#therefore i will be living and suffering with this fact in silence

[flowerandblood]

Paradise Fruit (1)

[ Kingdom of Heaven • King Baldwin x female ]

[ warnings: watching each other masturbate, soft, poetic smut, a detailed description of the deadly disease and the unpleasant symptoms associated with it ]

[ description: After being treated by King Saladin's physicians, King Baldwin begins to leave his chambers. The people of the court whisper around her that the young ruler will not even live to be thirty years old. As a lady of waiting of his sister, she attracts his attention. ]

Author's Note: I said it and I did it: I know this isn't your typical Ewan Mitchell character, but I couldn't resist. I'm glad I wrote this because I had too many thoughts after watching this movie and now my soul is at peace! For those who haven't seen Kingdom of Heaven, I highly recommend it, it's an amazing production.

Word count: 3.900

Part 2 – White Marriage

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

My other works: Masterlist

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Jerusalem seemed to her at once a paradise and a hell on earth, both beautiful, sublimely sacred, as much as broken, dirty and cruel. The reign of King Baldwin IV was a reign of restraint and peace, the greatest evidence of which was his rich diplomatic correspondence with King Saladin himself.

Baldwin gave permission for the Muslim part of Jerusalem to hold prayers as it wished, on payment of appropriate taxes – a huge step towards reconciling the city's disparate population and a cause of contention among the Christian knights.

As lady of the court, she accompanied the royal sister, Sibylla, like her shadow, serving her with conversation, reading books in her company, being the equivalent of her friend and confidante, watching over her welfare.

She was the third daughter, and was therefore a burden to her lord father, who sent her to Jerusalem to the royal court when she was thirteen. Her father hoped that Sibylla herself would find her a suitable husband and put up the coins for her dowry, allowing her family to glory on the Old Continent in the fact that her chosen one was favoured by the God in the Holy Land.

Looking at Princess Sibylla's marriage, she prayed that she would never meet her fate, preferring to eventually fade into old age in a monastery.

Her Lady abhorred her husband: not in a physical context, for he was not unlike other great knights in stature or appearance, but in his heart, which was filled with the lust for power.

Although he believed that he was acting in the name of Christ on the Earth, he represented neither his mercy nor his prudence, being a simply unkind and spiteful man.

Sibylla was given in marriage to him at the age of 15, and she watched her sufferings and humiliations in silence, only being able to allow herself occasionally to close her hand on hers, giving her encouragement.

It was known that her husband's dream was the death of the King, for it would then be his wife who would become heir to the throne. Someone might laugh at this wish, knowing that King Baldwin was only 16 years old when she arrived at court.

However, despite such a young age, it was known that the King would probably not live to see his thirtieth year.

The cruel disease that had descended upon his body when he was still a young child, leprosy, was the reason why his whole body was covered, and his face was adorned with a beautiful silver mask – the only thing visible through it were his eyes, bright and wise, the skin around his eyelids all red.

His sister despaired at his undeserved suffering, at the thought that his body was falling apart, his skin peeling and pulling away from his muscles, causing him excruciating pain. He could not touch anyone or be touched directly because his disease was contagious.

Thus, one of the greatest rulers of Jerusalem, a man who had accomplished the impossible and ushered, at least for a while, the Kingdom of Heaven into this forbidden holy land, suffered daily torment.

As she prayed for the health of her family and his sister, she also prayed for him – since Christ was able to miraculously cure lepers, as the Bible itself said, perhaps there was hope for him too.

As a sign of respect and friendship, the Muslim King Saladin sent a retinue of his best physicians to relieve the King of his pain, which must have helped at least to some extent, for although she had previously only seen him in audience standing by his sister's side, now the King began to walk through the palace gardens on his own.

One day, when Sibylla noticed him standing next to one of the monks, she approached him immediately, praising his name, and she moved humbly to follow her, feeling grateful at the thought that the King was indeed feeling better.

That perhaps her prayers had been answered.

"Brother. It rejoices me to see you in the fresh air, away from the suffocating comfort of your chambers full of books and parchments." Sibylla said, pulling her shawl from her mouth, revealing her face to her brother.

As a married woman, she covered her face out of sheer decency, as her husband was a jealous man, but she, as a maiden, in addition almost always being in the presence of her Lady, did not have to do so.

"Your judgement is too harsh, dear sister. Books and parchments are my solace in the hardest of times." He said calmly and lazily, effortlessly – it was the first time she had heard his voice this close and she thought the words coming out of his mouth were like humming.

He had a white linen cloth draped over his head that reminded her of the headgear of the pharaohs, a richly embroidered white robe and gloves on his body, a silver mask portraying the features of a handsome, masculine man on his face.

She swallowed hard as his gaze shifted to her, catching her looking shamelessly at her ruler's face, causing her to lower her head immediately.

"Let's take a walk. We should take advantage of the beautiful weather." Said his sister, wanting to take his arm, he however moved away immediately and shook his head.

Pain and sadness crossed Sibylla's face, but after a moment she only nodded and forced herself to smile, walking ahead with him, letting her and the King's servant walk a few steps behind them.

That evening, for the first time, the King summoned her.

"Do not fret." Sibylla said. "My brother is a man of decency and sensitivity. Rest assured, he will not set upon your virtue or force you to do things unworthy of a lady. He confessed to me that he would like to look at your face for at least a moment longer and asked me to convey his wish to you, indicating that you may refuse."

She looked at her in disbelief, feeling the blush of embarrassment appear on her cheeks at her words, feeling her heart begin to pound like mad.

"If it is the will of our beloved King, I will do so." She said, and Sibylla nodded, giving her one satisfied smile.

She wore her most beautiful robe and hair adornments as if she were about to attend a nuptials – the material cast over her body was blue, fastened at the shoulders and waist with golden buckles, in her hair at the sides jewellery resembling a wreath of laurel leaves.

As she entered his chamber, candles burned all around, she was also struck by the intense scent of lavender – she noticed immediately his white, seated figure bent over thick tomes. His head turned towards her, in his mask she was able to see the reflection of everything around him.

"Do not be afraid. Come closer." He said softly and she nodded, feeling her heart flutter in her chest like a bird.

Her footsteps on the stone floor echoed through his chamber, the rustling of her robe as she sat down opposite him made her sound similar to the rustling of leaves.

She swallowed hard as she watched him sigh and spread out comfortably in his chair, looking her straight in the eye – she immediately looked away, unaccustomed to such confidentiality with anyone.

"No." He said. "Don't deny me this pleasure."

She tightened her fingers on the material of her garment, lifting her gaze to him again, feeling herself involuntarily begin to breathe through her mouth.

She could see the calm and curiosity in his eyes – his head was tilted slightly to one side, as if he was thinking about something, silence all around him.

"I'm making you uncomfortable." He concluded.

She shook her head quickly, horrified, thinking that something in her posture or gaze had discouraged him.

"No, Your Grace. I just don't know how to behave. What is appropriate for me to do or say in your presence. Silence is safe." She confessed in shame, lowering her eyes to her fingers again, reminding herself after a moment that she should not do so.

The King hummed at her words.

"Do not take my words as my attempt to mock you, however, knowing how little time I have left in this wretched world has made me tread lightly in courtly etiquette." He said with amusement, not taking his eyes off her, something flashed in his gaze as if someone had lit a candle inside them.

"We waste time feigning care and respect, hiding what is true, arising from the depths of our hearts, because that is what etiquette demands of us. When we stand before God, will we say to him: I have never really loved or sympathised, but my lips have left many beautiful, great words?" He asked, and she looked at him in disbelief, completely surprised by his approach and what she had heard.

Some part of her knew he was right.

"In this world, only the King can afford to lack beautiful words." She muttered, hearing after a moment that something akin to a chuckle had left his lips.

"You are mistaken. One word from the King can either create or destroy."

She lowered her head, wondering if he had just rebuked her, he, however, seemed satisfied.

"My reign will end with my death, which will be in a few years at the latest. I will not beget an heir to whom I can pass on my philosophy of ruling, the values that are essential. My sister's husband and his greed will sit on the throne, and Jerusalem will fall." He said calmly, as if he were telling her about the weather, his fingers clad in a white silk glove tapping rhythmically against the table top.

She swallowed hard, feeling a squeeze in her heart, wondering if perhaps the reason he had summoned her was quite different from what she had suspected.

"What shall I do, my King?" She asked, and he laughed again, louder this time, looking at her as if something in her question gave him pleasure.

"Your devotion rejoices my heart. Do not think, however, that you will hear from me an order that would condemn you to eternal damnation. I could not then leave this world in peace. No. I wish that when I disappear, someone will watch over my sister. To help her escape when all is lost here, no matter what her husband will desire. Do you understand what I have in mind?" He asked softly, and she nodded, thinking she felt more respect towards him than ever.

"Yes, my King." She replied.

He smiled at her words, she saw it in his gaze. She lifted her gaze higher, towards the windows by which the shoots of dried lavender hung, surrounding them with a pleasant, refreshing scent.

"I had these beautiful flowers brought in from far away. They mask well the unpleasant ailments of my illness on hot days. The smell of rotting flesh is one of the most disgusting to man, for nature equates it with spoiled food from which he can die." He explained, and she looked at him in disbelief, feeling hot shame ripple through her body at his words.

His suffering must have been unimaginable.

"Knights praise their own greatness and bravery during battles wishing for songs to be sung about them. I, for one, hope to hear songs about Baldwin IV, a wise and prudent King, a merciful Monarch who fought each day with his own suffering and triumphed. I do not know the words that can convey my admiration for your person." She mouthed in a trembling voice, feeling that her hands lying on her thighs were quivering all over with emotion, burning tears for some reason squeezed under her eyelids.

The King looked at her for a long moment in silence, something in his gaze that made her feel a pleasant tingling in her fingertips.

"Your soul is as beautiful as your body. You are like a breath of cool wind on a hot day. I am grateful to you for allowing me to experience this joy."

As she left his chamber, for some reason she burst out crying.

She could not understand why: it seemed to her that her heart squeezed all over in pain, not only out of compassion, but also out of a sense of injustice that a man so great and enlightened was experiencing undeserved torment every day.

Or was it through his ordeal that he became such a man, such a King?

If the gates of the Kingdom of Heaven were to open before anyone in the second life, it was before him, she thought.

That night she could not sleep: she was ashamed of herself for thinking about him. She tried not to pay attention to men, knowing their nature, knowing that they might consider it an invitation on her part to sin.

However, the time she spent with him, although she might perceive his words as ambiguous, seemed to her something almost spiritual, a moment of awakening, as if she had been in a half-sleep until the moment she looked into his eyes.

His gaze would find her in the audience among the other servants and ladies of the court. She knew this because his eyes stopped on her face, and although he listened intently to what his subjects were saying to him, she knew that for that one moment he was focused only on her.

The flutter of her heart shamed her, allowing her to realise that, like a flower, a warm and pleasant feeling was blossoming within her, coming from God.

"You occupy my brother's thoughts. He follows you with his eyes." Said Sibylla as they walked together through the corridors of the great, cold stone fortress.

"It was not my desire to distract him from the affairs of the Kingdom." She confessed with shame, entwining her fingers on her womb, looking sadly at her fingers. His sister snorted at her words.

"Jerusalem is destroying him. It is the Kingdom that is his disease. He has taken upon himself all its sins, purified it. He gave it years of peace and dignity." She said with a pain from which she felt a sting in her heart.

Why was it that whenever she thought of him she wanted to cry?

"I want to relieve him." She said finally, looking at her uncertainly, afraid of how the words sounded when they left her mouth. Sibylla stopped, looking at her with furrowed brows.

"Don't be a fool. My brother will not condemn you to a fate similar to his own."

"There are many ways to experience relief. You said so yourself, Princess."

Sibylla looked at her thoughtfully and after a moment nodded, giving her wordless consent to whatever she wished to do.

The trust she had in her intimidated her.

As the siblings' chambers were next to each other, walking along the corridor from one quarters to the other was not a problem for her – Sibylla dismissed her guards so that no one could see in what negligee she went to the king's chamber.

Her long hair was loose, her body covered only by a thin nightgown, rubbed with fragrant oils, on her shoulders a cashmere shawl with which she covered herself to protect herself from the cold.

When she closed the door behind her and turned to face him, his eyes were wide in shock. He was silent for a moment, clearly not knowing what to say.

"No." He said finally. "Go back to your chamber."

"I have not come to you to sin. Does the sight of me disgust you, my King?" She asked in a trembling voice, feeling that she was breathing heavily through her mouth, her heart pounding like mad in her chest.

She saw something in his gaze that looked like he felt pain, his figure creased slightly, as if he had run out of strength.

"God created you to subject me to the ultimate trial. He is torturing me like Job."

She felt a single, warm, heavy tear run down her cheek at his words, her body trembling all over, hot and cold at the same time with desire, though she did not know what kind or what was causing it.

"God sent me to soothe your suffering." She whispered.

They looked at each other like that for a long moment that lasted an eternity, and only after a while did she realise that his silence was due to the fact that he wanted whatever she was going to do to be due to her free will. Therefore, she moved tentatively towards his bed, on which she saw a clean, snow-white sheets, and lay down on her back, putting her shawl aside.

She looked up at him – his gaze was fixed on her, his silhouette sitting in a chair by the window frozen in stillness, the whiteness of his attire seeming to her to shine amidst the candles and the surrounding darkness of the night.

She swallowed hard, feeling the dryness in her throat as her fingers lifted to the ties of her nightgown – she untied the knot, a pleasant squeeze spreading between her thighs, something sticky beginning to leak from it onto the sheet beneath her buttocks.

