𖥻˖ ¡ 🍈( peachy )

arab scholar, writer, and everything in between𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

[pexchys]

╰  call me Peachy! ˚₊·  🎐 ㅤ ★﹕ .ᐟ she; her ⸝⸝ 9teen …  arab˓  ⊹ ˚. ‹ 🧷support my patreon! જ⁀➴ (coming soon...) ❜ . 𓂃short stories, multifandom writing, poetry, and essays...♡

──ᡣ𐭩 reqs + asks r open!

[pexchys]

ethel cain dropped her new album and it hurt so bad i had to come back to tumblr to write

[thecomfywriter]

i may have done a thing…

[thecomfywriter]

i’m reblogging this until y’all notice because i personally think it’s a masterpiece LMAO

TCW Tags List:

@lunaeuphternal @the-golden-comet @renasdoodles

@drchenquill @zackprincebooks @wyked-ao3

@satohqbanana @toragay-writing @the-letterbox-archives

@kind-lion @mysticstarlightduck @agirlandherquill

@storyteller-kara @dahliaontherun @writingismydrugs

@authorcoledipalo @sm-writes-chaos @illarian-rambling

@pexchys

[pexchys]

i miss my voltron klance dirty laundry era that girl was insane bless her heart

[hunnismokah]

oh mr. bushido, the things i would do for you

[pexchys]

im so normal about this I swear I'm fine

[shakaprio]

girls just wanna blog, play dress to impress, and giggle over edits

[pexchys]

"your dirty little secret" Al-Haitham x gn!Reader

cw: semi-nsfw, a little angst, secret relationships, lowk toxic reader, drunk mentions, somewhat unrequited love

Al-Haitham walks past you, his boots clicking against the grand Akademiya halls

He barely notices you, his face as stoic as ever

But you know he's frustrated

You know he's dying on the inside.

You've been avoiding him like the plague, until it's three in the morning, drunk at the tavern, stumbling away from Nilou, Cyno and Tighnari, making your way to his home

Just like you did last night

When you knocked on the door, your face flushed and your eyes wide as Al-Haitham greeted you before you gently grabbed his face and brought him close to you

He paused before wrapping his strong arms around your waist, kicking the door closed as he pushed you against the wall, desperate as he kissed your lips, before moving down to your neck

You gasped, arching your back to give him more access as he continued to press kisses down to your collarbone, before he led you into his bedroom

"You're drunk," he muttered in between kisses and soft bites, laying you down on your back

You stayed quiet, choosing to run your fingers through his gray locks and nudging him closer to you, wrapping your legs around his hips

And when the morning came, he was still asleep with evidence all over his chest of what you did hours before

And when you wanted nothing more than to sit there and study his face, memorizing the arch of his nose and his quiet breathing pattern,

The way he so many times tried to spend a wholesome night with you,

You grabbed your clothes and left.

Gone.

Like every time.

He was falling in love with you, you knew that.

You could see it in the way he stared at you when you laughed,

Or when his demeanor slightly shifted when you flirted with Dehya

Or joked with Kaveh.

You wanted to love him back.

But that would be impossible.

So for now, he'd be your dirty little secret.

Inspired by Artemas's "dirty little secret"

[pexchys]

(PART ONE: PROLOGUE)

A/N---Hi! I have been working on a novel idea for over 7 years now, and I am so excited to finally share it (and actually write it instead of scrapping everything I write) with some people. I've been wanting to write a fantasy, eldrith-esque novel (with dragons, tension, sexy tension ayoo, divinity and science, a magician, princess, and army general) but I have absolutely no idea how to go about sharing it with the world, but if this sounds like something you'd be interested in reading, please support it! These might change, and I have yet to decide on the title of the book because it changes so much, but I would love to hear some thoughts. I am also still getting used to writing on Tumblr. This is the prologue and really the beginning of this writing journey, and I really hope you enjoy it!!

PROLOGUE

Something was in the woods. Watching. Festering. The multiple eyes peered through the leaves, vivid against the unnaturally dark green lush that spread all around it. And then the hunt began.

She was the happiest person in the world. She was the most horrible person in the world. She was everything and nothing all at once.

