#a statement against intolerance

[kenneth-williams-diaries]

A beautiful gay ace from a bygone era, at times when homosexuality was still a criminal offense even in the Western culture area, who struggled frequently with is his sexual identity throughout his life, feeling guilty for being gay.

KENNETH WILLIAMS (1926-1988) British actor, comedian and writer

Always remember how much past queer generations, whether celebrities or ordinary people, suffered secretly because of social exclusion, obsolete moral values and criminalization, but also played a part in contributing to fight prejudices for liberation and tolerance through their art, with courageously resolute actions or just by showing their wonderfully unique selves without fear of any consequences.

Even if there’s much left to do in so many parts of the world, all those precious icons did so much for the freedom the community is living today, at least in the Western world. Shield everybody who is still exposed to intolerance, oppression and persecution!

In this spirit, carry on celebrating YOUR PRIDE! ❤️🧡💛💚💙💜🖤

#I'm a bit late but it's still June though ... #Kenneth Williams #Pride Month #pride #gay #ace #asexual #queer #lgbtq+ #lgbtqiia+ #lgbtq+ rights #equal rights #love is love #kiss whoever you want!!!!!! #a statement against intolerance #... in your spirit my prince 🖤🐘🤍💜 #from a straight ally with love 🌈 #Happy Pride #my edits

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Daniel J. Rhoads

Published: Aug 15, 2023

The striking down of affirmative action in college admissions marks the end of one era, but it might be the beginning of a new round of litigation on race discrimination in schools.

In Students for Fair Admissions v. President and Fellows of Harvard College (“SFFA”), the Supreme Court found that the admissions programs of both Harvard College and the University of North Carolina failed multiple tests of constitutionality. They “lack sufficiently focused and measurable objectives warranting the use of race, unavoidably employ race in a negative manner, involve racial stereotyping, and lack meaningful endpoints.”

The principles that the Court fortified in its opinion extend beyond college admissions and implicate educational institutions at all levels, at least public institutions and those that receive federal financial assistance. The pronouncement in SFFA is as sweeping as it is explicit: “Eliminating racial discrimination means eliminating all of it.”

Given the breadth of the principle and the clarity with which the Court expressed it, the amount of activity currently taking place in schools that is almost certainly illegal is staggering. Justice Thomas’ concurring opinion noted a study that showed, “43% of colleges offered segregated housing to students of different races, 46% offered segregated orientation programs, and 72% spon.sored segregated graduation ceremonies.”  It is difficult to see how any of these practices would pass muster under the rules stated in SFFA.

Similar acts of segregation and discrimination are occurring at the elementary and secondary levels, as well. The form and manner of such programs vary, and the euphemistic neologisms used to describe them proliferate. But SFFA has rendered presumptively invalid any lessons, activities, assemblies, meeting groups, working groups, or other school-sanctioned events where attendees are separated by race or where some races are invited while others are excluded. 

Educational institutions might attempt to design programs to meet the strict scrutiny standard applied in SFFA. Some might view the Court’s admonition that racial classifications must have a “most exact connection” with “an exceedingly persuasive justification that is measurable and concrete enough to permit judicial review” as a kind of challenge.  If there is any space in that needle, however, passing a thread through it might prove to be prohibitively tough.  

What is certain is that the justifications offered by the colleges in SFFA fell far from the mark. To put it mildly, the Court was unimpressed with diversity goals such as “adapt[ing] to an increasingly pluralistic society”; “better educating . . . through diversity”; and “enhancing appreciation, respect, and empathy, cross-racial understanding, and breaking down stereotypes.” Not that such goals are not laudable; the problem is that they are too abstract and subjective for courts of law. To persist on their equity projects, schools would have to imagine a whole new set of justifications that can be objectively measured and can withstand strict scrutiny. Complicating matters, groups are now contemplating disparate impact challenges to legacy admissions. It might be a better use of resources just to stop discriminating.

Another decision that the Court issued the day after SFFA calls into question related practices in higher education. In 303 Creative, LLC v. Elenis, the Court held that the government cannot, through the application of anti-discrimination statutes, compel or coerce a website designer to create sites for same-sex weddings where such weddings contravene the designer’s religious beliefs. The general principle of 303 Creative is that “the government may not compel a person to speak its own preferred messages.”  The Constitution does not tolerate forcing speakers to choose among “remaining silent, producing speech that violates their beliefs, or speaking their minds and incurring sanctions for doing so.”

303 Creative casts doubt on the legality of the practice by colleges and universities of requiring Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion (“DEI”) statements from applicants for academic positions. Not everyone who seeks employment with or admission to an institution of higher learning will agree with the orthodox opinion on campus. Those who are confronted with writing DEI statements as part of their applications will face the choice of remaining silent, producing speech that violates their beliefs, or speaking their minds and being denied a position. Legal challenges to this practice should be expected.

Adverse employment actions against faculty who oppose DEI dogma make even easier cases. Black professor Tabia Lee was fired by a community college in California for transgressions including: questioning antiracist ‘orthodoxy,’ seeking accuracy in the college’s land acknowledgments, trying to bring a ‘Jewish inclusion’ event to campus, declining to join a ‘socialist network,’ refusing to use the terms ‘Latinx’ and ‘Filipinx,’ and inquiring why the word ‘Black’ was capitalized but not ‘white.’ The college has asserted its reasons for her firing, and the case is being litigated. If Doctor Lee’s perspective on her case is at all accurate, then her treatment was profoundly unconstitutional.