"– does what I am doing disgust you, my King? – is it a sin? –" She asked, sliding the thin material off her shoulders in a gentle, soft motion, unashamedly revealing her plump, sweet breasts. His gaze fled to them, as if what he had just seen simultaneously terrified and excited him.

"– looking at you, all I feel is desire – it's me sinning in my mind, not you –" He whispered so that she barely heard him, his hand sliding from the table top to his thigh.

Though she knew it was wrong, her whole body screamed, wanting him to touch her, to check for himself how soft and warm her flesh was, her moist, swollen womanhood, pulsing around nothing in desire.

"– not just you, Your Grace –" She muttered in a trembling voice, shamefully mimicking his movements, her long, small fingers sliding down her belly between her thighs, sinking into her warm folds like the moist flesh of an exotic fruit.

His head bowed as they both made a strange, unnatural sound full of surprise at the same moment, a moan as if they had caused each other pain, but yet all she could feel was a wonderful, hot tingling in her quivering womanhood, in her lips, in her nipples, in the tips of her fingertips.

He did not allow her to look at what he was touching under the material of his robe, she could however see the shape of that part of his body outlined on the material – his manhood was long and fat like a piece of stick, growing larger and larger with each squeeze of his hand.

She threw her head back, imagining feeling something that big inside her, in an involuntary reflex finding with her fingertips her puffy slit, slick and tight, resisting her as she tried to slide it inside her.

"– let me see –" He whispered, as if asking for something dirty, disgusting, repulsive.

She, however, felt only the heat of pleasure at his words shake her body – her thighs involuntarily parted, her legs bent at the knees allowing her nightgown to shamelessly reveal all that only her husband should be able to look at.

She felt tears under her eyelids at the thought of wanting to be his wife.

"– you have my love, my King – you have my heart –" She breathed out, digging her fingers deeper into the delicate structure of her folds, teasing again and again the small bud from which her body went through shivers of wonderful, familiar pleasure.

His eyes were fixed on what was between her thighs, his gaze hazy and hot, his breath heavy, the sound of his hand smacking against his flesh sticky and lewd.

"– like the inside of a ripe fruit – like Eve in paradise –" He breathed out, staring at her as if he were looking at something delightful, accelerating the splats of his hand with a low grunt of pleasure. "– so beautiful –"

She felt a thrill of pleasure shake her, shivers ran through her cheeks, breasts and legs at his words, so shameless and yet poetic, beautiful, like the Song of Songs of King David.

"– her breasts are like two fawns –" She hummed, quoting one of the biblical verses, the gaze of her King again fixed on her face, full of fire, heavenly or infernal. "– like twin fawns of a gazelle that browse among the lilies –"

"– her lips drop sweetness as the honeycomb – milk and honey are under her tongue –" He whispered in reply, quoting another of the songs from the manuscript, making her involuntarily allow her own fingers to invade her insides at last.

She threw her head back with a girlish moan, her free hand gripping the frame of his bed, rolling her hips back and forth, stretching her tight interior with the sticky clicks of her wetness.

"– she is a spring enclosed – a sealed fountain –" He muttered and let out a low, helpless groan of relief, leaning down, his hand lying on the table top clenched into a fist.

She felt a wonderful convulsion shake her body at his words, her fleshy, moist walls beginning to throb and clench around her own fingers.

She imagined that her body had just sucked his seed deep inside her, which would take root in her like a tree, giving him a future and an inheritance.

She moaned as she felt her pleasure reach its peak, seeing for a moment only the darkness before her eyes – her fingers, all wet with her moisture stroked for a moment more the little spot deep inside her, her whole body hot and sweaty from the exertion.

Her release was wonderful and sweet, as if she had tasted the most delicious of fruits.

She opened her eyes and met his gaze, his figure relaxed and spread out comfortably on the chair, his hand laid back on its armrest, his glove sticky with something pearly and shiny.

They breathed loudly for a while, just watching each other – she decided not to cover her body, wanting to give him that pleasure, wishing only his gaze could see her like this.

Bare.

He sighed quietly, cocking his head, his gaze satisfied, indicating that he had clearly made a decision in his heart.

"– I will marry you tomorrow at dawn –"

She blinked and raised herself up on her elbows, horrified.

"– my King – that's not –"

"– I know that this was not your intention – I also know that you will understand that it will be a white marriage, which I will declare to all and sundry – you will not lose your maidenhood – you will not bear me children – the Kingdom will treat you after my death as a saint who stood by the dying King in his misery – when I join my Father in the Heavens, you will be free to remarry –" He explained and she shook her head, feeling offended by his words.

"– I will not take another husband –"

He fell silent and swallowed hard, as if something in the certainty in which she said this moved him deeply.

"– very well – I have only one condition: you will never take off my mask – not even after my death – you will see me as I am only in the Kingdom of Heaven –"

[dyns33]

Family honor

So Alfie x Y/N Shelby wife will be a little series now

There were several differences between a Gypsy wedding and a Jewish wedding.

The most obvious being that gypsy marriage was not recognized by anyone except gypsies.

But if it wasn't celebrated, you could walk past a priest, a rabbi, an imam or the fucking King himself, to live for years with the same person, under the same roof, with children, that would not have the slightest importance for the gypsies.

Alfie Solomons muttered several times that none of this was kosher, but he respected all the rites and traditions of Y/N's family. Even drinking alcohol, he who hated having a foggy mind.

"Already quite foggy the rest of the time, love. But if your savages of brothers insist…"

“The savages insist.” John said, giving him a whole bottle of whiskey.

“I can’t believe this asshole is going to become one of us.”

"Oh, Arthur, I'm touched that you accept me so quickly into your heart."

It took several people besides Tommy and Y/N to stop them from killing each other, when they were completely drunk.

Then they insisted on walking together in the horse field, the older Shelby brother ending up giving his blessing before falling asleep under a tree, making it clear that he would slit Alfie's throat if he did not treat his beloved little sister correctly.

The wandering jew left him to return with the others, who were dancing and singing. A perfect wedding, completely normal.

If he was offended when Y/N told him that the Jewish marriage was practically the same, he didn't show it, just made a strange sound with his nose.

There may have been less alcohol, and it was legally recognized, but the rest was a gathering of a lot of loud people, not speaking English, jumping around and congratulating them on their union.

Y/N, however, quickly noticed the biggest difference between gypsy marriage and Jewish marriage.

Although they had been a little surprised and worried by her choice of husband, her family had decided to give a chance to Alfie Solomons, whom they judged solely because of his actions. The rest didn't matter in the slightest.

With the Camden community, it wasn’t so simple.

“Your lovely wife is going to convert ?” an old woman asked, although it sounded more like an order than a question.

"Ah, frau Aldermann. It is true that I am such a pious man myself, it is a very important subject that my wife and I have talked about a lot. Isn't that right, treacle ?"

“Good, good.” sighed a man, patting his shoulder, not seeming to understand Alfie's sarcasm. "This is very important, especially for such an admired member. Perhaps your mother was of Jewish parentage ?"

She could have replied that she had not really known her mother, and therefore even less her family, but her husband saved her from this discussion, which he considered ridiculous, by inviting her to dance.

A true act of love, for him who hated dancing, in addition to suffering terribly because of his back.

It didn't take long for her entire family tree to be dissected in every way. The old harpies of Camden were like all the harpies of London.

The fact that she couldn't answer their question was almost a good thing. This mystery made it possible to say that if we could not verify that she was Jewish through her mother, we could not verify that she was not either. And everything always went through the mother.

The deplorable past of her father and the Shelby family could then have been forgotten.

The problem was mainly that her mother was not Mr. Arthur Shelby Sr. wife, which made Y/N a bastard. A gypsy bastard at that.

Even when she didn't understand the language, she guessed that people were talking about her. These looks and these laughter, she knew them well. Her brothers had suffered them when they were younger, before they used their fists to silence the ignorant and conquer Birmingham.

But she wasn't in Birmingham. Her brothers were not there, and it was her husband's kingdom.

Alfie wasn't the last to comment on gypsies.

"You know, I expected to have to sleep in a caravan for our honeymoon. It would have been terrible for my back, I don't know if Thomas took pity on us or if his petty posh side is to be thanked."

“They had a tent for us, but Finn threw up in it.”

"Fuck off, love. You're kidding me !"

“Then we would have danced naked around a fire asking the moon to give us happiness, health and above all a lot of fucking money.”

"… Yeah, you're totally kidding me, you little rascal." Alfie said, mock irritated, pulling her in for a kiss.

He didn't seem to notice that every little word spoken against her family and their traditions was beginning to weigh on her.

At least it was never completely mean when it was him. Almost innocent, full of prejudice and stupidity, but not crossing certain limits.

The rest of the community was not so kind. Many had not appreciated that the King of Camden, such a prized party, war hero, respected gangster, charming man, ended up with a girl like her. It must have been business, blackmail, or black magic.

There was no other possible explanation.

For several months, she decided to be the reasonable adult, remaining calm and polite, taking the blows as best she could. Tommy had taught her how to do it.

He had also taught her the pride of gypsies. Honor.

So there came a day when she was walking through the bakery, and some of the employees made a little joke about stealing and fortune telling, laughing like the idiots they were.

Normally, she would have ignored him. But Y/N was exhausted, and Polly's voice repeated in her head that no Shelby would ever allow themselves to be treated like this, so before they had time to react, she grabbed the hair of one of them, placing a knife to his throat.

"Tell me another joke about gypsies. Then I'll tell you a joke about Jews. Then I'll kill you."

The boy squealed, calling to his colleagues for help with his big, frightening eyes, but no one dared to move. Because they knew she would go faster. And even if she wasn't moving fast enough, she was Tommy Shelby's sister and Alfie Solomons' wife. Literally untouchable.

"Come on." she whispered in his ear. "Make me laugh. No ? No more jokes ? You're going to play the victim. It's funny, people who complain about being mistreated, then do exactly the same thing to others while thinking they're superior. You're all the same."

She didn't comment on the puddle under his legs, nor the little cry of panic when she released him.

Everyone stood still, watching her leave, and when she met Ollie's gaze, she knew she had just made a mistake. She only proved that she was indeed the savage they all described, the bad person.

Alfie probably wouldn't be happy when his right hand man told him what happened.

He did indeed seem to be in a terrible mood when she found him waiting for her in the living room, sunk into the sofa, indicating that his back was hurting badly, but that he would refuse to talk about it.

"Come, love, have a sit. Come on, sit down here."

Not wanting to act like a child, she remained silent as she took a seat in the chair he indicated to her.

This was obviously not what he expected, because he didn't speak either, staring at her intensely, hands crossed, displaying a small pout.

“Do you want to tell me what happened at the bakery today ?”

“Why ask if you already know ?”

“I would like your version.”

"I threatened to slit the throat of one of your workers and disrupted production. Do you want to spank me ?"

"Tempting. Why did you want to slit his throat ?"

“Unimportant.”

"Unimportant, uh ? Unimportant, love ? Because Ollie came to tell me that some guys were talking bad about me wife."

Groaning slightly, Alfie stood up just enough to push a piece of paper and pencil in her direction onto the table between them.

"Names."

“Alfie…”

"I want the names, treacle. I've already gone around the bakery telling everyone that insulting me wife and her family was insulting me, and I don't like being insulted. Names."

“You always make fun of gypsies.”

"Wrong." he retorted, holding up a finger as if that proved his point. "I do it when your brothers are around, because Thomas can be a little prick, and it's hilarious to see Arthur react like a mad dog. But I have nothing against gypsies. Lovely people. The proof, look at you. And look at me. The two most wonderful creatures our communities could spawn, right ?"

Despite all her strength, Y/N couldn't help but smile, which seemed to please her husband. He then placed his victorious finger on the paper, insisting on names.

If she had shown mercy by not cutting, this would not be the case with the wandering jew, king of Camden Town.

No one insulted his wife. No one looked at his wife badly, no one criticized her, no one tried to take away from her, no one thought of her with bad thoughts.

“Not even you ?” Y/N asked with a mischievous smile.

"Not at all. Now you brought up spanking. You brought it up first, love, not me."

“My brothers would be furious to hear that you beat me.”

"Don't tempt me, I can spread false rumors all the way to Birmingham just for the thrill of them all running here, and finding us…"

“You’re the one who deserves a spanking.”

"Ungrateful wife. Threatening me, under my own roof, when my back is killing me and I have just condemned half the city for the love of her."

The Shelbys never knew about their sister's difficult first months in Camden. Tommy noticed that he seemed to be treated with a little more respect when he walked the streets, but neither Y/N nor Alfie talked about what had happened before this outpouring of acceptance from the community.

On the other hand, Arthur noticed marks on his little sister's neck, and he tried to strangle Alfie, even after realizing that it wasn't what he thought, because it wasn't really better for him.

And Solomons reminding him that he was his brother-in-law didn't help at all.

[fairuzfan]

academia is often used as the forefront of much of the violence inflicted on palestinians — for example in the library of congress, there is a collection called "the american colony of jerusalem" with racist photography and items that help visually perpetuate the "people without a land, land without a people" part of herzel's ideology, which itself is the forefront of much of zionist ideology. pointing out the systematic harm in academia is often considered "irrelevant" by zionists.... denies the origins of zionism as a political and academic ideology with physical consequences.

much of palestinian history throughout the last century has to do with erasure and silencing — that is how we got to this point. when i say no one listened to palestinians i mean NO ONE listened. they were ignored. all their demands were unreasonable. instead they get blamed for much of the world's unwillingness to listen. even my family members — i have stories of their work in academic resistance since '48. and some of them are well known contributions throughout euro-american and swana society. yet they're still ignored because of their palestinian origin.

