me on Wattpad by ghostssweetgirl :)

Let me know if you have any questions, requests, etc. Enjoy if you can.

Inspired by... a certain audio ;) so, iykyk...

pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley and y/n (female reader)

cw: smut. smut smut smut. size kink.

pt. 2 here

You had gotten shot, well barely, if even. Right on your left side, didn't hurt too bad as it could have been much worse, but man, it was uncomfortable enough. Ghost had been nice enough to help you to the safehouse to take care of it.

He laid you on the couch, helping you take off your gear. "We got to take off the shirt."

You huffed, embarrassed and sat up slightly to slip your shirt off, leaving you in your bloodied bra and cargo pants.

"Looks kinda nasty.. Must have reflected off a tree or somethin'," he said as he inspected the wound. "Not that bad, though, yeah? You're alive."

"Yeah..." you reply. "It's really not that bad, we can just leave it, you know.."

"Y/N, no, we have to disinfect it," he sternly spoke. "Relax."

You hissed as he inspected it further, cleaning and disinfecting the area, one hand holding pressure around it. You can't help but notice his hands are so close to your breasts. It's really cold, and the cool breeze isn't helping your case, causing your nipples to harden.

Oh fuck. I hope he doesn't notice.

(He does notice, but he doesn't say anything.)

You start to shiver as he wraps up the wound. You think to yourself, well, it really doesn't hurt THAT bad, but whatever. You slip a clean shirt on, no bra. Pretty sure your hard nipples are painfully obvious.

He sits on the couch next to you. He notices you're cold and lifts a blanket up, gesturing for you to come sit on top of him, "Come here. If you're gonna stay warm, better get up close."

You almost freeze in place. Ghost is offering you... to cuddle to keep warm? It's... well, it's for the body heat and honestly probably really means nothing, but you would like to make it mean something. You stutter... "I-I.. Um-"

"Just shut up and do what you're told for once, huh?"

You get up and shyly sit on his lap. It's almost embarrassing. How scared you are to just.. plop down and get comfortable.

"There we go," he said, almost proudly, while he lets his hands rest where your thighs crease into your hips.

"Listen, darlin', I know what it's like being the newbie around here. Especially with me and Johnny giving you a harsh time.. makes you wanna push yourself.. Prove yourself to us.. But what happened back there could have gone a lot, much worse, and fast. You need to learn, pretty quick, sharp. If you act recklessly, it puts the whole squad in danger. 141 cannot have that. We run a tight ship. Understood?"

You nod, "Yes, sir. My apologies, it won't happen again," and he pulls you into him, right under his neck and you hope to God or whatever is up there that he don't hear your heart beating out of your chest. Surely he hears how fast you're breathing, though. He really is warm, but how?

"I'm proud that you've seemed to find your place here with us, Y/N", he softly spoke with his raspy voice.

You guys shared a moment of quietness. Your small body in his lap. It made you feel so tiny, but so safe. You can't help but have intrusive thoughts... What else about him is big? Is he having any... dirty thoughts right now? You would never know...

"You know.. it amazes me. A smaller frame like yours.. having you up on my lap like this? Must make you feel a bit small, huh? Or is it more secure?" he chuckles.. "Listen, none of this gets out beyond this room, yeah? Understood?"

"It actually does make me feel secure," you look up to him, smiling. "I understand. I won't tell anyone, sir."

He lifts his balaclava above his nose.

His jaw is soooo pretty. Oh my god. Those lips...

You can't help but stare. You're caught in your thoughts... About how his jaw would feel between your legs, how his lips would feel pressed against yours... he's a beautiful man, you can't deny that. Man's got a jawline for days.

"Quit thinkin' so loud... The mask? Goes no further," he said, with eyes piercing yours. "On the field, I'm still Ghost. Nobody sees my face..."

All you guys are doing now is just staring at each other.

He breaks the silence, "But you... you have quite a set of eyes on you. And don't think that I haven't noticed..."

You blush HARD.

He grabs the nape of your neck, and kisses you. Deeply. Your eyes widen but soon close, satisfied. You stifle a whimper. He grunts as his hands travel your hips and waist.

"Your lips are... just as soft as they look," he smirked, then returned to kissing you. "And you taste heavenly.