Ironically, the colorblind aspiration that the Court has endorsed is practically unspeakable in some academic circles. We at FAIR have seen public school lessons where statements like, “There’s only one human race,” and concepts including “Meritocracy Myth” are taught to be “covert white supremacy.” The same lessons use the term “Whiteness” as a pejorative. Instruction of that type seems to offend the principles laid out in SFFA.

At some point, legal questions dissolve into policy disputes that are not appropriate for litigation. “May a high school require history teachers to assign ‘anti-racist’ readings?” is importantly distinct from the question of whether it should do so. However, the fundamental issue that SFFA and 303 Creative address, whether students can be separated into racial affinity groups in order to study such readings, seems more clearly unconstitutional.

The decisions in SFFA and 303 Creative bring clarity where any questions about racial classifications or compelled speech might have lingered. The ball is now in the court of the educational institutions—both public schools, which are bound by the Constitution, and any other schools receiving federal funding, which are subject to the same standards under Title VI of the Civil Rights Act.  

A year after the Supreme Court held, in Brown v. Board, that racial segregation in public schools is unconstitutional, the case returned to the Court on the issue of remedies. At that time, the Court directed public schools to desegregate “with all deliberate speed.”  Even after that directive, desegregation litigation carried on for decades. Today, it remains to be seen whether schools will incorporate the holdings in SFFA and 303 Creative more speedily or more deliberately. Time will tell, and school attorneys are watching.

==

Not just in diversity statements, but also diversity training. When people are compelled, in front of a roomful of people by some neoracist DIE fundamentalist con artist, to lie about being racist or oppressed or white supremacist or marginalized, they will hopefully be able to fight back.

It shouldn't take too many lawsuits for schools and companies and organizations to worry about what will happen to their bottom line if they subject their students, staff, employees and volunteers to illegal reeducation struggle sessions.

#Daniel J. Rhoads #FAIR for All #Foundation Against Intolerance and Racism #affirmative action #racial discrimination #compelled speech #diversity statements #diversity equity and inclusion #DEI bureaucracy #DIE bureaucracy #religion is a mental illness

[darkdevasofdestruction]

𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓮𝓵 𝓝°5 ~ 𝓗𝓾𝓼𝓴𝓮𝓻 𝔁 𝓡𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻

Oh, to be young and in love, in the most romantic era of the notorious 1950s, with one very magical man who never fail to make you swoon with every suave look who offers.

It isn't very often that Husker reminisces his past life - He knows, if he does, he will remember all of the good times, when his heart was gold and trembling with pure emotion - After all, if he recalls the time he was alive, and very much in love, his frozen heart will just shatter to dust once again, with the same infinite anguish he felt once everything was ripped away from his grasp.

A pain so intolerable, that runs so deep - A pain that no amount of alcohol can mend.

He never truly knows whether he wants to remain asleep forever, so that he will never have to face reality again, or if that would be a nightmare, tormenting him for the remaining abyss of eternity...

Or, perhaps he should stay awake, so that memories will stop toppling him over, beginning with a most beautiful reverie, yet always ending with the same night terror he must face every time.

If this is his way of paying for his irredeemable sins, then he is well aware he deserves it, and even more - Yet every smell reminds him of that sweet Chanel N°5 that she used to wear. Every time he closes his eyes, he dreams of the gracious dances he would share with her. Every song he hears, he recalls that angelic voice of hers, and every time he lays abed and stares up at the ceiling, her seraphic visage flashes before him.

"You are drinking again." Angel slumped in one of the stools by the bar, noticing his best friend looking in a far worse state than usual. "Rough day?"

"Rough life." Husk rasped, chugging down a whole bottle of strong spirits.

"Wanna talk about it?" he tried, in vain, to appear sympathetic - The feline demon was far too gone into his own darkness to even think about slurring away his never-ending sorrows.

"I wanna die, that's what I want." he growled, slamming away the bottle into the nearest wall. "Just like this fucking bottle. That's what I fuckin' wanna do - I wanna die, damn it!"

Angel's eyes widened greatly - Yes, life in hell surely was crazy, and especially for demons like the two of them, who sold their souls away because of their own failures, both in life, and now, in hell - But what in the world could it have caused him to get so hopeless that he was unable to fight back the tears glistening in those tortured eyes?

Even someone like him couldn't dare to make light of the situation, or try and crack a joke, let alone taunt or flirt with him. He felt... Pity, for the poor bartender who always listens to others' woes, yet dares naught speak out his own problems.

"Listen... Husk, ergh... I'm not the best at comforting, okay? But... If I can help, you can tell me... And, if not, then... I'll still be here. And maybe try to keep the others away from you. How's that?" Husk didn't quite seem to compute what his friend said, though he robotically nodded his head, as if remote controlled.

Angel remained in that stool for a few hours, watching the winged demon drink bottle after bottle after bottle, yet his sorrows only washed over him tenfold with each shattered glass against a different wall. He wonders what is going through Husk's mind, what he's ruining himself over with each sigh o grip on his fur.