"if you were just more reasonable" or "if you took the time to listen with compassion" or "you have to appeal to people's sense of reason" ignores the fact of the matter — this ideology's founding principals were built on "a people without a land for a land without a people." you cannot and should not ignore that. in order to complete the zionist ideology, you must remove the native population. therefore any subscribers to the idea of zionism are violent, whether they intend it or not.

and if it were true, that academia were irrelevant.... then that doesn't explain the systematic torture and imprisonment of writers and scholars, the exile of my family members who were journalists and activists, the captivity of friends for no other reason than they were deemed a threat by some list or the other.

oftentimes zionists, or zionist sympathizers, ignore our (diaspora's) material ties to the occupation and dismiss us as being "disconnected" from the "situation" in Palestine and "misunderstanding" or "misconstruing" israeli society. what am i misunderstanding exactly? that the origins of this "country" relies on violent displacement and exile? that for the past 75 years, that violence has not stopped once? that no matter what we say about the violence of zionism as an intrinsic aspect, it takes a secondary seat to the imagined realities of zionism?

therefore, anti-zionism is the logical conclusion for valuing palestinian lives. but what are the arguments against anti-zionism? that arab governments expelled jews from SWANA? do you think that's a result of anti-zionism? then you must not understand that palestinians are often treated poorly by the same governments that claim to have done this in the name of "anti-zionism," living in poverty in refugee camps, tortured and arrested, even in some cases exiled by governments. this also neglects to mention zionist collaboration with said governments to exile the jews of their lands.

so then, what?

if anti-zionism is the rejection of the settler colonial state of israel, which you must admit to be truly anti-zionist, then it is an exclamation of palestinian sovereignty and identity. so when you say anti-zionism and antisemitism are linked.... do you realize what you are implying? do you realize that zionism, the root cause of palestinian suffering, is the reason for our expulsion and displacement? so then when you write academic thinkpieces about the "complexity" of zionism, do you realize the harm you're doing? do you realize that this, in fact, is not a new or useful argument? that i've seen iterations of it for years and years? that at the core, the zionist ideology relies on this muddying of the waters for you to not do anything?

to be frank, your constant reminding of the complexity of zionism when people in palestine are suffering from the material effects of it only scream, to me, utter contempt and selfishness. zionism is violence, to me and my family. it is violence for every palestinian in this world. you must admit that to be a sincere advocate for palestinians, otherwise your words ring hollow. the present reality outweighs any possibilities.

[wasteofbandagesxx]

Too young

{Dazai x reader}

"Hey Y/n, what's your dream?"

You thought long and hard on that question. You've never considered what you wanted to be when you first joined the mafia, but recently you came up with a dream. A life that your heart truly desires.

"Isn't it obvious? I want to become an amazing artist and write poems."

You knew living in the port mafia life wasn't easy. Dreams hardly come true once you join the organization. It's no children's playground, but kids are now joining the fights these days, either by choice or force. You've wanted to leave, you had doubts that you would fit into the port mafia, that you would get close to Dazai's level. You try to protect him the best he can, you would gladly sacrifice yourself for him. You've been trying to convince Dazai to run away with you, but he was too stubborn on finding a purpose to live. This isn't the answer, it never was.

"Dazai, listen to me. I know you want to find a purpose to live, but this isn't it. No matter how hard I try convincing you to run away, you would refuse and try committing suicide." You huffed. Dazai just responds with a giggle as he swings upside down on a tree trunk. You look up from the ground, sitting against the tree comfortably on a nice spring day. You glared at the boy covered in bandages but Dazai couldn't care less. "I'm serious Dazai. I want you to have an actual purpose to live, why won't you let me help you?"

Dazai falls silent and shrugs. He's mood immediately changed and it was worrying. "I guess it's because I don't want you to worry so much about me or waste your time. Focus on your purpose, not mine." He said plainly, he took the book you were reading from your hand and pulls it close to his face, surprisingly his face hasn't gone red yet from being upside down for so long. "Hey!"

"This book seems boring, I don't understand how your such a bookworm." He blabberd out as his face slowly turns red, he quickly sits up straight on the tree branch and gasps for air, making you giggle at his suffering. "It's because it's something that a kid would do, they read. We're 14, we should do things that teens do. This book is also interesting, it's full of poems about life and death." You explained before snatching the book from him. Dazai rolled his eyes and hopped off the tree branch to sit by you. You've always questioned yourself if your going to survive or not. You mostly worry about Dazai, wondering if he's gonna survive past his teen years or not.

"Hey Dazai, don't you think we're too young for all this port mafia stuff?" You asked. There was no response, just complete silence. He sighed, shaking his head before turning to look at you seriously. "Y/n, age doesn't matter when it comes to something like this. It all begins with us minors. Even if I were to try and escape with you, they would just bring me back here while you get your brains blown out. I witnessed the old bosses death, I'm Mori's alibi and therefore, I can't just leave. Doesn't matter if we're young, I'm sure we'll make it past our teen years." He said plainly, his eyes showing nothing but regret. Regretting the fact that he had to crush your dreams of escaping, and living a normal life together.

"Bummer....hey, promise me we'll both try to survive until the very end. Let's do it together." You said with hope in your eyes. Dazai was hesitant, and promises meant nothing to him, they were cheap. He couldn't break your heart though, he couldn't refuse to make a promise with you. You held your pinky up for him to make a promise, he couldn't refuse. "Alright, promise." He locked his pinky with yours as the promise was officially made.

"Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if you died first, you do suck at keeping promises." You laughed, Dazai scrunched his nose and flicked your cheek. "I, too, can keep my promises!" He huffed "yea right." You joked.

"Tag, your it!" He tags you and runs off with your book, you didn't even notice that he took it. You groaned in annoyance and began to chase him. "Give that back!!"

He just giggled and kept running, "Come and get me!"

"Dazai!!"

8 years later.

At the graveyard. It was beautiful, grave stones decorated and spoiled with gifts. The wind passes by every minute, softly and delicately. Leaf after leaf, they were everywhere as the trees slowly sway back and forth. There was a man, sitting behind a grave stone. The same as always, his humorous personality, his smartness and bravery, covered in bandages, but different clothing. The only things he's missing was a best friend, and closure. Where'd all the times go? The man wonders, staring aimlessly at the sky. He's laughed, and cried, and cried again. He felt lonely. Not only did his feelings change a bit, but his perspective of life as well, to save innocent people.

He joined the arm detective agency, because one of his old friends told him to find a new purpose, to do what's right. It's almost to what you've been telling him back when you were kids. He wishes you could see him now, he wishes you could've kept you alive to this day. "I'm sorry I didn't run away with you, Y/n." He mumbles out, his voice slightly cracking. He sighs deeply and runs his fingers through his hair, remembering the feeling of your hands playing with his hair. He watches the birds that passes by, two birds of a feather he thought as he imagined the two of you flying away to freedom.

"You were right Y/n, we were too young." He mumbles out again, the tone in his voice filled with sadness and sorrow.

"Dazai!" A young man calls out, atsushi nakajima, Dazai's apprentice. He ran up to Dazai with no air in his lungs, as if the little tiger boy was running for hours finding Dazai. "I've been looking for you. Kunikida is gonna be mad if he finds out your slacking off again." Atsushi said while trying to catch his breath. "Sorryy, got a little tired. Let's get going yea?" Dazai immediately put on his playful act and got up to leave, until atsushi struck a question at him.

"By the way, I heard you when I was by that tree over there. What did you mean by we were too young?" He asks. Dazai fell silent, he wasn't aware that he was listening, was too caught up in the moment to notice his apprentice. "It's nothing, let's get going yea? You did say kunikida would get mad if we don't get working, and I don't feel like getting yelled at." He says with a yawn, giving atsushi a playful smile and pats him on the head like a little kitty cat.

"Right!" Atsushi immediately walks away, not bothering for his superior to catch up with him. Dazai's smile quickly disappeared once atsushi left, he took one good look at the grave stone before putting his hands in his pockets and walks away.

Y/n, last name

July 6th 2001- December 23rd 2015

Dazai's mind was constantly on you. Always had these scenarios in his head of you guys living a happy life. The words you've told him were constantly playing in his mind. "Hey Dazai, don't you think we're too young for all this port mafia stuff?" Your voice was constantly nagging at him, he felt sick. As if you were next to him, it was unpleasant, because you aren't actually there. He kept walking with a broken heart, but still kept his head high, trying to stay strong just for you. Your face will forever remain in his memories, and your words. He wish he could've gave you the life you wanted, but that dream was long gone. Your words constantly playing in his mind.

"Too young."

[ino-takumas-baggy-sweater]

A Second Chance, A Father's Curse - Part 1 (Ryomen Sukuna X Reader)

This is part of my Royal AU, the first I'm writing for it, there may be inconsistencies between each different fic set within the universe including but not limited to which damn clan does Sukuna belong to, but I'm sure it'll be fine :))

also i hope the family tree kinda makes sense, i can make a separate post showing the different clans and their family trees if needed

Warnings: mentions of an affair, brief mentions of abuse but nothing explicit

Word count: 3.1k

When the boy first showed up everything had been good, a new son had been born into the Itadori clan, the royal family was stronger than ever. This boy threatened to bring all of that down simply by existing. Jin Itadori was not known for his mercy, often ruthlessly leading swathes of knights into battles and leaving none alive, but this boy was no ordinary enemy. His own son, illegitimate, but still his flesh and blood. His wife said nothing when he brought the screaming baby into the nursery that was only meant for one, placing him beside Yuji in his large crib.

Kaori Itadori simply accepted what had been given to her and raised the boy as her own, despite the neglect and clear favoritism shown from Jin to his alleged twin sons. The two were almost identical despite the fact they had different mothers, which was how the lie was able to be carried so easily through their lives. Ryomen knew, he had always known, and he’d hated almost everyone for it. The only people he couldn’t truly even pretend to hate were his adopted brothers, and he let everyone know this vehemently, shirking his duties and often hiding away from elaborate dinner parties or balls he did not want to attend.

Yuji’s heart broke for his brother, and of the five Itadori boys, only the eldest Choso knew of the predicament underlying the twins. The youngest, Eso and Kechizu, were born one after the other, three years apart, with significant health complications and therefore rarely appeared in public. The elder three were fiercely protective, especially Ryomen who’d had a taste of his father’s neglect and despised that Jin had turned it on his youngest sons. None of the three wanted to burden their younger brothers, they’d been told that the pair might not live to become adults, so they had always made sure the boys were well fed and happy.

Ryomen suffered in silence. His teachers could not quell his anger, the best sorcerers warned of his growing cursed energy levels, but nothing was ever done. Nothing really could be done. By the time he turned nineteen he was undoubtedly the strongest of the Itadori boys, and his father was adamantly trying to wed him off to a different kingdom. Ryomen didn’t care, the faster he got out of Khoccadia the better in his opinion. He spent his days training in combat with the knights, including the captains of both the Shadow and Blood units, Megumi Fushiguro, and Takuma Ino.

Megumi Fushiguro interested him, the man was his age, his twin brother’s personal bodyguard, and he had the inherited cursed technique of the Zenin clan, the royal family of a neighbouring kingdom. His unit, aptly named the Shadows, were a small close knit group of Shikigami summoners, led by a wielder of the undisputed king of Shikigami techniques. This made him both an outsider and a refugee, having been forced to prove his loyalty a thousand times over, including regaining the trust of the royal family after his technique was revealed during an attack on the kingdom where he had to unleash his power to protect Yuji.

The other captain, Takuma Ino, wasn’t as interesting or close to him, but still a formidable ally and opponent, having first trained under the royal sorcerer Kento Nanami, before his technique proved to be more useful on a battlefield than overseeing curses. Ryomen often found himself sitting with the pair post-sparring, looking out over the training grounds within the castle walls, and asking himself where he would go if he decided to run. He knew he wouldn’t get far, his cursed energy was much too unique, Nanami would be able to find him with no trouble. His only way out would be this arranged marriage, and he had to be sure it was far far away from here.

This is what eventually lead to Jin Itadori hosting a ball and inviting many of the leaders of nearby nations to attend with their daughters, royal, political, and otherwise. Few invites were sent out past the neighbouring nations, but Ryomen had to be sure, so he had insisted under the cover of lies that his father’s orders had the invitations sent further. When the day of the ball arrived, Ryomen was reluctantly dolled up in a luxurious maroon suit, his hair styled with earrings and cufflinks to match. When he met up with Choso and Yuji, he saw they were dressed similarly to him, but Yuji’s suit is a deep pink and Choso’s a dark purple.

“Don’t we just look a treat,” Ryomen huffed, reaching up and adjusting Yuji’s collar slightly. “They were chosen by mother,” Choso looks away and Ryomen finds himself almost apologising. It wasn’t her fault, she was a victim of the system just as he was, but he shakes it off. “You okay?” Yuji mumbles, giving his brother the same outfit once over. The twins had always known what would make each other look the best, Ryomen let him fuss with his hair a little before swatting his hands away. “I don’t think I’ve ever been okay, I can’t wait to get the hell out of here so I never have to see him again,” He growls. Choso checks his watch as they approach the upstairs entry to the ballroom, the laughter and chatter behind it dying down as someone announces their arrival.

“I hope you find someone,” Yuji squeezes his hand for a brief moment before Ryomen can pull away or protest, dropping his hand before the door swings open and the three of them are revealed to the eyes below. Choso in the centre with his brothers flanking, there are smiles of all kinds as they descend the stairs. Some genuine, some scheming, others that don’t quite reach the eyes of their owners.

