w-anderlust

Jean Kirschstein x Mute!Reader AU i. His face was new to her. [Name] had heard word that there were newcomers to arrive in her quaint village, but hadn't expected them to come so soon. The village resided deep within the valley, on the farthest side of the mountain, and the next town over was a few days journey; yet, this new boy and his mother seemed to have already settled in. Whenever they arrived, he didn't look to be the type who was in to formal introductions. She spotted him on her way back from the river, startled half to death by an ax thwacking into a log. The boy looked to be her age, if not eighteen or nineteen, his hair cr

"Hey shortie." Reiner comes up from behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. You turn your head up at him. " I'm not short. You're just tall." You state. "Just keep telling yourself that." "Reiner?" "Hm?" He nuzzles his face in your neck. "I'm tired. Give me a piggy back to bed? Please." "Fine." He agrees. ....... "Reiner." You groan as you leave the movie theater. "Hm?" "My legs are broken. Give me a piggy back?" You whine. "Your legs look perfectly fine to me." "My legs are tired. Please?" You give him the best puppy dog eyes you can manage. "Ugh. Okay, get on." ........ "Reiner?" "Yes, love?" "Could you go get me s

take a tentative sip timewarp back to when your entire future was an innocent void, and forever was laid out via a series of pen-licked love letters. mother nature was cruel then, still cruel even now; my whimpers of mercy silenced by the thud of skin on cedar but yet, what a time to thrive (to survive, or to be alive?) take another sip, let the flavor remind you of your most bittersweet days, but please, come back to now.

1. The difference between being thin and being skinny is that when you’re skinny, everyone is constantly trying to get you to eat. As if you are deliberately starving yourself. As if they are soldiers and you are a war they must win, food instead of guns in their hands. 2. Seven years ago, when I first realised that I couldn’t sleep on my side anymore because my hipbones cut like knives into my skin, that I could count every single one of my ribs, I ate everything I found in the fridge till I threw up, and my mother assumed I was doing it on purpose. It took me three sessions of intensive therapy to convince the th

I tell him, if you love me, you need to stop reading the poems. I tell him, if you read them, you will find a version of me you hate. I tell him, if you want a future with me, you will stop reading the poems. Because the girl in the poems is kerosene dreams and ink stained scars and whiskey flavoured fury, and the girl he is in love with is cotton candy soft and summer dresses and vodka laughter. I tell him, he can’t have both because he doesn’t want both, no one wants a girl whose lungs are smoke black rage even if her heart is made of tissue silk. Girls who are both, are too volatile, too painful to love. So I keep he

There is witchcraft in our blood, in our bones we carry the magic that you could not burn away. You see, fire does not eat fire. Your mother would have taught you that if the world hadn’t convinced her that despite her body being able to bring life into this world, she is not a magical thing. Maybe the witches you burned were the daughters of something more holy than you could ever handle. So you set them alight for being different, forgetting that even the son of your God was once condemned for being too pure, too beautiful, too different for this world. History devoured your name, but we have never forgotten what you di