Who would have thought that, of all things possible, Husker's greatest lament was...

"I fucking hate red. Why the fuck are my wings red? Of all the fucking colours in hell, they just had to be red, yeah?" he stammered angrily, pulling at his feathers. "Y'know what? They can't change colour. Tried dyeing 'em, but nothin'. Got so much fuckin' red on me - I wonder if it's Hell's way of punishin' me forever for my fucking sins."

He hates red...? What an odd statement - He truly seems to have a personal vendetta against that colour - But why? It's just a colour, after all, it can do no wrong. "Why... Do you hate red so much...? Angeldust dared to ask.

At first, he was met with a low growl, hostile, yet inoffensive at its core. Then, he heard a most disturbing answer. "That was the colour of my wife's dress when I last went home." Angel's brain shut down completely. To think someone was trusting him with such a vulnerable piece of himself, the very core of their hopelessness, their weakness; In a way, he felt flattered that Husk trusted him so much, yet in another way... He couldn't help but feel borderless pity for his friend. He wishes such a fate to no one... Well, maybe to Valentino.

Angel forced himself to smile softly, placing his hand gingerly over his own, taking away the alcohol from his hand. "What was her name?" Husk looked up with shock, a little startled, right into his dual coloured eyes - He hasn't ever spoken her name out loud, it almost felt like a blasphemy against her purity. Yet... Maybe... "Y/N." he dared whisper.

"Y/N." Angel repeated after him. "A beautiful name for a beautiful lady." Husk nodded his head.

"She was a Princess." he muttered, his sight blurry with tears.

"A Princess? Really? Nobility and all that?" much to his surprise, Husker chuckled.

"Nah, not quite." he rasped. "At heart, she was. Her family was very rich, so she was pampered up. Huge manor, servants, a personal maid, luxury brands, jewellery and perfumes, indulging in any studies and hobbies she liked..."

"How'd you two meet? I don't suppose you were a Prince or something, were you?" Angel tried to joke friendly, encouraging his friend to open up.

"Ha. Far from it." in his hand, a few dices appeared, and he idly played around with them. "I was an ugly dead beat from a working class broken family. Hardly worthy of her attention." he gritted his teeth bitterly. "Got around to finding work at a young age - Gambling, magic, sax player - If I had money to live, anything worked."

"Did you meet at one of your gigs?" Husk nodded his head affirmatively.

"No clue what she saw in me, Angel. She could do so much better." for a split second, he had a dry smirk on his face, before it disappeared again. "I asked her once, what the hell did she see in me - And she said... I played her favourite song. Silly, innit?"

He didn't receive a mocking laugh, much to his surprise - Instead, Angel cooed. He never imagined the jaded demon before him could be so romantic! "What did you play?" Instead of answering, Husk turned around to his bar, and took out another bottle, yet this time, he hummed a familiar tune as he was doing his bartending for two glasses. "Oh, now I get it - You always hum that song when no one's around! I thought you were just bored out of your mind." he let out an amused exhale. "Fly me to the moon... Refined tastes, alright."

"The stars in the sky never sparkles as brightly as those in her eyes when she looked at me." no wonder he never accepted any flirting from anyone - How could anyone match the love he had for Y/N? "If I were a decent man, I'd have told her not to waste her precious time and love on me. Instead, I was a selfish fuck. I stole years of her life... And in the end, I even stole her life. All because I wasn't even half the fucking man I pretended to be."

The conversation soon turned significantly sour. "I was the man - I was supposed to provide for her. Afford all that fucking expensive Chanel N°5, and the Dior dresses, the Chantelle lingerie, and the damn Cartier and Tiffany's jewellery." even someone more modern like Angel knew all those luxury brands, and was even more impressed and shocked that they could so easily afford such high-end items. "I brought her flowers every day and I took her out on brunches every morning, on dates every afternoon, and to soirees every fucking evening. She loved dancing at parties... But I suppose she preferred the moonlight over the chandeliers."

"You must have overworked yourself a bunch to afford all these things. I'm sure she appreciated it." Angel tried to comfort him, earning a nod of agreement.

"She told me she didn't need any gift, except for my presence. Genuine woman, that one. But how could I, in good conscience, go to her parents and ask for her hand in marriage, when I couldn't even afford a half-decent house with a room for each of her hobbies, a drawer for each month outfit, another for her shoes and three more for her bags, jewels and perfumes; and a large flower garden and a fucking rose gazebo and a swan pond with ten different breeds of pedigree dogs." Angel cringed a little, realising the tremendous gap between their living conditions. "I lost myself on the way to greatness. She was making me so euphoric that I just wanted to see her excited every moment of her life. I didn't need to eat or drink, I just needed to see her smile, and I could work again a few more days without rest."

"But then... You collapsed from overworking?" Husker shook his head.

"Worse. I fooled her parents completely, and we planned our wedding." he replied bitterly.

"How is that a bad thing? Isn't the wedding day the happiest day in a couple's life?" Husk sighed, from the deepest part of his soul.