Ryomen Itadori doesn’t get nervous, but in this moment he finds his eyes searching for Kaori Itadori. She returns his gaze from her place on the ballroom throne and nods once. This party is for him, it’s his ticket out of here, and it almost feels to him like she’s lending him her strength. The strength to do what she never could. When the three of them reach the bottom of the stairs, his brothers disperse into the crowd to find dance partners, and Ryomen finds himself alone surveying what he can see. The only clan tattoos he recognises around the edges are those belonging to the Zenin clan, the Gojo clan, the Kamo clan and that of the Creyarean district, which is a political power and not run by a royal or empirical clan.

There are a few tattoos he does not recognise, he assumes from further out on the continent, and one in particular draws his gaze. A kindly looking couple, king and queen, with matching filagree tattoos over their facial features, most prominent on their jawline, cheeks, across the nose and in the centre of their foreheads. No other family has tattoos that bold, the closest in comparison is the Kamo clan with a jagged X over the right eye, and he finds himself curious as to their origins. “Brother! I’d like you to meet someone,” Yuji’s voice suddenly cuts into his wandering thoughts and he scoffs, “Leave me alone Yuji,” He grunts, but his brother barges into his space, his mouth right next to his ear as he utters the words that could be Ryomen’s salvation.

“Her family comes from miles away, three kingdoms over!” Yuji hisses. His gaze flits to the girl who stands holding Yuji’s hand, looking like she’s just been dragged at a brisk Itadori walk across half the ballroom (Which she had been). His brother drops her hand as he steps back and presents her, “Allow me to introduce Y/n L/n, of the Iqorian Empire,” Unmarried, she does not bear her parents tattoos, but there are two thick black bands around both her wrists which could be a hint at early clan tattoos that don’t decorate the face.

She curtseys and he feels his demeanour soften slightly, taking her hand which still hovers unsure before her to press a light kiss to the back of it. He keeps his face painfully neutral as he studies her features, her e/c eyes traveling back up to meet his. “Lovely to meet you, Miss L/n, Ryomen Itadori,” He introduces himself politely, though he knows that she must already know who he is, given his brother has a tendency to babble. She uses her free hand to fix her h/c hair before giving him a polite smile, “Some party your parents cooked up, is the potential marriage for diplomatic purposes?” She asks. He clenches his jaw slightly, his gaze scanning the crowd as he instinctively pulls her slightly closer.

His father’s face is dark and sinister, his eyes locked on Ryomen but his mind elsewhere, “You could say that,” He replies, “But I would say it’s freedom,” Her eyes widen and he steels himself, she must be able to sense the years of neglect and abuse on him, he knows he reeks of it, but if she does she doesn’t mention it, “I see,” She murmurs, “Well, would you like to dance?” He looks at her like she’s grown an extra head for a moment, but Yuji punches his side and he blinks, “Yes yes, of course, that would be nice,” His words drift away and he becomes eternally grateful for the dancing lessons Kaori forced him to endure as he leads the girl out into the centre of the dance floor.

The night passes by quicker than he would have liked it to, despite stepping into the ballroom like a caged wolf with the taste of freedom on his tongue. He comes to learn from the girl his brother introduced to him that the royal couple he didn’t recognise, with the outlandish filagree tattoos, are her parents, and he is hooked from that moment on. You of course know there is something he is hiding, but his sudden interest in your clan tattoos brings a soft smile to your face as you look over to your parents. They seem to be overjoyed that you’ve caught the attention of the Itadori son up for grabs, but you know there’s more to it considering the fact that he should be the second in line, and yet is being married out of his family into another.

“I am certain we will be seeing one another again, Miss Y/n,” He murmurs as he presses one last kiss to the back of your hand, his fingers tracing one of the black lines on your wrist. You grab his arm before he can turn away, “Ryomen,” You murmur in response, “Sir, are you in trouble here?” He does not reply, his gaze is hard, but you feel a lack of response is enough for you to fill in the gaps.

He’s not welcome in his family, and you’re determined to get him out and then find out why, even if it means ruining any diplomatic relationship Iqoria could have with Khoccadia. You omit the fears you hold close to your chest when your parents demand to know how your night went, they were watching and already knew you were the only one Ryomen Itadori spent his night with. This is a golden opportunity, he is already well known throughout the continent as the strongest Itadori son, he would be a priceless addition to any family, and nobody else seems to be questioning the fact his father doesn’t seem to want him to stay.

A foolish decision, considering the fact his cursed energy swamped the entire ball from the moment he entered the room, just barely discernible from that of your parent’s royal sorcerer, Satoru Gojo, who came to meet with other royal sorcerers in attendance. You are reunited with Suguru Geto, your personal guard and the Captain of the Iqorian Guards, after conversing with your parents. He escorts you back to the room provided to you within the Itadori’s castle for the night, “I take it the night went well, your highness?” He asks as he follows you in.

You find yourself unable to respond, chewing on your thumbnail as you sit at the dresser, leaning your head on your free hand. Lost in thought you don’t hear him approach until his hand is on your shoulder, “What ails you my lady?” “He’s tormented,” You murmur, “Prince Ryomen, he’s trapped, and something is very wrong with this family,” His face reflected in the mirror is one of soft confusion, and you find you can’t hide anything from him. He’s trained you your whole life, and you trust him sometimes more than you trust your parents, he’s like a second brother to you, “I asked if he was in trouble, and I fear a lack of response or denial is enough to ascertain the danger, I must marry him if he is to survive with his humanity intact,”

Geto frowns and grips your shoulder slightly, “I will call for your maids, this stays between us,” He announces, “Sleep well your highness,” “Where are you going?” “To let your parents know I am in full support of this marriage, he’s incredibly strong after all,” His face is sly as a fox and you find yourself speechless, “He’ll be a great asset if we give him the chance,” Once he is gone you find comfort in the knowledge of his support, thus allowing you to slumber in peace.

When the morning arrives, you find yourself swept up in preparations for the wedding, which you find after questioning the closest maid is to be held that very day. His father must be desperate to get rid of him before he becomes a problem, and you’re more than willing to let Kaori Itadori and her maids along with yours fawn over you and dress you in the finest white dress you’ve ever seen. You’re understandably nervous, your parents dropped by only once that morning to tell you what you already knew about the conversation they shared with Ryomen’s parents, but they also said once the wedding was over you’d be leaving for home almost immediately.

This was, surprisingly, not the most shocking thing you’d heard all morning. It fell just behind the fact that it would be Geto and not your father who would be walking you down the aisle, a few of your closest maids acting as bridesmaids. This is to go along with a Khoccadian custom involving the parents of both spouses, while also incorporating the ‘giving away’ portion from Iqorian marriages. Ryomen’s mother wraps her arms around you quickly outside the throne room before she pushes a bouquet of red roses into your hands, tears in her eyes, “Take care of him,” She whispers, her eyes intense and so full of sadness you think you may cry too. You nod, words escaping you as you turn to the throne room, the music floating out at you different to the wedding music back home.

It dawns on you as the doors open to reveal you to the crowd that you don’t know Ryomen Itadori. You don’t know his favourite food, you don’t know his favourite hobbies, you don’t know what he likes in a partner, you don’t even know what his relationship with his brothers is like. It’s too late to wonder, as you clutch the bouquet in your hand and link your other arm with Geto who has just appeared at your side. His presence helps to calm your nerves, but you’re still antsy as you approach the front of the room where Ryomen waits for you, looking equally antsy but for a different reason.

You know he wants out, and you’re his ticket, you just have to get through the next hour of formalities. The crowd is never truly silent during your ceremony, there’s always a low hum of chatter, but it doesn’t disturb or deter the continuance of the ceremony. You can feel Jin Itadori’s eyes on you almost the entire time and you endeavour to ignore him as best you can, focusing on the feeling of Ryomen’s hands in yours. You take the time before and during vows to study his face, the way he scrunches his nose sometimes or crosses his eyes to make you smile. It works, and he squeezes your hands to add reassurance to the moment, until finally you’re pronounced as husband and wife, and without even a second thought or hesitation he pulls you into him, pressing his lips to yours.

You’re breathless, your hands clutching his biceps, barely hanging onto the threads of your discipline before he pulls you into him for a hug, “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” He mutters against your ear, kissing the side of your head as the crowd cheers and his words are lost in the cacophony of sounds. You let your eyes speak a thousand words as you meet his gaze, smiling softly before finally speaking, “You’re safe now,” His shoulders relax as the two of you turn to walk back down the aisle. Once out of the throne room, his brothers are there to greet him, and Yuji hugs him tightly, “Brother…” He murmurs, “Don’t forget us, you understand?” He grips the back of Ryomen’s head and presses his forehead to his twins, “Promise me?”

Ryomen blinks sadly, “I’ll come back for you,” He whispers. The two younger boys crowd between the twins and Ryomen holds them, the taller one seems quite physically weak, and the shorter one has not opened his eyes, but he holds them close. “How does Ryomen L/n sound?” He asks softly, “Fitting?” Yuji smiles, “For you? It’s perfect,” Just before the two of you can be whisked away by your maids, he grabs his elder brother’s hand, “Choso,” He forces the man to look him in the eyes, “Look after them, don’t let them end up like him, or me for that matter,” He growls, “Swear on your life,”

Choso nods, “I swear on my life,” Ryomen nods one final time, “I hope we’re all better people when we see each other again,” He says, words meant only for his brothers that you catch while ushering your maids away from the moment. His hand on your back is the only warning you get before he’s nudging you along the tidal wave of people who head to the main entrance.

A grand exit, the staircase long, carriages await at the bottom, and Ryomen’s freedom. A price paid a thousand times over, a dream finally allowed to come true, and a man desperately clinging to the bare threads of his humanity. The world gives him a lifeline in the form of a girl second in line to her kingdom’s throne, and he finds he remembers why he endured staying alive all those years. His real family, his only family, his brothers - and maybe even revenge.

twins sukuna/itadori lives rent free in my head because of this app so here's my royal spin on it :) I hope you enjoyed

part 2 here!

[a-rabid-snake]

fanfiction?? Idk

I don't know if you can call it fan fiction.

In short, these are my strange sketches

Artificer/saint

The snow slowly swirled falling to the ground, making the world more and more white. The lizards hissed at each other. The Scavengers were muttering incoherently

And the snow kept falling and falling, reaching the ground. Soft paws crushed the snow under them, leaving a trace. But there were also rougher, harder and heavier footsteps that followed

Two tired slugcats were walking across the frozen lands. The goal? They had their own goals, but they walked together. A green and fluffy slugcat, under the name saint and his companion, a smooth, bard slugcat, under the name Artificer

Artificer exhaled another puff of steam or smoke with displeasure and broke their tense silence

—Hey, fluffy, how much longer are we going to go? —

She didn't have to wait long for an answer, as if saint expected her to ask him.

—There is still time before the blizzard. But if you're tired, we can take a break. —

Arti sighed in displeasure and rephrased herself

—I'm talking about something else. We went to the iterators. After all, we have already visited Five Pebbles and looks to the moon.. —

—Oh, yes, that's right, we still have a long way to go, especially before the other iterators —

—Uh, well, that's great —

Artificer growled in displeasure and together they continued to move through the snowy places

They moved in silence, Artificer sometimes entered into conficts, Saint stayed behind to cover her if anything

Time passed, the wind increased, it became colder. Artificer felt relatively normal, but saint was covered in frost

As a result, they decided to stay at the nearest shelter. It was cold, especially when you lay down on metal. These two lay down next to each other to get warm faster, or rather, to keep the saint warm

— How are you? —

Arti asked the question, her voice was rude, but still feminine

—Better, thanks —

Saint shifted a little in place to make it comfortable for both of them

—If you want, I can move away—

—No, I'll use you as a pillow —

—.... Okay —

They continued to lie in silence, constantly they both began to doze off, sinking into sleep. Arti fell asleep a little earlier, and therefore began to twitch a little, this is a little hindered by saint. Saint obediently waited for her to calm down, when suddenly her claws dug into him, and she herself pressed hard against him. Fluffy had no choice but to hug her and try to fall asleep

His dream was not rosy, one could say that the nightmare from the past still followed him. Saint woke up unexpectedly, Artificer was no longer asleep. Looking at the exit of the shelter, which was closed, it was clear that saint was not the only one who had a bad sleep

—Are you having a nightmare too? —

Saint asked calmly, in a whisper, trying not to scare arti

The burgundy slugcat just moved her ear and sighed heavily

—You could say that —

A soft paw rested on arti's paw, the latter turned to the owner of the green fur

— Can I hug you?—

Saint knew how much arti valued his fox space, so he asked her, carefully so that she wouldn't get angry

Artificer nodded slowly, almost imperceptibly, and turned slightly so that she could be hugged

They both knew about each other's problems, Saint about the fact that arti had lost her slugpups, and arti, that saint had to go through a lot

Hugs are the only thing that saves them from endless suffering. Saint hated himself because of the tenth karma. Arti hated herself because she was stuck on the first karma

They suffered, they suffered forever, but together they could find solace in each other

Saint was silent, as was arti. They were silent. The silence was appropriate, it did not put pressure on them, they needed to gather all their thoughts into a single whole in order to continue living on

After a while, their silence was broken by a metallic screech, he warned them that a new cycle was beginning

—As I understand it, we need to move on —

—Yeah, are you ready? —

—Yes —

Saint got a short reply and they stopped hugging each other and they started packing up. In general, they just put themselves in order, and then went outside.

They moved on to the gate leading to another region, along the way they found some fruits as well as lizards. They had different diets, so they looked for food in turn, or rather, what they find faster, we will eat.

______________________________________

Arti has risen to the heights. The wind blew her poncho and other rags. Life was in full swing as usual, especially among her former enemies. Why exes? Because arti lost that old, horned mask a long time ago.