She had ran, before. The sun had long set, the cool wind beating against her face as she spat out blood that glistened her teeth while her legs ached and her heart pounded. The moon did not grace her with light— faster, faster she ran through the heavy mist that seemingly penetrated right through her lungs. The mist that only could be a blessing and a curse from something older than her gods, before the cosmos birthed and gave way to the lands, before those lands bore witness to the sun’s palest rays, the lazy way the gods but not gods but something older sipped the winds with eyes— those horrible eyes— that glared down at her.

She had shaken the flowers out of her hair; the same ones he put so tenderly, so lovingly, ha! ha! ha! and crushed it between her frayed fingers. The feeling of freedom, the vertigo that comes with it, the only way she tumbled down since he had torn her wings off and left it hanging. She had searched through the forest, her shaking hands wrenching vine after vine, the world so silent and so noisy and the crickets and the cicadas singing their awful, dizzying song that made her sick with the desperate hope of finding him and tearing him to pieces. But first, she would run.

She paused. She felt him. The sickeningly sweet smell that nearly knocked her off her feet. Her lips cracked into a feral smile.

She woke up, her hands pressed against the cool stone. She raised her head to the barred windows, the moon sitting quietly in the distance. He was coming. The Other. The god but not a god but something older.

She pressed her knees close to her chest and waited.

[pexchys]

i forgot how fun it is to immerse myself back into fandoms. like yes I am losing my mind but I'm having a grand ol' time with it ive never been happier

[pexchys]

how da hell do I start posting pieces of my short story on here ermm

[writing-prompt-s]

After feeding your pet human, you are shocked when it says “thank you” in your language.

[pexchys]

It was quiet. Barely audible, barely contained. This sniveling, pathetic creature before me peered up at me with eyes— those eyes, my good skies— and a quivering lip that never allowed words past its drooling tongue. But here, silently gritted out between the gates of its teeth, it uttered “thank you”. I feigned nonchalance. The creature took the food between its clammy, useless fingers and scurried away. 

My blood boiled and churned— how dare it! The rage that has left me encumbered and poured out to this wretched, volatile thing in which I have destroyed their entire green globe and kept this one as a winning prize— I did this, with barely the snap of my talons, a trophy, a reminder, a subtle achievement— and it has the nerve to thank me? 

What for, then? The hate, hate! I spent to tear out brick by brick the stones laid before the Babylonians, to push out despair like a babe screaming from the invasion of their home, the warm squelching of blood and brittle bones I have torn apart, all to destroy their weak, pathetic humanity— humanity, spe humanitatis… there is no humanity; there is that, their actions, their pieces of themselves they offer to one another in hopes of praise, power, or simply some sort of easily broken connection between themselves, struggling to find bonds in their minuscule place— and here it is. Offering me a thank you. I turn it over in my head, snapping it to fragments, plucking each letter and devouring the syllables as I shudder and scorn what desperate hope it still clings to. Thank you.

In my own language, no less. The tongues of the gods that uttered before the cosmos birthed its new nations, before the land bore witness to the suns pale rays. It has taken its time. Those eyes have observed. They have heard. It has taught itself. The magnitude of loathing and despair and hatred— pure, unsheathed hatred like the sword that stabs the spine and churns it into dust and grinds it into the dirt that has been baked.

Yet it remains in its human-ness. 

What then. 

What then. 

[pexchys]

(Conversations with Cliche After Death)

TW: Grief, su*cide, mourning, loss

Last year, I lost a good friend due to su*cide. She was missing for three days before she was found. I was lost and unsure of how to handle it, so I wrote about it. It took me months to figure out the right words and how to properly express myself. I found myself unable to cry until I had finally finished this piece. It was a tremendously cathartic experience and helped me process her absence and my own emotions when I had no one else to turn to. That's always been the point of why I write.

Sofie was a cliche. Not in the bad way-- she was just any ordinary teenager. She worked at McDonalds. She was kind and sweet, always saying hello to people in hallways. She wanted to go to concerts and festivals. She loved the color pink and to eat mangoes. It didn't occur to me that such an ordinary girl could struggle so much. That's the thing with depression-- it could really happen to anyone.

A few months after completing this, I came across the Scholastic Writing Awards Competition. I submitted it on a whim, sending it off so that at least someone beside myself should read this. Maybe they'll think of someone in their own life and offer a little more love. More support. You never know.

I am now a Silver Award National recipient, along with the winner of the New York Life Award.