You jump as his hand brushes past your wound, "Don't worry, don't worry..." he shushes you, "I'll steer clear of it. You have to forgive me but..." He tightly grips your ass, making it jiggle as he bounces it with his hands.

You wrap your arms around his neck, letting one hand rest on his jawline, rubbing your thumb across it. You're starting to breath heavily as he's really working you up... His hands don't stop exploring your body. He can't settle on a spot until he's at your breasts, and he cups them. He groans as he squeezes them. "God, you're a beautiful woman, Y/N."

You two share a look, and he takes his knife, cuts your shirt off, revealing your breasts with hard buds as you weren't wearing a bra anymore... "You like this, yeah?", you nod eagerly as he looks up at you while he takes one into his mouth, savoring the taste of sweat and you. He is really enjoying hearing you moan for him. He groans as he goes back and forth between them, making sure they get equal attention. "Sorry about the stubble, luv... Surely you'll forgive me.." he chuckles as he kisses up your chest, to your neck... settling on that one sweet spot of your neck, leaving a hickey. "Those moans... I'm gonna need more..."

He abruptly stops. "Get up and strip down to your panties," he demanded. And you do so, because you do not want to piss off your Lieutenant. You didn't even hesitate. You wanted this baaad.

He groans as he examines your now almost bare body. You feel embarrassed and try to cover yourself, and he quickly grabs hold of your wrist. "Do not hide from me, luv." he pulls you back on his lap. You feel his hardness... and god, he's big. You knew it'd be big, but... it'll split you in HALF.

"Look at you..." he cooed, kissing down your chest, biting your tit, hands grazing your back. "Sweet little girl. You're so beautiful."

(oh my fuck)

You blush at the praise. Sweet little girl? He's going to be the death of you... You needily grind up against his lap. He tuts, "Greedy girl... I'm taking my time with you. Be patient, yeah? Good girl."

"Sir... I really want you..." you pleaded with half lidded eyes, moaning, guiding his hand to your clit, over your panties. He bucks up and moans. God, his moans.

"Mmm, that's it, guide me to where you want me, princess.."

You buck your hips, chasing the pleasure from his rough and large finger... You're moaning loud, and god, he loves those moans... He sucks your nipples again while you're pleasing yourself with his finger... and surprise, all of a sudden your underwear are ripped off... more like, cut off... and you feel his bare finger against your clit. "Already this wet for me? Sweet jesus..." he moaned as he sucked even harder on your hard nipple... You gasp as one finger enters your pussy.

"Fuckin' hell, don't need much foreplay, huh? I can already feel how tight you are. Mmm, and you're wet as hell, Y/N." He's knuckle deep in you, and mind you, it's just one finger but it feels like an actual penis inside of you. You bounce on his finger. You're making him moan and you're not even doing anything to him. His palm brushes against your clit, and you're already so close to orgasm, and you know he can tell, you're clenching around him so tightly, your moans are echoing in this empty house, you're getting sloppy... and then.... you're empty...

He lays you on your back, climbing on top of you. You can hear his heavy breaths, and you see his eyes glaring you, eating up the view of your body beneath him. You can't help but feel intimidated. "God - fuck, you're so small compared to me. Bloody hell, you're gorgeous, Y/N."

You lean up slightly, and let your hands explore his defined arms. He's still dressed, and you so badly want to see his body. Fuck, he's so hot and big.

He shakes his head, seeming to have gotten lost in his mind, and he takes his shirt off, revealing his toned body lined with scars, scars that you may or most likely not ever hear the story of, but you feel so curious. Your hands explore his abs, up to his chest. You tug at his belt, and go to take it off. Once you're at his boxers, you breathe in, so excited to actually see his cock. He helps you and takes his boxers off, letting his huge and thick cock slap up against his stomach, reaching well past his belly button.

"What's with that look?" he furrows his brows, teasing you. "Don't worry, we'll make it fit, princess."

You giggle, embarrassed. 😳 You are eating UP these pet names and praise. You never knew Ghost could be so gentle and sweet. This big guy, who is an absolute asshole to most, is praising you, almost worshipping you.

You're grabbed out of the endless thoughts arising in your mind to a harsh slap on your clit.