However, scavengers continue to be afraid of her. Saint came up to her and together they lowered her down. The Scavengers parted in fright, trying to get as far away from them as possible

They almost walked away from the scavengers post. Saint carefully took arti by the paw, clinging to her, feeling the warmth and despair in this explosive body.

—Are you okay? —

Saint asked cautiously, trying to read her eyes

It wasn't entirely clear what Artificer was feeling, but it was something that was clearly not very good.

—No —

She paused briefly.

—They... I don't want to know them, I don't want to deal with them anymore —

—I'm afraid that I won't be able to hold myself back again, even after everything, I feel sins and.... deep sadness creeping down my back —

Her voice sounded heavy, like she was carrying a bunch of caramel lizards

— You... you can stop me.. If I do it again.. —

The saint gave her a sympathetic look and answered her without hesitation

—Of course I'll be there —

Arti relaxed a little and nodded

— I... thank you... —

She paused a little embarrassed, not looking at him

—Can you let me go? —

—Can I hug you a little more? —

Answered the question with a question fluffy

It seems as if arti exhaled in displeasure and replied

—Okay... —

She sounded a little embarrassed, although she was obviously trying to hide it. Saint smiled gently and they continued on their way.

They stopped at an elevation. Arti and saint were sitting next to each other. It was beautiful, to some extent.

Artificer and saint hugged each other while looking at the landscape

— saint.. —

— m? —

— We're going to stay together, aren't we? —

—Of course, even if we go crazy or the world goes crazy, I'll still be there for you. —

They sat and sat and watched the world gradually sink into a white and cold death

Together... Forever

I did it! Hooray. It was a long time, but I tried, I hope someone likes it.

I just wanted to please myself with a little karmaflower story

[darlenicy]

@trixweek day 3 || Backstory For The Trix || fanfiction (kinda)

Okay, so this is a headcanon I have which is canon in my rewrite “It could have been us” and the rewrite of that “Sisters by blood”.

The Trix are three sisters: Icy is the oldest, Darcy is the middle child, and Stormy is the youngest sibling. Their family name is Whisperia (no props to 4kids for anything but this name is cool, and I wanted it to have a connection to the Trix). The Magic Dimension is split into white-magic and dark-magic (sometimes also referred as black-magic) people.  The Whisperias are an old noble family from Eraklyon who is known to be dark-magic. A century ago, when Domino fell under the influence of the Ancestral Witches, the Whisperias were their most faithful allies. Domino fell, but so did the Ancestral Witches and even though the planet and the royal family of Domino were lost it was seen as a triumph of light over darkness. It was later propagated especially from the Company of Light who spread their victory over the Ancestral Witches and their underlings in the whole Magic Dimension. Therefore, the Whisperias have been in disgrace for a long time now. They, however, weren’t robbed of their titles. Since the family fell into disgrace their economic situation became worse and worse. They were nobles, yes, but over the centuries they impoverished, and the family itself became smaller and smaller. Those who were able to, chose another name to live by.

The daughter of the last Lord of Whisperia, Malicia, is said to have murdered her whole remaining family to gain a certain power (which was never proven, it is also possible that the family members died of a disease which spread over Eraklyon by that time). This power however, should guarantee the new awakening of the Ancestral Witches and bring back the family’s fortune. People already avoided the family at any cost but now even more. Malicia never married but gave birth to three daughters in as many years. It is unknown who the father or the fathers of the girls are. Malicia’s state of health was diminished by the births (and probably by the spell connecting to them), and so she withdrew from the public and didn’t leave the family’s mansion anymore. It was rumored that the three daughters, later the Trix, where somehow the reincarnation of the Ancestral Witches. As the rumors took over, King Erendor forbid the people to talk about this to avoid panic. He declared the rumors as nonsense, saying it was just a way Malicia was trying to make her family important again. (The fact that Malicia never spread the rumors herself didn’t matter to the King).

So, the Trix grew up as outsiders. Nobles, but poor nobles. The Whisperia family had only two remaining servants: an elderly butler and some kind of Nanny to the Trix who was also the cook and cleaner of the house. The three sisters grew up being avoided by everyone, knowing that their once glorious family fell from grace and had no importance anymore. Icy always hated it, thinking their family deserved better. Darcy suffered in silence and Stormy tried her best to make their reputation even worse. Their mother was often sick, spent most of her time in her absolute dark room in bed and told the Trix nothing about their possible fate and legacy and also never spoke of their father(s). 

Icy, real name Isobel, concentrated on becoming powerful and very trained in magic. Her goal is to bring back her family’s greatness at all costs. She always had the best grades and studied hard even though she already is very smart. The loneliness in school still bothered her but she couldn’t talk about this with her sisters. She was the oldest, the one to protect the others, since her mother couldn't because of her health. The only one she entrusted her sorrows was Blance, a horse her family owned. The Whisperias used to breed horses a long time ago, but when the family became poorer, most horses were sold. Blance, a white mare, was one of the few who remained. The day, the faithful horse died (no nice story and Erendor is responsible for it), Darcy thought, that her sister’s heart froze to death. Icy has a huge hatred for King Erendor. Oddly enough she becomes friends with Prince Sky in her early teens and later maybe even more. When Icy met Lilith at Cloud Tower, a witch from Solaria whose family’s roots reach back to Domino, a lot changed. Lilith told Icy about the Dragon Flame, the most powerful power (lol) in the Magic Dimension. Icy sees it as a chance to bring back her family’s honor (Zuko vibes but more extreme). She wants the people to suffer hard for looking down on her family and if the powers of the Ancestral Witches can help her with that, the better. She finally confronts Malicia who admits that the Ancestral Witches are indeed the Trix’ ancestors. But she still refuses to tell icy anything about her birth and how exactly she and her sisters are connected to the Ancestral Witches.

Darcy, real name Darcelle, as said before, suffered from being alone and shunned by everyone. Over time, left alone with her thoughts, she began to wish all the people who avoided her only the worst. Her thoughts became pitch black, and she developed the power of reading minds early as a kid. As she grew up, she perfected her powers so much so that she could not only read minds but also manipulate them. She found out about her powers, when a girl bullied her in school. One day that girl was mean to her once again and Darcy’s anger turned into power and controlled the girl who almost impaled herself with a pair of scissors in art classes. It was a bloodbath, and the girl only barely survived. Darcy was scared for life of her own powers but also impressed. The situation made her fear the dark and being afraid that someone could take over her body (after all the stories she heard about her family and especially herself and her sisters). Her mother told her to turn her fear into a weapon. From that time on she lingered in the old library of their mansion, reading the darkest books and developing her powers. She’s probably the one of the trio with the most knowledge of the black arts.

The thing Stormy (real name Beatrix, and she hates it) felt most, was anger. Anger about her family being shunned. Anger that she and her sisters never found friends. Anger, that their mother never told them anything. So, she gave no fucks about anything. She misbehaved at school, tortured the kids that bullied her or Darcy (no one dared to bully Icy. One glance of her was enough, so the people just shun her). It became so problematic, that she got expelled at many primary schools. She never attended the private school for girls, which every noble girl on Eraklyon attended at 12, but instead attended a normal school with a very bad reputation. No other school wanted her. She became the kind of girl your parents warn you about. Very low morals and only doing the things she likes. It was hard for Icy and Darcy to look over her, since they were at different schools. Her big sisters always tried to influence the girl in a more positive way, but it looks like they failed. Especially when Icy and later Darcy went to Cloud Tower in Magix, they completely lost their influence on her youngest sibling. Stormy enjoyed that freedom and tried many things out: from boys, over alcohol to drugs. She’s seen and done it all.

By the way, the name “Trix” was given to their coven by Icy, after Lilith died. To Icy the only important thing in the world was now her two sisters, the three of them – Trix.

[nevis-the-skeleton]

Crane's System

So, in my Batman AU "Wither Heart" there's three characters that's got a DID : Harvey Dent, Arnold Wesker, and Jonathan Crane.

Yes, my version of Crane had a DID, and I wish to share his System with you.

There are five known alters in the system: Jonathan, Jonny, silence, Tim and Scarecrow.

Click on "show more" if you want to continue.

*

Jonathan is the host, he is the one who is most present, and he is a social alter and trauma holder. He's not the "original" (because there's no "original" in DID). Jonathan is an alter that exist since the age 9 of the System.

Jonny is an age slider. He ranges from 6 to 11 years, depending on his emotional state.

Tim is a teen, he is a 15 year old teenager that only Jonny really knows. Besides, his first name comes from the fact that he is a teenager, therefore Teen goes to Tim. Jonny chose to call him Tim. Tim hangs out with Jonny more than the others, he is also assumed to have his own innerworld. He is a persecutor and a trauma holder.

silence is the oldest in the system, he is 35 years old. He is mute and even when he writes it is in very short sentences. He is a protector and a caretaker. He intervenes when things are really too hard emotionally.

Scarecrow is a persecutor and a protector. It's a non-human, and it's convinced that it's not a living creature. It also suffer a painful dysphoria, because of the fact it's "stucks" in a human body. It does not fear pain, and the only effective weapon against it is fire. Jonathan and silence managed to hold it back as best as possible, preventing it to front by itself. It can't do it without Jonathan.

“A scarecrow is not made of flesh and blood,

But only rags and straws!

Where is my body? Where is the field I should stood?

This skin and these bones can't scare crows!

Aah… give me back my body…

Aah… this one is not me…”

It's a song Scarecrow often sing.

*

The System had three sleeping alters : Jeremy (introject of his father, aggressor), Marie (introject of his grand-mother, aggressor), and Memory (the previous host, the one before Jonathan)

There are also three known fragments: Wrath, Void, and Sorrow. Jonny himself is a fusion of many fragments.

[timetoeatthebread-blog]

(Prologue) Perfect(?)Milo x F!Reader - Red Tulip

Summary: Takes place after “Secret ending: Give him everything”. Something goes terribly, terribly wrong and Milo gains his memories back all over again. As much as he still has feelings for Eris, he will try his best this time around to live a life without pain. Without Eris. Join Milo on an adventure where he tries to use you as part of his plan, only to slowly fall for you as he heals his heart from Eris.

Reasoning: When it comes to abusive relationships it can be hard to let go. Sadly, the world is not black and white, it's mostly gray, and therefore a lot of emotions can co-exist at the same time. You can realize that you've been in an abusive relationship and still have feelings for your abuser. The first step to healing is to realize the abuse and take appropriate steps, no matter how hard they are in the beginning.

Thank you so much @perfectlovevn for making the game. I really appreciate your hard work you put into it. If you don't like the fanfiction for any reason, or there's anything you don't agree with, feel free to tell me. I respect you a lot and if you don't like my fanfiction I'll delete it.

Fanfiction under cut: ~1.1k words.

It was cold and dark, and yet, as terrifying as the silence was, it was comforting. Everything felt so vivid. Yet, here he was, feeling nothing at the same time. Drifting in and out of consciousness, all he could do was sleep, surrounded by nothingness. 

How… Peaceful.

Is this what happens after death? 

Milo closed his eyes, contemplating. The more time he spent here, the more memories came flooding back to him. He didn’t know how long he’s been forced to relive everything. At the pinnacle of his memories lay Eris.

Oh, how much he loved them. He would do everything for them. Just like his past selves did - nothing would be spared when it came to his Love. Would he see them soon? How much longer will he be forced to be here?

With each memory, his thoughts became more deranged. Crazed. Obsessed. He couldn’t wait to see them again. His mind drifted to the new nickname they will give him. Excitement was almost overflowing out of his body. Until a new memory appeared. 

His emotions shifted. Anger, betrayal. Heartbreak. He desperately wanted to clench and hit something, yet he couldn’t move a thing. His throat refused to make a noise.

Silent tears ran down his cheeks. The poor man could only weep as his mind was being broken down, over and over again. And yet, here he was. Forced to watch how he followed Eris each time. How he blindly trusted them. How they bended him to their will.

As time passed, his emotions seemed to calm down. Anger changed to sadness, and from sadness came the blood thirst for revenge. With how he was stuck, however, it also went away with time. He just wished to be left alone. 

If given the chance to fix his mistakes, he would. He would have never looked in their direction. He would have forced himself to be more social. He would have forced himself to be as average as one can be - all to avoid their gaze. 

All to avoid their interest. To avoid their love.

It all left a bittersweet taste in his mouth.

Despite the fact that they were the reason for his pain and suffering, he still couldn’t bring it in himself to wish anything bad onto them. Even if given the chance, he wouldn't be able to bring them any harm. Even after everything, a part of him still loved them.

The void continued to surround him for an unspecified amount of time. Until finally, his waiting has been rewarded in the best of ways - woken up in his old bedroom. Boxes were neatly placed along the wall and only essentials could be seen on top of his desk.

It was perfect. Absolutely perfect. More than he could ask for, actually. 

He clutched his heart as he took deep breaths in and out. Milo leaned his head against the wall to his right, the cold helping him to calm down. Soon, a smile crept onto his face. A dry chuckle followed soon after. He looked up at the ceiling.

As luck might have it, he went back in time before school started. Before his first year started. Before he met them.

It was too late to move to a different university. But it’s okay. He’ll do it after his first year. For now, he’ll have to think of something. Anything, to blend into the crowd.

For now, however, he needed more rest. Although he didn’t feel physically tired, his mental state was a completely different matter.

It didn’t take him long to make preparations. The easiest way would be to use what Eris taught him in all of his past lives. But it all felt wrong - after all, it brought back unwanted memories and emotions.

Whatever. It needs to be done. Milo pushed his emotions aside.

He would use what he had on hand. Both past memories and experience. 