"It was." he said. "I got greedy. I went to loan sharks, took a shit ton of money to make that wedding the most grand event the country saw in a while. Then went on a month-old honey moon around the world." he cursed in a few different languages that Angel couldn't understand, but was sure were some highly offensive and crude words that he would never utter around Y/N. "I don't need to say more, do I?"

Yeah, he needn't continue speaking the descent into madness, alright. Angeldust didn't want to hear that his friend's love story ended up in his soulmate getting murderer by the loan sharks, only for him to end up killing them, and then himself, out of pure rage and sorrow. He didn't want to hear that an innocent woman like Y/N never knew that her husband was broke and took loans, just to try and mimic the lavish lifestyle she grew up with and deserved. He didn't want to hear the broken shriek of anguish, or the streaming river of tears that befell as Husker saw her dead, on the floor, her pearly pink dress dyed a deep crimson from her own blood, and getting even more stained with each strong embrace he held around her shattered body, just like a precious porcelain doll fallen off the shelf.

They only just recently became something akin to 'best friends' from both sides... Yet Angel couldn't bare to hear the tragic end of the story, and he couldn't even begin to imagine the pain he felt, having to live his afterlife as a Sinner, for as long as he has, without the woman he loves by his side.

"It's better this way, I guess. At least she finally got rid of me. Wherever she is, she must be living far better, than with a lying fuck like me who couldn't keep it together." the spider demon frowned, watching his friend slump on the bar counter.

"I don't think that's the case." he spoke vehemently. "I don't believe there is any person, of any kind, treasuring her as much as you did." Husk's ears perked up immediately, twitching lightly. "At least on an emotional way, I'd say, you and Y/N were lucky. There's so many people who never experience the love you had, let alone get to meet and marry their soulmate."

"What the fuck would you know?!" he growled, throwing a bottle at his head, only for the demon to dodge.

"... I wish I had fallen in love too, you know?" Husk gritted his teeth, realising the sensitive wound that he unwillingly stabbed open - But it wasn't his foult - He is hurt! He is in pain! "As a human, as a demon... I was like you, sort of. I was so shit at managing my life, that I ended up falling prey to my vices... I needed more and more, and I couldn't resist. I had no ration or logic. I gave in to my so-called 'friend group' and got addicted to drugs... Couldn't get rid of that addiction even after death... And I clinged on the only demon who could give me what I wanted... And now, I can't escape Val, even if I wanted to turn my life around and live the life that I never could." Angel had a wry smile on his face. "Do you really think a drug addict or the most famous porn star of hell would be able to meet his soulmate, without destroying their life in the process also?"

The two remained silent, only hanging their head and sighing. No matter how happy life can be for some... It will never have a chance of turning around for them. It just couldn't be. They are in hell, after all. Even Charlie won't be able to save them and bring them on the path of redemption, no matter how insanely enthusiastic and cheerful she can be... They were still sure to drown.

Somehow, this few hours of vulnerability brought Husk and Angel closer, and although they won't be speaking about it again, it was clear to the residents of the Hazbin Hotel that the two were as close as two demons can get, without the inclusion of vice or extortion.

Things were going well enough for them, even with the new addition of Sir Pentious, the villain turned... Something? It was still not too bad around the hotel. Though unsure of whatever Charlie's plan was, to fight against the purge from the Angels, they were still there to sort-of support whatever dream the Princess of the Pride Circle has.

That is, until the Hotel opened its doors to a brand new resident, a gorgeous demoness dressed elegantly in a dress of pearly pink, adorned with high quality jewellery, and with her long hair done stylishly, and smelling like a fresh day of Spring. She walked in guided by the Radio Demon, of all people, and she was smiling so demurely, completely unafraid of the fiend next to her, yet still reserved and soft.

"No way, is that Chanel N°5?! How'd you get it in here?!" Angel squealed, fangirling over the flowery perfume - But then, it clicked for him. Didn't Husker mention his wife loving this scent the most?

"Oh, you noticed! I am so happy that there are more sensible people - Erh - Demons with refined tastes!" the girl unfolded her laced fan and giggled behind it demurely.

Although she looked even more regal than even the Princess of Hell herself, as they stood next to each other, there was one particular detail that made the new-comer stand out from any other netizen.

With her hands clasped together over her chest, a bright white gold ring, with a most brilliant zircon was shining brighter than even the moon herself.

Whilst the other demons gathered around the seraphic beauty, wanting to have her attention, and even going as far as to have Alastor speak out about this new lady, Husker's breath stopped completely; His brain was going into overdrive, and his heart, he wanted to rip out of his chest.

That ring... That ring, he knew all to well - After all, he bought it himself, when he proposed to Y/N. That voice, the fashion, the mannerism... Even with altered looks, she looked the same. Even in hell, she looked the same. Even with demonic eyes, she looked the same.

She was the most beautiful woman in the universe.

"Y/N, this is Husker, our bartender." Charlie's face was split open by her overly-cheerful grin. "Husk, won't you introduce yourself to Y/N?"

"I'm not a fucking child. I don't need to introduce myself." the man hissed aggressively. "This is fucking stupid, I'm out." without even realising, he shattered the glass in his grasp, before stomping away into his room.