"Fuuuck," he groans as he's making you quiver with each love tap he's hitting on your needy cunt. "God, angel, you're going to really need to work for this cock."

He's rubbing against your wetness, lines of slick connecting each time his member is separated from your slit. You can't stop the moans escaping from your mouth.

He crawls down between your thighs, and dives into your juices.

Holy fuck, fuck, fuck. He's so good, why is he so good?

You're quick to cup your mouth with your hands to try and lessen the echos of your screams, not wanting anyone to hear.

"You taste so good, Y/N. So fucking sweet."

His stubble glides against the puffiness of your cunt, you're on the brink of orgasm until-

"OH MY GOD, GHOST-"

He stuck only his head in, catching you by major surprise.

"Shhh, shhh, I know.. I know, sweet angel.. You can take it," he comforts you, rubbing your cheek, leaning down to kiss you.

It almost hurts, but the pain is so, so good. You feel so full and he's not even halfway. "Oh, gh- ghost... You're too fucking big, holy shit."

"You're fucking tight, luv, I'm sorry... I'm going to need.. ugh.. a minute," he groans as he nestles into your neck, adjusting to how you grip around his length. If he doesn't take a moment, he'll cum long before he wants to.

Your breaths still aren't steady, mewls falling out of your mouth and he's barely even rutting against you, still just halfway in. Tears welling up in the corner of your eyes, you nod to him to keep going as he sits himself up.

He finally bottoms out. The pain was quickly reduced to pure pleasure. The most pleasure you've ever felt, you have to admit.

He hikes your legs up, putting you in a mating press, careful with your wound, and starts with a steady, but oh so deep pace, with each thrust, his tip is kissing your cervix, wet sounds spilling out. Both of your moans are echoing the room, and it's getting warm from all the hot breath.

"Goddamn, Y/N. You like this? You like my fat cock in your pussy, hm?" he grasps a handful of your hair, tilting your head to look at the way his dick slides in and out of you. "Look at that. Look at thaaaat... Mmm, that's my girl. Say my name"

That's my girl. Fuck. You go to say "Ghost" but he corrects you.

"No, no. Don't call me Ghost or fucking Lieutenant. Call me Simon. Simon. Yeahhh.." he says, his thrusts getting harder, deeper, faster.

You feel that knot in your stomach...

Your back arches as much as it can, your hands gripping each side of the couch. He's talking you through your orgasm, and it's helping.. too much.

"That's a good fucking girl"

"Yes, sweet girl, let it out, let it out my angel. You're all fucking mine"

"Cum on my cock, cum all over my fucking cock, god, if you don't stop clenching this tight around me, I'm gonna cum, I'm so fucking close"

You moan, mouth agape and looking at him, dumbfounded, cum-hazed look on your face as sticky white substance leaks out your hole, leaving an 'o' around the base of his cock. "Fuck, Simon.. Thank you, thank you.. Thank you.. Aah~ fuck, thank you.." you breathlessly plead and mewl, earning a sadistic smirk from your Lieutenant.

You lean up to kiss him, and he kisses you deeper than before, moaning into your mouth. His hand finds your clit, furiously playing with it, overstimulating you, making your legs shake... You shriek as you really can't handle it, fuck, the feeling of his cock stretching you to your limit plus the way his hand vibrates over your clit is too much.

His thrusts are getting sloppy, he's speaking sweet nothings, babbling.. you can't really understand him, but you know he's so close. You're close again too, surprisingly. Crescent moons are placed in his shoulders from your nails, making him hiss.. the pain also adding to his pleasure. You buck your hips into him to help the both of you.

"Baby, I'm so fucking close.. Sh- shit, the way you're clenched around me - fuck.. I know you have another one in there, come onnnn... cum with me sweet girl.." he coos, literally pulling that last orgasm out of you, kissing your jaw down to your neck, thrusting harder, bottoming out.

You both reach your climax simultaneously, panting and riding the high out.

Both out of breath, he carefully spins you on top of him. His cock, along with both of yous' cum, slowly falls out. You're left naked laying on top of this beast of a man.

I just had sex with my Lieutenant.

Another quiet, but comfortable moment goes by, you're enjoying laying on his chest, listening to the thud of his heartbeat. It's relaxing, really.