Milo traced the notes he made in his dairy. The notes consisted of people he knew would be useful. He needed someone Eris disliked, but not outright hated. Just someone they preferred not to cross paths with.

As his eyes scanned the list of names, they soon landed on a name he knew quite well.

(Y/N).

Known around the campus, had a very clean slate - when it came to drama, at least. Mostly minded her business. Grades were slightly above average, but nothing too outstanding. A member of the swimming club. Popular for all the good deeds she did. Had no tolerance for bullying of her friends. Isn’t scared to get into a fight for her friends, either.

Back in the days when Milo was jumping from one social circle to the other, no one ever said anything bad about her. Even when he tried to dig up something, it was almost impossible to find anything. All that was found were her good deeds. No one knew her family history or anything too personal. It was suspicious. 

Getting into her circle of friends, however, was very easy. Breaking up said circle of friends was a different matter. It took some time and dedication. Some thinly veiled lies and set-ups, and he managed to do it. For Eris.

What a fool he was. How naive. How stupid.

He rubbed his temples before picking up a blue pen and circling around the most important fact about (Y\N).

Somehow, she always managed to avoid a bad end. No matter the scenario, in all his past lives, she was always a step ahead of him. Always able to escape his grip. Eris' plans didn't work on her either. As if she knew what Milo or Eris planned from the very beginning.

She would make for a good cover. A welcoming group of friends that is hard to break up. Somehow always predicted what Eris was up to. Hard to scam. Perfect.

He would use her as his perfect cover. By becoming her friend, he will use her loyalty as a shield.

Now for physical strength…

Milo looked over his body. Arms, chest, stomach, legs.

A shudder runs down his spine as he thinks of the pain he had endured. He won’t be a victim of bullying this time. That’s for certain.

He’ll work both on his social skills and on his physical abilities. There won’t be any pain in this life. Not this time.

Milo pushed himself away from his desk gently and threw his head back, rubbing his eyes and taking his time to collect his thoughts. Memories of past lives still played on repeat whenever he closed his eyes. All he could do was hope that it would become easier to manage over time.

For now, he’ll need to find a way to meet (Y/N). Preferably before university starts, since he can’t sign up for the swimming club yet. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to scout the local swimming pools, to see if he would be able to find her. Maybe going to a party and socializing would help him get some information.

It didn't take him long to come up with a schedule to find (Y/N).

[romanoffsbish]

Unconditional Kind of Love

Natasha Romanoff x Stark!Reader (afab)

Pronouns: She / Her to They / Them

Request / @mostlymarvelsstuff was my guide. 🥰

A/N: Hello angels!!! So I worked on this fic with an insider to guide me, and I just wanna be transparent here and say I did my best to navigate the struggles one goes through when in such a closeted space. But I also know, from experience, that the title non-binary isn’t one size fits all. Some afab individuals label themselves nb, go by they/them then still remain outwardly feminine as that’s how they wish to present themselves(identity and expression aren’t mutually exclusive). So, I know not everyone who is nb detests wearing dresses. I chose to just write this from the perspective of someone in an ever changing headspace. However you exist is valid, but for the sake of this fic I tried to just keep with the flow of understanding oneself/coming out.

Warnings: Coming Out (Fear/Grief)

It was a beautiful morning; the birds were chirping, likely grateful for the clear blue skies the budding Summer had afforded them. The bright sunlight was slowly filtering into your room through the cracked open blinds as time tediously passed on by. Lines of otherwise unseen dust were now illuminated as they flickered throughout the air. There was only the soft sounds of snoring as you laid there, your lover on your chest, it was relatively perfect.

There was no visible reason for you to be feeling this low, but immense dread had settled deep in your stomach as you read through an email.

Stark Charity Gala Reminder:

Hey honey, I had Happy leave a few dresses for you to try on, please let me know which one you prefer, and I’ll have it tailored to your needs.

You didn’t know how to tell him your needs were based on the disappearance of said flowy fabric…

—

Sure, you could tell him, but you were paralyzed by your fears that he’d expect it anyways. That your comfort wouldn’t come before business, so you chose not to mention it. As progressive as the world has become, you know your father works closely with some wealthy men, most of whom were up there in age; in your experience they weren’t all that big on the changing times.

This wasn’t always how you felt, but as of late, you’d really felt an aversion to the expected attire at your father’s many various events. In your day to day you could wear as you pleased, which is really just whatever attracts the least attention. Unwelcome comments on your appearance only ever made you feel more removed from reality.

Your father meant well, you know he always did, but it didn’t change the fact that he was not the most attentive person, and therefore still saw you as the little girl in tutus chasing butterflies around the garden as a nanny tended to your needs.

Which truth be told hadn’t been the case for most of your adolescence, it had only started weighing you down though in the more recent years. Everyday you woke up to have your identity invalidated in simple ways, and with that came chipped away pieces of your soul. This unsettling feeling came with the territory of being closeted, you remember it well from when you initially dealt with your sexuality, and coming out hadn’t been any easier. If anything, it’s only become harder.

To look into your aging fathers eyes, and tell him that the person he knew was never the real you was daunting, and was something that made you think suffering in silence was the better choice.

You’d already lived a long many years as Y/N Stark—Tony Stark’s eldest daughter, and you didn’t exactly know how to be anything but that in an outwardly sense. It was all a bit intimidating, and so you lived in this cycle where you would build yourself up to speak your truth, only to lose the confidence when faced with the chance.

While being so deeply in your thoughts you failed to notice the woman on your chest moving about. The beautiful woman who’s held your heart in her very hands for years now, the same one who hadn’t a clue what your inner turmoil’s were like. Natasha was as understanding as they came, you knew deep down that she’d love you all the same, but the crippling fear of rejection never allowed you to utter the words, “I’m nonbinary.”

You’d yet to even speak them aloud, instead they swirled around your brain, amongst the waves of self doubt, being swept beneath the currents of ‘It’s safer to pretend,’ and ‘We can’t lose her…’

Natasha was staring up at you with a sleepy smile, the sun had fallen over your face it allowed her to gaze into your eyes in a way she normally couldn’t. The one tone color suddenly became intermixed with complementary ones, and in the moment she thought you’d never looked more mesmerizing. But her sappy expression soon melted into one of worry the longer she stared.

“Good morning,” she raspily greeted, a smile retaking up her face as she sat up to level her gaze with yours, “What’s on your mind my love?”

In a panicked move you surged forward, hoping to use your lips to distract her from pushing further, and it seemed to work as she let you guide her backwards until she laid flat on her back. You kissed her with urgency, as if her lips were enough to heal all of your broken pieces, and in a way that is exactly what happened. The turmoil returned to its vault, where it would likely live another day unsettled, but it would be okay, just as long as you had Natasha by your side.

“Breakfast,” you hummed as you slowly pulled away from her lips, staring down at her with a cheeky grin, and flexed brows. Natasha snorted, “You should’ve woke me up then baby, let’s go!”

Once you both entered the kitchen your lover dropped your hand so she could make her way over to her first love—the Nespresso machine.

“Lady Y/N!” Thor bellowed, startling you with his sudden emergence, “Would you like a poptart?”

With a wide smile you nodded, accepting the sugary breakfast from the God, but once you turned around to face the drink counter your expression sullened, and Natasha noticed.

Natasha always noticed you. It’s been hard to keep up with you with her influx of missions, but she’d been around enough to know it’d been months since the light in your eyes faded out. In the privacy of your shared room you seemed content most days you spent together. A light flickered within your eyes in those moments. But now, it was as if you were living on autopilot as you moved through the kitchen, she watched you with a stoic mask as she sipped on her coffee.

“Squirt, can you pass your old man the salt?”

You genuinely smiled at him, and did as asked.

“Tony, are you serious? It was right there.”

“Yeah, well it was closer to her Pepper, sue me.”

There was a subtle tick in your jaw, nobody else saw it, but the redhead, also known as The Black Widow, the top spy of her generation, noticed it. A frown befell her face, one she masked with her mug as you approached her with swift steps.

“Hey Natty,” you greeted her with a kiss to her cheek, “I’m going to go take a shower, and get some work done while you’re in your meeting, but I’ll be sure to find you for lunch with Yelena.”

Natasha stopped you with a hand on your hip, she jutted her lips out expectantly, and you gave her exactly what she wanted with a soft kiss.

“Get a room!” Tony shouted with a grimace, and you chuckled against your lover, you didn’t have to see to know her hand behind your back held a middle finger up for your father to interpret.

When you walked away Natasha’s head began to spin with reasons for your dropped mood, but she came up empty and vowed to herself that she’d figure it out somehow. All she ever wanted was for you to be happy, and she would wade through hell or high water to ensure you were.

—

A grunt of displeasure left your lips as you kicked your mini wastebasket across your shared room. You were barely able to keep it together, it was clear Nat was onto you, and it’d only been two innocent in nature comments from oblivious men.

“Get it together Stark,” you grumbled before settling down at your desk to work on a project for Pepper as you’d been her assistant since Nat. A few frustrated tears stained your papers, but fortunately they only held data for you to key in.

After an hour and a half of half assed work you pushed away from your desk and waltzed into the en suite so you could finish crying it all out. You spent another half an hour under the water quietly sobbing until the heat faded into cold, then you cleaned up and clambered right on out.

In a matter of seconds you selected your outfit from your side of the closet, and slid into it. You’d settled on a pair of olive green khaki pants, with a black, button up shirt tucked into the bottoms. Your hair was slicked back, giving it a shorter appearance, and that made you feel giddy.

Yelena was expected to arrive at noon, and as you glanced at your clock you realized you only had a few minutes before, so you applied a thin layer of chapstick to your lips and made your way down to the living room where you found the pair discussing who knows what with your girlfriend.

Natasha heard your shoes scuffle against the hardwood of the hallway, her heart skipped a beat as you approached her with a reserved smile. One she would never tire of seeing, and she quickly pulled you into her side with pride as her sisters girlfriend was left to gawk at you.

“Kate Bishop, this is Y/N Stark, my sister’s long time girlfriend, and heiress of Stark Industries.”

Kate smiled nervously, hand trembling as she reached for yours, “Nice to meet you Y/N, I-wow, you look rather dapper if you don’t mind me saying so.”

Time stood still for a moment, you’d been so used to the compliments of others irking you that you weren’t used to this euphoria upon hearing something outside of the usual beautiful, or pretty. Natasha bit her tongue, she had a moment of understanding once she saw the way your eyes momentarily sparkled at the woman.

“Kate Bishop!” Yelena snarked, “Y/N is a —.”

Before the blonde could ruin the highlight of your year you raised a hand, effectively shushing her, “Thank you Kate, it’s lovely to meet you as well, you look dazzling in your sundress, it suits you .”

Natasha glared at you playfully, and you smiled back at her knowingly. “Hello gorgeous.”

“Hello my love,” she made sure not to comment on your appearance. A part of her felt guilty for not noticing the signs sooner, but it melted away as you kissed her tenderly, as if the prying eyes of hazel and chestnut weren’t right there.

“Disgusting,” Yelena gagged, “Let us go eat!”

“Ooh!” You clapped, “Where are we eating?”

Yelena hesitated to answer you, she knew your teasing would likely ensue, “Applebees…”

“Why?” You looked at the blonde with a smirk, “So you can have a Kraft kids meal?”

“What I’m ordering is none of your business!” She shouted, voice cracking as she did with her buff arms now crossed over her chest in defiance of her obvious predictability. “For your information, cyka, I love to have entertainment with my meals, you guys are too boring.”

“Oh, so the crayons do it for you?”

“Yes!” Yelena threw her hands up as if this was the most obvious answer, “There’s tic tac toe, word search, and coloring. With you two it’s just googly eyes, and talk of how work went.”

“Yelena, your girlfriend is coming too.”

“I know,” she whispered like she was telling you a classified secret, “She’s a little boring too…”

“I don’t know,” you spoke rather loudly, “Kate doesn’t seem boring to me, she seems fun!”

Yelena glared at you, then ran towards the car after shoving you into a tree. Natasha quickly helped you to your feet, raising her brow at you in subtle judgment, you shrugged. “So worth it.”

Natasha shook her head, “Yeah, until one of you kills each other, then I’m down a lover and sister.”

A smile of appreciation broke out on your face making the redheads heart flutter, for another moment in time you both just stared at each other as if the world had stopped orbiting the sun. But it was short lived as the hot ball of gas shrieked from the backseat of Nat’s corvette.

“Hey Poser! And Poser’s stupid GI Joe doll, hurry the heck up! Some of us have worked up mega appetites this morning you know?!”

Natasha looked to you in horror, but fortunately Kate was quick to quell her worries as she gingerly walked by the tree, “Yeah, we went on that five mile morning hike, I’m truly famished.”

“Slava Bogu,” Natasha murmured in relief in her mother tongue, her hand then slid perfectly into yours so she could now walk in stride with you.

(Thank God)

—

By the time the two of you returned to the compound you were exhausted. Lunch turned into a day’s worth of fun after Yelena begged the two of you to go mini golfing with them as well. As much as you enjoyed teasing the blonde, you also loved her to pieces and knew how exciting and new being in America was for her. So even if you wanted to say no, you truthfully wouldn’t. You could tell Natasha felt the same way when she looked at you for permission to agree to stay.

It was only 8pm, but the two of you snuck off to your room after hurriedly eating the stew on the stove Wanda had left for you two to reheat. After a joint shower, and a quick bedtime routine you found yourself snuggled into the redheads chest as an unwatched movie played on the screen.