There has been a lot of healing. There has been a lot of growth. I hoped to make Sofie proud. I've decided to share this with all of you so that maybe you're reminded that there are people who do care. Who will mourn you. Who love you to the cosmos and back. And it's also a reminder to give that love back to the people in your life. To anyone, really. The world sure could use a lot more of it right now.

I'm still not so sure on how to talk about this. It's still hard. But we can try. I love you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Conversations with Cliche After Death)

Cliche, tell me; when a girl drives depression as if it were a nail against a wall, did you ever stop to think? If you’ve ever read Plath, ever kept a comforting kind of cold that creeps in between silence, taming fires in bones and combing out your hair, untangling every memory, you’ll know Melancholy will sit there with me. He’s reactive, recitative; he likes to express; he concludes and dissects and stresses, tending a garden so wild it’s enough to swallow god. I didn’t notice him standing in my shadow and watching over me when I knelt in that garden to lay another flower down. You see, yesterday they told me they will find her. She’ll come home, warm and loved. I was sitting in Spanish when a friend called me.

It’s about her. Come outside. 

I ran out to the hallway. 

They found her!

They found her.

They found her dead.

What a sick, twisted joke.

I hear someone call out my name. 

No, you’re kidding.

My glare, my incredulous laugh; I blanch, I express my grief in silence; a marble statue was I, set in moveless despair. If I could weep… but I couldn’t. I simply sat and let others cry into my arms that day.  Oh I’ll tell you! The room was filled with half-taught anguish, people bent upward to the heavens in loud tears. And there was I, days after, coloring into stupid coloring books during grief sessions, talking about her favorite color (pink) and how kind she was. Stop looking at me with those eyes. I’m okay, just leave me alone and let me go home. I thought I was a horrible person; what friend am I who can’t cry for her? I’ll crumble to the dirt beneath.

Cliche, tell me, what was the purpose of any originality, when in the midnight hours I get to dream about my own future when she thought she didn’t have one. I get to sit on my bed and sleep and wake up, when she will never wake up again. I walk to class, I go home, but what fear sweeps this little life of mine? Do I terrify? Did she? What of the sad mothers and helpless fathers? 

I finally weeped. I cry because I am still here and she is not. I cry because my mother is sleeping downstairs while her father could be staring into her empty bedroom.

I kowtow into her absence, my knees– eyes dressed in dust and dearth, debris flooding her mouth before she coughs up.

You know, there are others growing in the garden. My relatives; my kin, my flesh; them in their war torn clothes and dirty fingernails. They still have their shrapnel wounded legs and their ears still ringing from bombings, lungs smothered in gunpowder even after death. Tainted, black and bruised, whatever chorus that lifted up to my mouth’s blade—

Dying is an art. 

But tell me, Cliche, who wants to die this young.

Do you cut away at your life to fit whatever gorgeous blueprint? Makes me retch. 

There are eggshells and my feet are bleeding again. When Death says “you were born for this,”

He clearly means “you will die for this.” 

Melancholy hangs his ghastly lilies in his garden. I ask him if it’s peaceful. Quiet. 

He doesn’t respond, but I know. I know death chokes the aged and the meek. It chokes the young and the strong. It’s like some fat Ceberus, wheezing at the gates, licking at whatever sins or virtues there are left. There is no fairness. The pieces of peace I’ve collected in my pockets, well jee, I didn’t know there was a tear in the stitching. I’ll sit here and haunt and wait for a small kind of revival. I’ll defend myself with a broken pen for a sword, brackets for a shield and a small prayer that no one will find me tucked between pages of books and paranoia in every paragraph I write.

Tear it! Shred it, mutilate it, beg the person in the mirror just one more day, one more request:  

Come, Death! Be sure to take off that invisible cloak you wear and be a little kinder this time. Be a friend and take my hand, walk me into the friendly dark. Walk me into a different room where I will still hear her laughter. 

You lose people you overlove; I pick at petals, I love me not. The passagework of pain, the way it tenderly goes; the slick, the clever, the guileful. We sit for an hour while she tells me how unreasonable I’ve been; crying in the checkout line, refusing to eat, refusing to shower, the self-medications certainly don’t work, and I’m breaking my mother’s heart. 

I tell her we learn so little from peace. There is no scar from happiness. So why did you do it?

She tells me to forgive myself. The heavy feelings in my heart will dissolve with the rain. It will feel like folding a blanket. I don’t have to hold it in; I can sing it, or draw it, or wear it; This hand of ordination that laid upon her brow like some birthmark…what is the power to kill without the power to die. 