How could that be? Was this a nightmare? Surely, this must be some impersonator demon or something - There's no way an innocent being like Y/N could possibly have ended up in Hell, with a bunch of Sinners, of all thing. Was this his fault also? Did he bring her down with him to hell? Was he never going to be forgiven for all of the shit he's done in his previous life? Did Alastor bring her to the Hotel, so that he could blackmail him even more? Was his empty soul worth so little, in the end?

He was so afraid - Will Y/N be angry once she realises who he is? He couldn't blame her, obviously, he's earned her scorn... Yet why is his heart hurting so bad? He wishes so badly to jump on her and wrap her in his arms and wrings, and never again let her go. Ah, but he looks like a stupid flying cat... He looks ridiculous. There's no way...

...

Perhaps... She should stay with Al...

He has the influence, the money, the fashion sense, the looks, the freedom and privilege, the elegance...

Alastor has everything, and embodies everything that he could never be.

In life, he was selfish, and he didn't let go of her. Perhaps, the only way to apologise and make up for his sins was to let her be cherished by a man capable of doing what he never could.

As he lay awake on the bed, curled up and cursing his whole existence, wanting to sob until his body was all dried up and shriek until his throat was bleeding raw; he wanted to claw his face to velvety ribbons and drown his lungs with all of his blood... As he was succumbing to his self-hatred and spiraling down into the depths of despair, Y/N decided to end the day with some delicious pastries and an aromatic cup of tea in the garden, with her friend, Alastor.

Y/N was idly playing with her ring, looking at the inscription inside of it. 'Y/N ♡ Husker'. How absolutely adorable, she thought, a beautiful smile gracing her features. "He looks... Different. Are you sure it is the same person, Alastor?" her voice showed nervousness.

"Y/N, Y/N, would I lie to you?" he grinned, as always, sipping from his tea. "You should hear him purr. He truly resembles a little kitten."

Y/N looked up into he friend's eyes, a look of intense surprise and borderline intrigue taking over. "Are you being truthful? He... Purrs?" she gasped, quickly slipping her ring back on her finger.

"Yes, my darling. Unconsciously, someone strokes his fur, he gets so very adorable~." Alastor hums, watching the lady before him being so romantically melancholic over a life long gone. "What did you think about today's meeting?"

Y/N sighed, looking up into the sky. "I feel guilty for enjoying the moment I ripped Velvette apart, yet I feel no remorse for killing her. Such an uncouth and vulgar person has no right to behave with such disrespect towards me." Alastor's grin widened significantly. "And... I cannot wait for the next purge. I want to burn Heaven to cinders. Those hypocrites have grown far too arrogant for their own good, and I believe they need to be taught a harsh lesson."

"I see we are on the same wavelength as always, my dear." the demon sipped from his tea. "I am quite glad those arrogant hypocrites turned you away, for such a silly thing like - Vanity - They say. Beautiful women should be allowed to feel that-a-way, not ostracised for being such jewels for one's eyes." ever the charmer with poison dripping from his tongue. "Before I turn in for the evening, I have a gift for you - For friendship's sake." Y/N rose a suspicious eyebrow, watching as he took out a carefully folded picture from his blazer's pocket, and handing it to her. "I am going for a new fitting with Rosie tomorrow, should you wish to join us for a lovely day of self-care." the girl smiled, nodding her head at him in appreciation. "Have a pleasant evening."

Y/N muttered her pleasantries, and waited for Alastor to leave her sight, before unfolding the picture and bursting to tears. She cradled the precious memory to her heart, and sobbed for as long as her heart needed.

What have they done so wrong to deserve this? They were so happy while alive, so what went wrong? Was her opulent life, the reason for their downfall? Did her beloved think she wouldn't love him, if he couldn't match her family's wealth? Were all soulmates made to be torn apart while at their most blissful?

Still, she was grateful that she wasn't accepted into Heaven, for she would have had a most awful afterlife, as opposed to the many Overlord friends she made since she's been sent to Hell after her gruesome death, and the many favours she received from the Lords and Royals who went to Earth to retrieve items of importance for her.

Drying her tears, Y/N walked back inside the hotel, ready to turn in for the night, only to stop in her tracks as soon as she heard a soft sob, followed by a few very familiar curses in a variety of languages that she knew all too well. Her heart clenched as she stepped cautiously towards the foreign room, eavesdropping for any other sound, only to be met with more muffled cries.

Biting her lip, the demoness knocked on the door, only to be cursed harshly and told to fuck off. Y/N gulped, feeling taken aback by being talked in such a way - Though she immediately composed herself, reminding herself that he, too, is hurting, most likely far more than she is.

She excused herself before opening the door and entering. "What fucking part of 'FUCK OFF' don't you FUCKING UNDERSTA---" Husk was livid, getting in a sitting position as he growled with incredible hostility at the one who dared barge in his bedroom so rudely, only to remain speechless as he realised it was the demoness herself, standing with a sympathetic smile on her face. She also seemed to have been crying prior to this. "Oh. It is you." he cleared his throat, getting back on the bed, unable to face her.

"I have missed you dearly." her voice was so soft, so beautiful, so endearing... "I... Cannot believe that I am seeing you again. It seems to me that, no matter how far apart, our souls will forever traverse oceans of time and space, just to embrace each other once more."