The longer you laid there in her arms, replaying the day’s events while listening to the rhythmic beat of her heart the more you began to feel your anxieties melting away. Natasha had shown you time and time again that she loved you, and there wasn’t much of a question on if she’d continue to. The way she looked at you at lunch told you she knew enough, and when all she did was run her hand over yours tenderly before turning to scold her sister you knew you were giving the looming dread far too much power.

Natasha could feel your tears seeping through her shirt, but she didn’t say anything, she only held you that much tighter as she hummed a lullaby. You let out all the pent of frustration with each tear released, most directed at the world for putting you in such a predicament, some at yourself for all the years you lost hiding, and the rest for the family you still worried might leave.

“Natty?” You sniffled, “Ca-can we talk please?”

Natasha reluctantly let you out of her grasp so you could both sit up, the redhead sat against the headboard while you settled in the center of the mattress with your leg crossed over the other.

“What’s the matter my love?” Natasha’s tone was softer than normal, it also sounded like she was on the verge of tears herself, and that honestly terrified you. Maybe she was going to end things if you said what you planned to, but before you could shame spiral once again, you finally lifted your head up from your lap and looked into her glistening eyes, and you knew she wouldn’t.

“I-um,” you began to fiddle with your hands, nails picking at the sensitive cuticles until the redhead clasped her hands over yours. “It’s okay, you can tell me when you’re ready baby, there’s no rush.”

You knew that was her subtle way of saying she knew, and the fact that she wasn’t tossing you out of what used to be her room was the final confirmation you needed to speak your truth.

“I’m non-binary!” You blurted the words, and as you let them pass your lips for the first time a healing cry shortly followed. Your body racked with sobs, and Natasha pulled you into her lap.

Natasha coo’d, “I’m so proud of you baby,” she rocked you softly, and held you incredibly tight, “You’re so strong, and I’m so lucky that you trusted me with this, thank you so much baby.”

“W-we’re okay?” Your trembling voice and lip broke the redhead's heart, a tear finally fell from her eyes as she understood just how scared you were of her reaction. “Yes, we’re fine my love.”

Her lips pressed to your forehead reassuringly before they found their rightful home against yours. “You’re my soulmate Y/N, I love you for who you are, and I promise that’ll never change.”

A few beats of silence fell before anyone spoke again. “What does this change for you love?”

“I’m still figuring it all out Natty, but I,” you took in a deep breath to calm your racing heart, “I’d like to start going by they/them pronouns, and I don’t want to wear dresses to my dads stupid galas.”

Natasha chuckled softly, “That’s easy enough.”

“I don’t know how to tell him Nat, I’m scared.”

Natasha cupped your cheek, her thumb running across your cheek tenderly as she stared into your eyes. “I am with you every step of the way.” She pressed a firm kiss to your lips to seal her sentiments in completely. “I’m sure it’ll be okay.”

“What if it isn’t?”

Natasha shrugged, “It will be,” she smirked softly when you pouted. “Because, if he is anything but understanding I’ll just hack into his suits again like when he tried to say we couldn’t date.”

When you laughed unabashedly Natasha knew she’d done all that she was able to here. If Tony, or anyone for that matter, had anything negative to say when the time came, she’d handle them accordingly. For now though, all she wanted to do was hold you impossibly close, until you never questioned the strength of her love for you again.

——

2,975 Words

❤️ Kaitlyn 🥹

[ndbookstudy]

the power of now, eckhart tolle.

note: i was going to make a q&a type of post, but i just decided to copy paste the chapter questions instead!

chapter one, you are not your mind - the greatest obstacle to enlightenment.

The word enlightenment conjures up the idea of some super-human accomplishment, and the ego likes to keep it that way, but it is simply your natural state of felt oneness with Being. It is a state of connectedness with something immeasurable and indestructible, something that, almost paradoxically, is essentially you and yet is much greater than you. It is finding your true nature beyond name and form. The inability to feel this connectedness gives rise to the illusion of separation, from yourself and from the world around you. You then perceive yourself, consciously or unconsciously, as an isolated fragment. Fear arises, and conflict within and without becomes the norm.

I love the Buddha's simple definition of enlightenment as "the end of suffering." There is nothing superhuman in that, is there? Of course, as a definition, it is incomplete. It only tells you what enlightenment is not: no suffering. But what's left when there is no more suffering? The Buddha is silent on that, and his silence implies that you'll have to find out for yourself. He uses a negative definition so that the mind cannot make it into something to believe in or into a superhuman accomplishment, a goal that is impossible for you to attain. Despite this precaution, the majority of Buddhists still believe that enlightenment is for the Buddha, not for them, at least not in this lifetime.

You used the word Being. Can you explain what you mean by that?

Being is the eternal, ever-present One Life beyond the myriad forms of life that are subject to birth and death. However, Being is not only beyond but also deep within every form as its innermost invisible and indestructible essence. This means that it is accessible to you now as your own deepest self, your true nature. But don't seek to grasp it with your mind. Don't try to understand it. You can know it only when the mind is still. When you are present, when your attention is fully and intensely in the Now, Being can be felt, but it can never be understood mentally. To regain awareness of Being and to abide in that state of "feeling-realization" is enlightenment.

What is the greatest obstacle to experiencing this reality?

Identification with your mind, which causes thought to become compulsive. Not to be able to stop thinking is a dreadful affliction, but we don't realize this because almost everybody is suffering from it, so it is considered normal. This incessant mental noise prevents you from finding that realm of inner stillness that is inseparable from Being. It also creates a false mind-made self that casts a shadow of fear and suffering. We will look at all that in more detail later.

The philosopher Descartes believed that he had found the most fundamental truth when he made his famous statement: "I think, therefore I am." He had, in fact, given expression to the most basic error: to equate thinking with Being and identity with thinking. The compulsive thinker, which means almost everyone, lives in a state of apparent separateness, in an insanely complex world of continuous problems and conflict, a world that reflects the ever-increasing fragmentation of the mind. Enlightenment is a state of wholeness, of being "at one" and therefore at peace. At one with life in its manifested aspect, the world, as well as with your deepest self and life unmanifested - at one with Being. Enlightenment is not only the end of suffering and of continuous conflict within and without, but also the end of the dreadful enslavement to incessant thinking. What an incredible liberation this is!

Identification with your mind creates an opaque screen of concepts, labels, images, words, judgments, and definitions that blocks all true relationship. It comes between you and yourself, between you and your fellow man and woman, between you and nature, between you and God. It is this screen of thought that creates the illusion of separateness, the illusion that there is you and a totally separate "other." You then forget the essential fact that, underneath the level of physical appearances and separate forms, you are one with all that is. By "forget," I mean that you can no longer feel this oneness as self-evident reality. You may believe it to be true, but you no longer know it to be true. A belief may be comforting. Only through your own experience, however, does it become liberating. Thinking has become a disease. Disease happens when things get out of balance.

For example, there is nothing wrong with cells dividing and multiplying in the body, but when this process continues in disregard of the total organism, cells proliferate and we have disease.

Note: The mind is a superb instrument if used rightly. Used wrongly, however, it becomes very destructive. To put it more accurately, it is not so much that you use your mind wrongly - you usually don't use it at all. It uses you. This is the disease. You believe that you are your mind. This is the delusion. The instrument has taken you over.

I don't quite agree. It is true that I do a lot of aimless thinking, like most people, but I can still choose to use my mind to get and accomplish things, and I do that all the time.

Just because you can solve a crossword puzzle or build an atom bomb doesn't mean that you use your mind. Just as dogs love to chew bones, the mind loves to get its teeth into problems. That's why it does crossword puzzles and builds atom bombs. You have no interest in either. Let me ask you this: can you be free of your mind whenever you want to? Have you found the "off" button?

You mean stop thinking altogether? No, I can't, except maybe for a moment or two.

Then the mind is using you. You are unconsciously identified with it, so you don't even know that you are its slave. It's almost as if you were possessed without knowing it, and so you take the possessing entity to be yourself. The beginning of freedom is the realization that you are not the possessing entity -- the thinker. Knowing this enables you to observe the entity. The moment you start watching the thinker, a higher level of consciousness becomes activated.

You then begin to realize that there is a vast realm of intelligence beyond thought, that thought is only a tiny aspect of that intelligence. You also realize that all the things that truly matter - beauty, love, creativity, joy, inner peace - arise from beyond the mind. You begin to awaken.

[wr-n]

Crazy long ramble about Dust and the nature of fictional characters

I kind of want to reach into the reason some of us are drawn to characters that appear 'evil' or 'traumatized' or 'in pain'. That when we create such characters, we gain satisfaction, or catharsis, or even end up getting ourselves hurt by doing so.

And at the same time, we feel that these characters are so real that we feel the need to defend them as if they were real people. Maybe because some of us feel that these characters are a part of themselves and therefor are trying to defend themselves from harm?

Or the cases where the more you hurt your character, the more at ease you are with yourself because then you aren't alone in your suffering when all else seems crushingly lonely.

I'm taking Dust for this example because while I think he's hot, I never really dug deeper than 'yeah, he's hot'. Why do I and so many others find this hurting, deeply traumatized and mentally ill man so appealing? Why do we see him and find a desire for him? Of course there doesn't need to only have one answer.

Some people see him as a mirror to their own situation. The hurt and suffering shared between them.

Maybe they see him as dangerous and want something dangerous to protect them from all the dangers of the world?

or maybe they see him as a challenge, something to domineer or 'fix'.

Characters like Dust evoke so many different emotions.

But that doesn't exclude emotions like hatred. Some people hate him for what he stands for.

Maybe he isn't mentally ill enough to be convincing, or convincingly ill enough.

Maybe his characterization is weak or out of character.

Maybe he has so little to do with anything else that the fact he exists is unfathomable.

Dust to me is like a bee. They can be a wonderful source of sustenance and comfort, buzzing around one's garden and providing much needed noise in the silence.

Or an awful insect that stings and stings and stings until even the sight of it is painful.

To me, Dust is a bee. And I see bees as an insect. That they have two wings and fuzz. That they collect pollen and make honey. That they have stingers and can hurt. That they are so small in relation to me that I have the power to kill it or nurture it.

He isn't good or bad or anything in between. He is something born of the desire to create first and foremost.

He was born from someone who has lived a different life than me. Who has their own hurts and joys. They created out of the desire to make and find comfort and find joy in something their hands crafted.

And I think that's beautiful.

[archiveikemen]

"Black Wedding" Story Event: Premium END

William's Route

I do not own any of the Ikemen Series content being uploaded on this blog, everything belongs to CYBIRD. Please support them by playing their games and buying stories. Not 100% accurate, expect mistakes.

read this before interacting with my posts

This story is in William's POV

William • Kate: I don't.

The air in the church instantly turned ice cold.

(... I expected her to hesitate a little.)

(Such a firm declaration. As expected of Kate.)

I gazed lovingly at my partner in her black dress, then turned my eyes to the man who was to be judged for his sins.

William: Founder — I mean, Mister Amor.

William: You've killing the couples who vowed their love here, haven't you?

Amor's shoulders trembled and he tried to argue, but I had no intention to accept any of his excuses.

William: Ah, save your breath. We have already ascertained that you're hiding the bodies in the basement of his church.

William: Your motive for committing those crimes is...

William: Before you started this organisation, you were betrayed by your fiancee whom you loved so much...

William: You lost all your money and honour, you were at the brink of death.

Amor: H-How did you know that...!?

Cultist: What does that mean, Father*?

*I chose this word because in a church, the pastor is addressed as "Father", right? Feel free to let me know if there is a better alternative.

Cultist: Didn't you receive the divine relevation to become a messenger of love...?

William: Did you do it out of good faith to prevent others from suffering the same fate as you, or was it out of jealousy?

William: Honestly, I'm not so interested in whatever motives you may have.

Amor: All of that is untrue! Silence this man!

William: You brainwashed all your believers into becoming your obedient servants and killed those couples who were free to love each other.

William: That's a fact that will not change.

The blood drained from Amor's face upon being confronted with his sins.

However, no amount of fear, crying, or begging for mercy meant anything.

William: It's up to the individual to decide their form of love and how they wish to prove it.

William: We won't just watch from the sidelines as you take the lives of innocent people because of your selfish ideals.

William: Therefore, my verdict is — you're guilty.

Amor: *gasp*...

William: "Stay there and don't move".

After stopping Amor from fleeing, I turned to look behind me.

His believers who stood there dumbfounded were also victims of having their freedom stolen.

William: "Get in a single file and leave this place quietly. Follow the man waiting outside who identifies himself as Victor."

At my command, the believers left the church like puppets.

Amor trembled at the sight of that bizzare spectacle.

Amor: ... Wha... what was that...

Amor: Why!? All of you are supposed to only obey me!

Amor: Obey me! I... I'm the only one who's right! I will never forgive you for your betrayal!!

William: "A domesticated animal"...

William: "Docile, as a man tamed it"...

William: Very tasteless of you to decorate the beautiful garden with anagrams of sheep and your believers.

William: Nothing bad about creating an ideal place, but you should do it alone.

I placed a knife in Amor's trembling hand.

Standing next to me, Kate silently watched the scene unfold.

The villain who was to be punished for his sins — and the villain who will punish him by committing the same sin.

(Make sure to properly burn this moment into your memory.)

(And write my sins down in your reports.)

William: "Stab your heart, and sleep forever".

...

I went outside after condemning Amor for his sins, and saw Victor leaving with the believers in a carriage.

Kate: What's going to happen to them...?

William: They'll be put in the Royal Hospital for some time.

William: Some of them will wake up from this nightmare and return to their original lives...

William: While the rest will search for something else to rely on.

Kate: ... Is that so?

Kate watched as the carriage left, perhaps wishing that there would be hope for their future.

(... How beautiful.)

Kate was dressed in black, like she were attending a funeral possession.