It seems that healing feels like clutching cold fruit in a cold kitchen. Melancholy has followed me everywhere, like a son. But what would I do without my tears? I see it now: her death does not grow smaller with the march of time. She is still there, in my mind’s eye. When I think of all our days, I wish that they would come clear– I’ll travel through the haze and conjure her up. I won’t go looking in the silence. I’ll search in the spaces between the trees, in the memories when I find us lingering in the sunshine through the leaves, so when the friendly dark visits me, I’ll tell it no. I’ve got people to see. 

Cliche, I think there will be a silver lining in every rainstorm. Tell her:

I hope you’re okay. I hope the garden is peaceful and it smells like mangoes. 

[pexchys]

uh hey yeah when do i stop screaming into the void "look! look at me! i promise im smart!! please give me a chance!! i have so much potential it bursts through my veins and threatens to choke me! please see how intelligent i am!!" my knees are becoming raw from kneeling and my knuckles have turned white from praying too hard

[pexchys]

you said this was your last.

i was your favorite marlboro, tucked perfectly between your lips. you lit me on fire; but when i became too close to your delicate fingers, you tossed me out, burying me in the crack of the sidewalk. you walked on. but i linger in your breath. itll take days of toothpaste and a conscious fight to never reach for me. i linger. i linger.

[pexchys]

guys pls stop making alhaitham say habibi or habibti i get such a huge ick from it 😭😭 its like ur dad calling you princess when u were young thats usually when habibi is used in arabic LMAOO

[pexchys]

Gentle Mornings Amidst Bloody Battles // HAWKS (Keigo Takami) X F!READER [FLUFF]

Helloooo whoever sees this! I hope you’re having (or had) a wonderful day! If not, I’m sorry :( I’m rooting for you, though! I decided to write a little fluff story about my FAVORITE CHARACTER EVER I'M SO IN LOVE WITH THIS MAN PLEASE and honestly it really helped me because I was going through the same thing so...anyways this is my first time writing a one shot/fanfiction or anything like it so please be kind to me!! Lmk what I could do better :)

~~

Warnings : Period, period pain, medication

You wake up with a dull ache in your uterus, groaning as you blink away the sleep from your eyes.

“Good morning, dove; how are you feeling?” A soft voice murmurs, fingers combing the ends of your hair. You swallow your dry mouth and glance towards the male who laid next to you, a small smile set on his face and blonde waves messier than it normally is.

“Absolutely terrible,” You sigh, reaching for Keigo and pulling him closer. “But at least I have you here.”

His chest vibrates against you as he chuckles, wrapping a blazing red wing around you.

The sun flooded into the room you shared with your boyfriend, casting golden rays upon the both of you. You felt safe, warm. Loved. You’ve been dating this chicken of a man for about a year now, so he knows the usual routine of when you are on your moon cycle. On days like these, you’re glad that he’s so willing to take a break from work (God knows he needs it) and spend the morning like this, with you in his arms and your face buried in the crook of his neck.

Something lurched in your stomach.

“Crap, crap, crap,” You push yourself off Keigo and run towards the kitchen, frantically looking for something to eat before you pop an ibuprofen pill.

“Angel? What’s wrong?” Keigo called out, getting up from the bed as well and following you.

You responded with a grunt, clutching your abdomen and nearly tumbling to the floor. “Hey!” He rushed to your side, grabbing your waist and your arm. “Y/N, sit down. I’ll get you what you need,”

The avian picked you up bridal style and set you on the couch, tense worry set in his jaw. “Keigo, I’m fine-”

“No, you aren’t. Stay there, don’t try to move.”

“Keigo-”

“Stop arguing with me.”

You huff and agree, the pain overwhelming you to the point where you feel so drained from even talking.

Keigo planted a small kiss on your head before moving back to the kitchen to grab a banana, a glass of water, and a pill.

“Here you go, chicken wing,” He says, sitting on the floor beside the couch.

“You know I don’t like bananas-”

“Eat!” He begins to peel the banana. “This stuff helps stop cramps or something. I don’t know. I read it somewhere.”

You look at him, smiling. “You read it somewhere?”

“I don’t know what you’re implying.” He nonchalantly responds, handing you the banana.