She could hear him sniffling, his nails digging deep into the blanket. "You have always been so romantic and poetic." he grumbled, hiding his face in the pillow. "You shouldn't be here."

"You will have to be more specific, my love." she hummed, moving to sit on the edge of his bed. "Here - In Hell? Or here - In your room? Either way, I would say, I am right where I need to be."

"I don't understand." as if burning with frustration, Husk shot up, looking with self-hatred at the girl. "You did nothing wrong your entire life. You were nothing but a living sunshine. A fucking flower in human form. What the fuck did those angels not agree with, that they cast you to this shit hole?"

"There was a time when you would beat up any man who would curse in my presence." Y/N's adorable giggle made the demon's face flush red. "I am sorry that you are suffering so much, at my expense. I could never repay you for everything you have done for me, while we were alive."

"What the hell are you apologising for anyway? I got you killed, not the other way around - And even if it were that way, it'd've been a blessing in disguise, getting rid of a dead beat worthless fuck like me." he huffed, looking away. "You always were too good for me." the demon had so much to say, so many regrets to yell, so much love to spill... Alas, he remained quiet. "You seemed happy with Al. I wish I could be that, while we were alive." his voice went to soft, it was barely audible. "You should... Stay with him."

"Yes, I am happy being friends with Alastor. He was the one who introduced me to Rosie and Carmilla and Zestial, and I cherish them all dearly, as my like-minded friends." Y/N spoke calmly, reaching her hand to cup her lover's soft cheek. "He also was the one to tell me of your misdemeanours. How you succumbed to your vices; to gambling and alcohol, to the the point that you lost your soul in a deal with him. How pitiful." he was so confused as to where she was trying to get with her words, yet in spite of the anticipation for blames and reproaches, he couldn't help but lean into her warm and gentle touch. "He is the one who helped me become an Overlord, and I took your place. And it is Alastor, and some other friends of mine, who helped retrieve some objects I thought long lost."

"... You still smell like Chanel N°5." his comment made the girl giggle again.

"One of my friends had his little imps go to the human world and rob an entire Chanel store, to bring me all Chanel N°5 perfume bottles." how incredulous, Husk thought, staring at the girl flabbergast, speaking of a clear crime, committed in her name. And then, he started laughing at the sheer ridiculousness of her statement.

"Angel would kill to have a whole room of Chanel N°5." he said, his eyes softening as he put his hand over hers. "Y/N... Knowing that you are doing fine... That you aren't suffering... Or anything that I put you through... It makes me... Content."

"My darling." Y/N called out. "Do you remember the day of our wedding?"

"Of course I do. What's that question?"

With a cheeky grin, she took out the picture from her purse, handing it to her beloved. "Alastor was able to find this. His connections truly are amazing." Husk's eyes were wet with falling tears, and his lips were trembling. "I forgot I had pink roses braided in my hair. I was so busy looking at my handsome husband, that everything around me vanished." Husk's sobbing got even louder. "I wanted to frame this picture first, but I couldn't resist showing it to you first."

"Get out, Y/N! Get out!" his voice was broken and raw, so pained that even her heart shattered. "I am not the man you fell in love with. Why do you think my name is 'Husk'? I am just that - A husk of the man I never was. I am not worth anything. I don't amount to anything. I just gamble money I don't have and drink booze until I pass out. I don't deserve a second chance, and I certainly don't deserve you. I never did. I got you killed, damn it!"

"You think too much, you fool." Y/N cupped his face, bringing him into a gentle kiss - A kiss so loving that it numbed his pain, and hightened his senses, that got his heart pumping again and his lungs screaming for air. "I fell in love with you for good reason, and I intend to remain by your side, loving you." she smiled, wiping his tears with her thumb. "You can try as much as you wish to drive me away, but it will not work. You may succeed in convincing yourself that you are a lesser man, but you cannot do that with me. I know the man before me, and I know I will never leave you."

"Y/N..." the man sniffled, burying his face in her bosom, holding so tightly onto her petite body that he almost feared breaking her.

"There was once a time when you would only call me 'Sweety'." her honeyed giggle sounded so teasing, yet it didn't embarrass him. It served only to make him chuckle.

"There was also a time when I would only call you 'Chanel', if you recall." it almost felt as though they were both alive, and during their honey moon, without a single care in the world, and living a most carefree life.

"That does bring back some very amusing memories." Husk hummed in agreement, feeling melancholic, despite the intense joy surging through his body. Perhaps it was due to the unfamiliarity of this positive feeling, that he felt exhausted, or maybe from his excessive crying and whining. Regardless, he wanted nothing more than to cuddle up in his wife's arms, and never leave this blasted room ever again.

"Can you promise me something?" the man asked. "I am selfish still - Even more so as a demon. I am nothing but filth. I didn't deserve you then, and I deserve you even less now. Still... Now that you're here... I can't let you go again. So..."

Though he found himself eating his words, Y/N only smiled, laying down on the bed and taking him down with her, nestling him comfortably into her loving embrace. "Alastor said you purr like a kitten. I would love to hear that, tonight." she hummed, hearing his annoyed snarl. "And every night going forward, for as long as we may live in this afterlife we have." Husk's body became stiff, frozen with shock. "That is what you wanted me to promise, isn't it? That I will never leave you." he didn't respond. "It is within our wedding vows, silly. There is no way I would walk away, after I have just found my soulmate."