He grunts, and plays with your hair. "Like I said, none of this gets out beyond this room. We wouldn't hear the fucking end of it if anyone found out. Given they wouldn't do a damn thing about it because they know I'd kill them, but still."

You nod, unable to speak. Your mind is still jambled, you're still trying to fathom the pleasure you just received.

"I don't know about you, but I'd like to enjoy the rest of the night with you. We may not have another chance, so let's make the most of it, yeah? I know I won't be forgetting tonight anytime soon. And you better fucking not, either."

Your hand draws circles on his chest, as you smile, satisfied. You can't help but feel so worn out, literally. Your eyes are fluttering shut, sleepiness taking over you.

"Get some rest, I'll take first watch. That's an order."

You fall asleep in his strong, but comforting arms.

[liyuesbian]

✧ pygmalion!au [ningguang]

notes: btw idk how commissions from museums work i just made the process up LMAO and this one's kinda angsty? i mean, it is the pygmalion greek myth so iykyk. also, i describe this figurine of ningguang here but w/o the colour... i've linked it in case any1 needs the reference. (btw, this is not set in ancient greece specifically)

only yesterday had you been commissioned by an art gallery in the capital to create a piece for their up-and-coming collection titled desire, love and identity. yet here you are, slaving away to make the perfect image you had in your head come into fruition. your vision is exquisite once sketched on paper—you can't find any faults in it so you take the risk.

as soon as your chisel meets the marble, a feeling so invigorating dominates your body. no further references are necessary as you place your trust entirely on your hands, coarse from the labour. you find such mindless toil addicting and you work day and night, only stopping for a half-baked meal and the odd collapse into bed.

for months, love streams out of the tips of your fingers and through your sculpting tools to arrive at the stone figure. you sincerely hope the intimate emotion has been reached.

when you finish, you wipe the bead of sweat running down your forehead, rest the other palm on your hip and take slow steps backwards all while maintaining eye contact with the statue. a wave of sweet relief hits you and you fall to the floor, uncontrollably sobbing into tired hands that still grip the hammer and chisel.

it's beautiful.

you stagger, struggling to get up with your bruised knees while clumsily wiping the tears off your stained cheeks. setting the instruments aside, you lift your head to admire your handiwork up close. a woman made of stone sits elegantly atop an oriental chair, crossing her smooth, white legs over each other. her left elbow is propped on the arm of the chair while on the other side, a long smoking pipe is balanced between gloved fingers. around her lies an assortment of objects: a vase containing scrolls, a floor lamp, and a charmingly decorated folding screen.

you see, you had already thought it all out. you'd imagined ningguang's preferences for a life of luxury, her affinity for constructing and sprucing up interiors. she would be a master of the trades and a woman who likes to keep an air of mystery around her. and like how you increasingly project her to be more of a person than she ever will be, there is a creeping concern in the corner of your mind that you will lose your rationality just as quickly.

the sculpture's body is clad in a qipao with a slit that reveals alabaster skin below the waist. the dress—embellished with patterns and neat linings—hugs her figure and shows off a lean build. the extensive train and sleeves of the fabric are shaped curvaceously to mirror the flow of a waterfall. and her face. the section you strived so hard to refine. she stares at you with an imperious expression and a hint of a smirk. her gaze, so piercing, makes you avert your eyes in shyness but you find yourself gravitating back to her profile.

you muster up the courage to draw closer to your creation and unconsciously stroke her cheek with your thumb, captivated. if she were an empress, you'd be a common peasant—undeserving of setting your sights on such a goddess. you can feel your soul being sucked into eyes devoid of emotion—of anything, actually. after all, the woman sitting before you is not a person but an inanimate object.

the weeks following the completion of ningguang—which is the name you've picked up the habit of calling her—are spent in said lady's company. every minute of every day, you surround yourself with her presence as if she is your closest friend. you eat with her, tell her your troubles, even going so far as to decorate her with various types of jewellery and bringing her gifts you think she'd like.