After begrudgingly eating a few bites of the banana, you swallow the pill and gulp down the water. After a quick change of your pad (where Keigo stood by the door the entire time), you collapse back onto the couch, pursing your lips.

“It’ll be ok, chicken wing. Just wait for the medicine to kick in.” Keigo nestles in beside you, his chin resting on your head and playing with your hair once more. “I’m sorry I can’t help you more,” He whispers, his wings drooping behind him.

“What do you mean? You’ve done more than enough for me,” You groan out, gripping your stomach and attempting to massage the pain away. Your boyfriend’s hands shoo your own hands away and begin to knead your abdomen for you.

“I guess, but I just wish you didn’t have to go through all this pain. I hate watching you suffer this much. If I could take it away, I would do so in a heartbeat.”

You crane your neck to look into his eyes. “Honey. What in dear God’s name are you talking about? You do take it away. Maybe not all of it, but you do.” You grab his face with your hands, running your thumb across his cheek. “When you hold me, it goes away. When you make sure I eat and drink, it goes away. When you get me chocolate or put up with my mood swings or wash the sheets when I accidentally stain them even though you tell me they need to be washed because it’s time or just be a supportive and caring boyfriend, my pain goes away. And I’m not just talking about when I’m on my cycles. You take away my pain over anything and everything.”

Keigo is silent for a while. Another wave of pain hits you, making you feel weak and dizzy, forcing you to settle down again and turn away from him. Then, his wings envelop you and his face is pressed to the top of your head.

“I’m glad I can do that for you, kid. And, for the record, you do, too. I-” He falters. “I don’t know how to say how much I care about you and how much you make me happy. I love you so much, Y/N. You really have no idea.”

“I love you, too, Keigo.”

And in the warm sun of the morning, he began to hum and gently rock you back and forth. Your eyes closed as you listened, your body beginning to relax and ease up as the pain also began to fade away. When you wake up, you decide to yourself, you and him will make pancakes and dance around in the kitchen.

This is how mornings should be.

A soft and gentle reminder to take care of yourself before you begin the day.

You slipped back into dreams as Keigo held you, a sweet melody from his throat still hovering in your ears.

[milf-zone]

I get so angry hearing and reading about what's happening in Palestine right now. I don't even know what to do and it all feels hopeless 😔

The situation around Sheikh Jarrah should make everyone angry. For those of you who might not know what’ going on here’s a brief breakdown:

Indigenous Palestinian residents of Sheikh Jarrah, for a very long time, have been fighting lengthy legal battles in Israeli courts against eviction orders which aim to replace these indigenous people with illegal Israeli settlers. 

On May 7th, the illegal Israeli settlers along with courts (an apparatus of Israel’s apartheid regime) have started a campaign to illegally take over the home’s of Palestinian families in Sheikh Jarrah. These families were given until today (May 10th, 2021) to “reach an agreement” with the occupiers. This obviously prompted protests. The IDF has also brutally responded to these protests. Now the world is watching and global protests have started happening.

Some important things to note:

-Sheikh Jarrah belongs to the Palestinian families. It is part of the occupied Palestinian territory, and therefore any Israeli settler presence in it amounts to a war crime under international law. 

-There has been a mountain of UN Security Council resolutions demanding that Israel withdraw from East Jerusalem which Israel continues to ignore.

-This is ethnic cleansing

I know you feel hopeless but here’s what we can do:

-Support BDS (Boycott, Divestments, Sanctions) movements (What”s BDS?) Boycott Israeli products from their colonial settlements

-Understand whats happening in Palestine and the crimes of apartheid/persecution being committed by Israel. (Check out this great report by HRW on the situation) After getting an understanding. SPREAD AWARENESS. Especially in the US. This is key to combatting Evangelical propaganda and Israeli lobbyists. Do this through social media.

-Contact your local reps and pressure them to stop giving Israel military funding or any form of financial support. Fight against zionist lobbyists such as AIPAC or Christians United for Israel.

-Donate if you can. Here’s a few links. If you can add more (reputable) donation links to this, I ask that you please do. 

International Medical Corps

Palestine Children’s Relief Fund

Grassroots Al-Quds

I found this great twitter thread of donation links

Here is another

This is a start and we can honestly make change happen. I personally believe social media outrage coupled with supporting the BDS movement is a great way for you to help even by sitting at home. 

Most of all, it’s important to spread awareness.