"... Even though I look like... This? And I am irredeemably addicted to gambling and drinking, even more so than before... And I have lost my soul to the Radio Demon? I am stuck doing his bidding for eternity... And..." Y/N only hugged him closer.

"No matter what, in sickness and in death, you and I will still be soulbound." his small body was softly trembling with emotion. "I've got you, my darling. Worry not about anything. I have got you." she remained silent for a little while. "But, Husk..." her voice sounded so distant, so... Melancholic. "Do you... Still like me? The way you did before?"

Startled by her words, Husker jolted up, looking at the pitiful visage of his lover. "What... What do you mean...?"

"My skin is pure white, with no colour, except for my make up. My eyes are black where they should be white, and the worst carmine red, where they should be embodying the aspect of nature. Even my hair looks to be an abnormal colour, and no matter how much I try to dye it, it will not retain its original shade." she gulped, looking away from him. "Any shred of normalcy that I have... Is so tiresome, so much work to keep up, the princessy facade that I used to have, that I used to love... That you used to love..." she sighed softly. "Yet even that completely dissolves as soon as I transform in the monstrous form that I fight so hard to keep veiled from the world."

"Y/N." he caressed her soft face, only to notice small particles of powder latching onto his fur. "I'm a fucking furry mammal with wings. I look like a children's plush toy or somethin'. Meanwhile, you look as doll-like as always, and you're afraid I wouldn't like you anymore? How silly." he sighed, leaning to place a kiss on her forehead. For a few seconds, he stopped to ponder over a rather bold move, and in a split second, he retrieved a wooden box from under his bed. "This is my secret. Nobody has to know about this." he spoke, a rosy tint on his cheeks. "Open it."

Carefully, the girl did as instructed, revealing the content of the box. A bunch of letters were preserved there, all of them neatly placed and handwritten with black ink. "Husk..." Y/N felt the air in her lungs dissipating, as she realised all those letters were recreating the exchange of love words from their time alive. "H-How...?"

"I have all our letters memorised." he chuckled lightly. "I... Needed some way of keeping you close... Of remembering you. I am shit at drawing, but I have a good enough memory... So this was the only way of preserving what we had."

"It's been so long... And yet, you... You still remember... All of it? There must be tens, if not, hundreds of them... How...?" the girl was flabbergast, yet melting completely.

"I read them every night before sleep, when alive, and I read them every night now also." those precious teardrop diamonds caressing her cheeks falling down so gracefully.

𝐼 𝓃𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝓀𝓃𝑒𝓌 𝒶𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓅𝒾𝓃𝑒𝓈𝓈; 𝐼 𝒹𝒾𝒹𝓃’𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝓀 𝒹𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓂𝓈 𝒸𝒶𝓂𝑒 𝓉𝓇𝓊𝑒; 𝐼 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹𝓃’𝓉 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝒷𝑒𝓁𝒾𝑒𝓋𝑒 𝒾𝓃 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒, 𝒰𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓁 𝐼 𝒻𝒾𝓃𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝓂𝑒𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊.

His usual raspy voice sounded so romantic as he recited the love poem he wrote to her. A voice that he only reserved for her. A voice that only she would ever know.

𝐸𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓎 𝒹𝒶𝓎 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝑔𝒾𝓋𝑒𝓈 𝓂𝑒 𝒶 𝓉𝒽𝓇𝒾𝓁𝓁; 𝒜𝓁𝓁 𝓂𝓎 𝒹𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓂𝓈 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓇𝒾𝒸𝒽𝓁𝓎 𝒻𝓊𝓁𝒻𝒾𝓁𝓁. 𝐼'𝓂 𝒶 𝒻𝑜𝑜𝓁 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓇𝓂𝓈; 𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝒷𝑒𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑔 𝒾𝓃 𝓂𝓎 𝒶𝓇𝓂𝓈; 𝐿𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝓂𝑒; 𝓅𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓈𝑒 𝓈𝒶𝓎 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁.

A love so pure and true, bottomless and without boundaries; Husker himself forgot just how endless his emotions could run. He thought himself jaded and cold, having lost his own heart, the second he lost her... Yet now... Perhaps it wasn't as bad as he first thought. Perhaps... Even someone like himself deserves some kind of redemption.

𝐻𝑜𝓁𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒽𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓂𝓈 𝓂𝓎 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓉 𝓉𝑜 𝒾𝓉𝓈 𝒸𝑜𝓇𝑒. 𝐼𝓉’𝓈 𝒽𝒶𝓇𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝒾𝓂𝒶𝑔𝒾𝓃𝑒 𝐻𝑜𝓌 𝐼 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓂𝑜𝓇𝑒.

Without her, he wasn't whole. Without her, he is not himself. Without her, he is empty. Without her, his whole life falls apart. Without her, he is nothing but a worthless deadbeat.

𝒥𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝓁𝑜𝑜𝓀𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒶𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒢𝒾𝓋𝑒𝓈 𝓂𝑒 𝒶 𝓉𝒽𝓇𝒾𝓁𝓁. 𝐼 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓃𝑜𝓌, 𝒜𝓃𝒹 𝐼 𝒶𝓁𝓌𝒶𝓎𝓈 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁.