"thank you," you whisper. "for always listening to me." in truth, you're always so immersed in your work that you forgot what conversations could feel like. though, you fear your art would never be on par with something so transcendent ever again.

you become curious, wondering what she would be like if the nymph in front of you were not just a figment of your imagination.

you perch yourself on top of ningguang's stone-cold lap and trace the contours of her visage. you inspect each crease on her lips and the minuscule crinkles in her eyes, applauding yourself for the well-crafted details. you don't know what possesses you but you close your eyes and press your lips against hers, hoping that once you open them, a living being would erupt from underneath the marble. but, of course, as soon as the light hits your retinas, ningguang is as unmoving as ever.

realising what you've just done, you drop off of her thighs and laugh anxiously. however, you could've sworn that you had felt warmth in the lips of your beloved muse.

"i've finally gone mad!" you cry aloud.

hell, you say to yourself, is it even possible to fall in love with such an... an artefact? you dismiss your glaringly obvious infatuation.

"nonsense," you mutter under your breath, sensing your heart breaking slightly. how can something so painfully humanlike also not be human at the same time? you must've caused a tremendous atrocity in your past life to have made the gods harbour a grudge against you. of all things, you'd never have guessed that a lifeless piece of art would be the object of your desire.

you can't bear to look at the handcrafted lady any longer and with an anguished face, cover her with a large cotton cloth. the plan was to wait until you could hand the statue over to the curators and try to ignore its existence until then.

for a few days, you act according to the plan, going about your daily routine but eventually, your stoic demeanour crumbles. you lock yourself in your room refusing to eat or believe that your affection would never be returned.

during the hours of sunlight, you weep under your sheets, drowning in self-inflicted sorrow. and at night, you do the same, lamenting over the loss of what could've been your true love. she would've been so perfect in your eyes, your other half, and the only one who could calm this growing turmoil!

the reality pains you. hence, you do the only thing you can do: you pray. you pray to the gods for a miracle, that the light of your life would stride into your room and pull you from the depths of despair... but she never does.

your last day "cohabitating" with the sculpture has arrived and for the first time in—what felt like—an eternity, you open the doors to your workshop. taking a deep breath, you unveil the stationary maiden.

it's still as beautiful as you remember.

you give it a sad smile, wanting to get its departure over and done with. you manoeuvre about the room to prepare the things for the movers who're due to come in a couple of hours. while you go down your little list of errands to be done, you cough and bat away the smoke—wait, the smoke? frantic, you spin around, eyes darting everywhere in search of its origin until they land on the smoking pipe you so intricately moulded for the commissioned piece.

it's strange, you don't recall colouring the statue. and how on earth is smoke coming out of the pipe? suspicious, you approach the motionless entity and almost stumble when you spot its chest rising.

oh lord! — i really must be descending into madness! you clutch your head, clawing at your hair in hysteria.

"stop, please don't hurt yourself." the sound of a low, worried voice penetrates your ears. you shut your eyes tight.

"no, the gods have cursed me! i mustn't listen to your poisonous words!" you exclaim. your state of agitation is alleviated when the woman caresses your tensed arm.

"what has happened to you? i haven't seen you lately either." the tone is more soft and more tender than you had imagined. you release your grip.

"is it really you, ningguang?" your voice cracks at the end, and the woman you sought after witnesses your features twist into an expression of longing and hope.

"yes, my darling. i dare not go anywhere else."

helplessly, you rush to cup her face to check for heat, for the blood traversing under her skin—anything that would prove that your sweetheart is truly alive and breathing. and when you do get the confirmation, you beam, trying to withhold tears born from elation.

you bend down to kiss ningguang, who is still seated on the chair, once, twice, and three times to rid your scepticism. oh, deities! she's real.

"i love you," you declare.

"i know." you watch as the same creases you'd etched on the corners of her eyes spread into a loving half-moon shape and you kiss her again.

you reach a conclusion: you couldn't give away your lover—let alone a live person—to be displayed as part of a museum exhibition so when the workers arrive, you hide your muse away in another room. you apologise profusely and spin a lie, rambling on about how you had nothing to relinquish for the piece you had prepared had been oh-so-viciously stolen by a mob of trespassers!

the movers share with you their sympathies and ask what the work of art looks like and maybe they could sort something out with the authorities. nodding, you recount—so ardently—the details of your divine maiden. you feel heat rush to your face, chuckling when you realise that you'd run your mouth for too long.

in response to this, the two labourers exchange dubious looks as they peer at the static sculpture standing in the middle of the studio—its appearance unmistakably matching your elaborate description.