Her eyes didn't look like she was bidding farewell to the dead, but instead looked like they held a light that believed in rebirth.

(Even when you're shrouded in darkness, your radiance never disappeared.)

She was willing to become evil for the sake of others, and yet wished that there would be a day evil would vanish from this world.

How could I possibly not love a woman this foolish and kind?

(She seems to agree that marriage vows are unnecessary.)

(Being addressed as the "bride", choosing a wedding dress, and putting it on...)

(She found the wedding process itself enjoyable.)

Formalities weren't important to her, she was instead open to having color in her life and enjoying herself.

William: Kate.

Kate: What's the ma— mmph.

I pulled her close and stole her lips in a kiss.

Kate's eyes widened in surprise for a moment before closing to receive the kiss.

Standing in front of the church with blood on my hands, I unreservedly cherished my bride who was raptured by the kiss.

Kate: Mm... haah... what's the matter, all of a sudden?

William: We haven't had a "memorable, blood-stained promise kiss" yet.

Kate blinked in surprise and chuckled.

Kate: Fufu... that would be a great memory.

William: Wonderful.

William: While we're at it, shall we go on a honeymoon, my bride?

Kate: ... Huh?

...

I left the church with Kate still in her wedding dress, and we were now seated in a carriage that swayed lightly and rhythmically.

Kate: It's so dark outside.

She looked stunning in her black dress, like a single black rose.

Kate: But I was surprised by your sudden suggestion to go on a honeymoon...

William: Looking at you made me want to whisk you away.

William: I wanted to enjoy the sight of you in your wedding dress a little longer.

Kate's cheeks turned red.

(Ah, I want to see her wearing a red dress as well.)

I had a sudden whimsical thought.

Kate: ... Hey, Will.

William: Hm?

Kate: I've always thought that wedding vows were a very serious thing, it was the goal of two people deeply in love.

Kate: But when it was our turn to say our vows... it felt so trivial.

William: ... Fufu.

Kate: Why are you laughing?

William: Pardon me. It's because of how serious is the look you have on your face right now.

William: Everything is trivial compared to what you've sworn to me, Kate.

There was nothing that could be greater than Kate putting her life at risk by swearing her love to me.

Kate: I mean...

Her slightly pouty lips were adorable, she looked like she was feeling embarrassed from being laughed at.

(I could stare at her like this forever.)

Kate: Regardless of whether we're married or not...

Kate: We have a special relationship whereby we've both sworn our love to each other.

Kate: Today's mission... it made me really happy.

William: ...

The sight of her carefree smile made my heart ache.

I knew that when I lost her one day, that pain would eat me alive.

William: ... So, have you lost interest in having a real wedding?

Kate: … Huh?

William: I just thought it’d be enjoyable to have a real wedding with you.

Kate: …

(This face she makes is adorable too.)

William: You looked so happy to be in a wedding dress.

William: Being called my bride, choosing your dress… and of course, you look happy right now too.

I touched her cheek and looked into her face.

William: Ah, I won’t tie you down with marriage.

William: But if it means I can see your happy face, I don’t think having a “ceremony” is a bad idea.

Kate: … Will…

William: We can have multiple wedding ceremonies if you wish.

William: Next time, we’ll have you wear a dress of your choice.

William: When you wear a red wedding dress, let’s have a wedding with just the two of us. No one else will be there to see it.

(Someday, her smile, warmth, and flame of life would disappear forever.)

(Until that moment comes, let’s make many happy memories together.)

Kate innocently blinked and then narrowed her eyes.

Kate: … Alright, then let’s hold 10 ceremonies.

Kate: I, too, want to see you in both black and white tuxedos.

William: ... Fufu, 10 times, huh?

William: You’re such a greedy bride.

Kate: … My bad, that was false. Actually, let’s have 100 ceremonies.

William: Ahahaha!

I burst out laughing, and Kate joined in the laughter.

Hearing her laughter in the darkness brought me more joy than any sacred vow could.

William: If we have 100 ceremonies, that means we’ll have 100 promise kisses.

William: But for now…

William: I want to give my one and only bride a kiss filled with my love.

(We’ll vow to each other as many times as we want.)

(Until the very end, when this happiness turns into a poison that will kill me.)

[foxpunk]

Here is a link to the original full statement of Tal Mitnick posted to Twitter (X) on the 26th of December, 2023. Tal is an 18-year-old Israeli who is a conscientious objector refusing to serve in the IDF. While he isn't the first conscientious objector in IDF history by far, nor the only one currently openly refusing to serve in the IDF, he is the first to do so and receive jail time since October 7th and the "start" of Israel's genocide more than 80 days ago.

I feel it is morally and historically important for his words to be preserved and for everyone to have the option to read his statement. However, even with the new year having passed, I have not been able to find a version of it with a full transcription of the images from the original tweet - through ALT text or plain text - and so I have transcribed it below.

"There is no military solution - a statement of refusal

This land has a problem - there are two nations with an undeniable connection to this place. But even with all the violence in the world, we could not erase the Palestinian people or their connection to this land, just as the Jewish people or our connection to the same land cannot be erased. The problem here is supremacy, the belief that this land belongs to only one people. Violence cannot solve the situation, neither by Hamas, nor by Israel. There is no military solution to a political problem. Therefore, I refuse to enlist in an army that believes that the real problem can be ignored, under a government that only continues the bereavement and pain.

On the seventh of October, Israeli society experienced a trauma the likes of which was not known in the history of the country. In a terrible invasion, the terrorist organization Hamas murdered hundreds of innocent civilians and kidnapped hundreds more, families were murdered in their homes, young people were massacred during a rave and 240 people were kidnapped to the Gaza Strip. After the terrorist attack, a revenge campaign began not only against Hamas, but against all Palestinian people. Indiscriminate bombings of residential neighborhoods and refugee camps in Gaza, full military and political support for settler violence in the West Bank, and political persecution on an unprecedented scale inside Israel. The reality we live in is a violent one. According to Hamas and also according to the IDF and the political echelon, violence is the only way. Continuing this cycle: "an eye for an eye" without thinking about an actual solution that would provide security and freedom to us all, only leads to more killing and suffering.

I refuse to believe that more violence will bring security, I refuse to take part in a war of revenge. I grew up in a home where life is sacred, where discussion is valued, where discourse and understanding always come before taking violent measures. In the world full of corrupt interests in which we live, violence and war are another way to increase support for the government and silence criticism. We must recognize the fact that after weeks of the ground operation in Gaza, at the end of the day - negotiations, an agreement, brought back the hostages. It was actually military action that caused them to be killed. Because of the criminal lie that "there are no innocent civilians in Gaza", even hostages waving a white flag shouting in Hebrew were shot to death. I don't want to imagine how many similar cases there were that were not investigated because the victims were born on the wrong side of the fence. The people who said "no negotiations with Hamas" were simply wrong. Period. Diplomacy, political effort, and policy change are the only way to prevent further destruction and death on both sides.

The violence that the army uses and has used over the years does not protect us. The cycle of violence is indeed a cycle - the violence of the army, like that of any army, produces more blood. In practice, it is nothing more than an army of occupation and its maintenance. At the moment of truth it has abandoned the residents of the south and the entire country. It is important to distinguish between the ordinary people and the generals and self serving people who sit at the head of the system: none of the ordinary people decided to fund Hamas, none of us chose to perpetuate the occupation, and none of us decided to move troops to the West Bank days before the invasion, because settlers decided to build a Sukkah in Huwara. And now, after a long-standing policy that was always destined to explode, we are the ones who are sent to kill and be killed in Gaza. We are not sent to fight for peace, but in the name of revenge. I decided to refuse to enlist before the war, but since it started, I am only more and more sure of my decision.

Before the war, the army guarded settlements, maintained the murderous siege on the Gaza Strip, and upheld the status quo of the apartheid and Jewish supremacy in the land between the Jordan and the sea. Since the outbreak of the war, we have not seen any call for a real policy change in the West Bank and Gaza, for an end to the widespread oppression of the Palestinian people and the bloodshed, or for a just peace. We are seeing the opposite: the deepening of oppression, the spreading of hatred, and the expansion of the fascist political persecution within Israel.

The change will not come from the corrupt politicians here, or from the leaders of Hamas, who are corrupt as well. It will come from us - the people of the two nations. I believe wholeheartedly that the Palestinian people are not an evil people. Just like here, where the vast majority of people want to live a good and safe life, have a place for their children to play after school, and to make ends meet at the end of the month, so do Palestinians. On the eve of the seventh of October, support for Hamas in Gaza was at a low of 26%. Since the outbreak of violence, it has grown significantly stronger. In order to change, an alternative must be put in place, an alternative to Hamas, and an alternative to the militaristic society in which we live. This change will come when we recognize the suffering of the Palestinian people over the years, and that this suffering is the result of Israeli policy. Along with recognition must also come justice, correction, and the construction of a political infrastructure based on peace, freedom and equality. I do not want to take part in the continuation of the oppression and the continuation of the cycle of bloodshed, but to work directly for a solution, and therefore I refuse. I love this country and the people here, because it is my home. I sacrifice and work so that this land will be one that respects others, one where you can live with dignity.

Tal Mitnick, 26.12.2023"

[femsolid]

Every time I see a christian woman on this app giving lectures about this and that but especially about her cult and how her fellow cultists should behave I keep thinking about that bible line "I suffer not a woman to teach, nor to usurp authority over the man, but to be in silence." Your very actions are contradicting your faith. The only reason you're allowed to speak your mind at all is because of secularism. And these women are typically very confrontational, just like the so-called traditional housewives out here. They're typically very opinionated, smart albeit deluded, and confrontational women. So it's a curious thing to see them fight to lose their humanity, since fighting only makes them more human. You can try to teach me about how abortion is wrong or that Jesus is a feminist or that patriarchy is natural but I know you're not even supposed to think about such things. "And if they will learn any thing, let them ask their husbands at home" also says the bible. Yet the most agressively traditionalist and christian women out there are exactly that: agressive. Pontifical. Assertive. So I never worry too much about them. Whatever dogma they follow, it's obviously not working very well. They debate in favour of not being allowed to debate. That's bound to fail. It's the quiet ones, the isolated women with no self confidence, no political knowledge and therefore no ability to form an opinion, the women who simply don't have any time for themselves, let alone social medias and debates, they're the real "traditional christian housewives" even when they don't know they are. My mother lived like that for 17 years before mustering up the courage to divorce my father. She was an atheist yet lived her life as close as possible to the christian ideal without realizing it. In fact, it was when she started using social medias and talking to people of all walks of life in chatrooms that she started getting back her personality, her character, her backbone, dreams and ambitions. I'm proud of her for that. So don't waste your time trying to reason women online or at protest rallies. Find the real isolated ones and befriend them. Sometimes all it takes is them seeing that there are other ways to live, other perspectives and that her tyrant isn't all that.

[thehollowwriter]

What is Finn's relationship with Malleus and Crowley?!🥰💕 INTERESTING

Ohhh, this is a fun one! Thank you, Oya!

See, Finn doesn't really find Malleus that intimidating at all. He's not an idiot, he's well aware Malleus is a prince that holds magical power far beyond his own, but when you're continually haunted by ghost babies and suffer from night terrors and you live in the Coral Sea and your father is a butcher with some questionable connections, it's difficult to be intimidated by much.

That aside, Finn respects Malleus and enjoys his company. He finds Malleus' general nature quite entertaining and his protective nature over him (and Yuu) quite amusing, endearing even. He would like to learn from Malleus, whether or be Malleus' culture or spells or other things. Malleus is the closest thing Finn has to a friend, though Finn would rather drop dead than admit to being fond of the idea.

Malleus, on the other hand, loves Finn. Finn does not fear him. Finn does not flinch when he comes near. In fact, Finn is remarkably unflinching. Finn is his friend, like Yuu, and is therefore very dear to him.

Malleus is protective, not to a possessive degree, but he is perfectly willing to strike anyone who brings Finn harm. (This causes a debacle when Finn is injured during Azul's overblot)

Malleus enjoys his time with Finn, and it makes him happy that Finn has such a keen interest in gargoyles. It was nice to have someone to talk about his interests with, someone who actually engages.

Malleus himself has started learning about abyssal magic from Finn. It was amazing, really, learning something no one else could teach him. Finn is an odd person, but Malleus finds that endearing. Finn's paintings fascinate him, and he's hoping to convince Finn to paint a gargoyle, even if the shark is insistent that it won't look good.

Finn is someone who he can either have pleasant conversations with or simply sit in silence with, and it's a nice combination.

Malleus can sense those ghosts constantly hovering around Finn, even if he can't see them. He isn't sure how to proceed when it comes to them, as the first time he asked about them went....poorly.

All in all, they're friends, even if Finn won't admit it, and they get along well. They're getting closer over time, though it's a slow process. They're a cute duo.

Finn hates Crowley with a passion and finds him extremely suspicious. They don't interact much, and Finn avoids hum like the plague. He's so obnoxious and loud, and Azul has dirt on him, so that's an instant red flag.

Crowley is honestly creeped out by Finn, but he's a well-behaved student (mostly), and his paintings of the various school locations provide good advertising material. He can't help but wonder why Finn's stellar grades are steadily dropping, but it's none of his business, so nevermind that! He is curious about the souls that are attached to Finn, according to the Dark Mirror, and he thinks Sam knows something about it. He'll have to go interrogate the shopkeeper sometime...

Tagging: @distant-velleity @krenenbaker @cynthinesia @theleechyskrunkly @the-banana-0verlord @cyanide-latte @officialdaydreamer00 @oya-oya-okay

Okay I accidentally added a poll so:

(You're not allowed to say no/j)