But now, he is not alone anymore - Well, perhaps he never was to begin with, considering he still had Angel and Charlie, to some extent, yet nothing can compare to sweet Y/N's existence by his side. Nothing can heal his aching soul, or revert the damage he did to himself throughout life and afterlife, the way her love for him did.

♡ ~𝓘 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾, 𝓶𝔂 𝓼𝔀𝓮𝓮𝓽 𝓟𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓬𝓮𝓼𝓼~♡

#hazbin hotel #hazbin angel dust #hazbin alastor #hazbin charlie #hazbin hotel husk #hazbin husk #husker #hazbin husker #husker x reader #husker imagine #hazbin hotel husk x reader #hazbin hotel husker imagine #charlotte morningstar #hazbin vaggie #Hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel imagine

[probablyasocialecologist]

In all, at least 100 people set themselves on fire in the US and Vietnam to protest the war. After a long history on multiple continents as a tool of protest against religious persecution—the precedent on which Quảng Đức was drawing—these self-immolations cemented a new association in American culture between the tactic and anti-war activism. In February 1991, during the first US war in Iraq, Gregory Levey doused himself in paint thinner and perished in a fireball in a park in Amherst, Massachusetts, leaving behind a small cardboard sign that read, simply, “peace.” Malachi Ritscher, an experimental musician in Chicago, set himself on fire on the side of the Kennedy expressway during the morning rush hour one Friday in November 2006, after posting a long statement on his website explaining that he felt there was no other way for him to escape complicity with the “barbaric war” the US was then waging. He had been arrested at two previous anti-war protests. Scholars often associate the rise of political self-immolation in the 1960s with the rise of television: a spectacular form of protest for the society of the spectacle. But of course there are less painful ways for protestors to attract eyeballs. The reality is that self-immolation registers the near-total impotence of protest—and even public opinion as such—in the face of a military apparatus completely insulated from external accountability. It the rawest testament to the absence of effective courses of action. When war consists primarily of unelected men in undisclosed locations pouring fire on the heads of people we will never know on the other side of the world, there is very little that ordinary people can do to arrest its progress. But we still have our bodies, and it is in the nature of fire to refuse containment. To ask whether self-immolation is good or bad, justifiable or non-justifiable, effective or ineffective is in large part to miss the point, which is that it is an option, whether anyone else likes it or not. It illuminates our powerlessness in negative space, but it also affirms the irreducible core of our freedom, that small flame of agency that no repression can extinguish. Since Aaron Bushnell’s death by self-immolation this week in protest of Israel’s genocide in Gaza, his detractors have warned about the risk of “contagion,” suggesting that his protest will encourage imitators (who, they imply, share his alleged mental instability). There may or may not be additional self-immolators before the slaughter comes to an end, just as Bushnell was preceded by a woman, yet to be identified publicly, who burned herself outside the Israeli consulate in Atlanta in December. But the purpose of lighting yourself on fire is not to encourage other people to light themselves on fire. It is to scream to the world that you could find no alternative, and in that respect it is a challenge to the rest of us to prove with our own freedom that there are other ways to meaningfully resist a society whose cruelty has become intolerable.

#aaron bushnell #self immolation #palestine #israel #vietnam

[capybaracorn]

Columbia suspends students after deadline to end Gaza camp passes

The number of arrests has crossed 1,100 since New York police detained first demonstrators at Columbia on April 18.

(April 30th 2024)

Pro-Palestinian demonstrators hold a protest outside Columbia University in New York City. [Michael M Santiago/Getty Images via AFP]

Columbia University has begun suspending student demonstrators after they defied an ultimatum to disperse.

The New York University, the epicentre of pro-Palestinian protests that have upended college campuses across the United States, made the call on Monday.

The move follows almost two weeks of protests against Israel’s war in Gaza, which have swept through higher education institutions from coast to coast, and spread into Europe. The demonstrators have demanded that the universities cease all investment in Israel or companies that are seen as supporting its war effort.

The response of the authorities has been tough, with critics of the protests referring to sporadic instances of anti-Semitism. About 100 protesters were arrested at Columbia on April 18.

In the latest crackdown, authorities at the prestigious university in New York had demanded that the protest encampment be cleared by 2pm (18:00 GMT) or students would face disciplinary action.

“These repulsive scare tactics mean nothing compared to the deaths of over 34,000 Palestinians,” said a statement, read out by a student at a news conference after the deadline passed, referring to the death toll in Gaza.

“We will not move until Columbia meets our demands or … [we] are moved by force,” said the student.

A few hours later, Columbia vice president of communications, Ben Chang, said the university had “begun suspending students as part of this next phase of our efforts to ensure safety on our campus”.

He said students had been warned they would be “placed on suspension, ineligible to complete the semester or graduate, and will be restricted from all academic, residential, and recreational spaces”.

Meanwhile, at the University of Texas in Austin, police used pepper spray as they clashed with protesters on Monday. Arrests were made as they dismantled an encampment, adding to the more than 350 people detained nationwide over the weekend.

“No encampments will be allowed,” Texas Governor Greg Abbott said on social media. “Instead, arrests are being made.”

Protests against the Gaza war, with its high Palestinian civilian death toll, have posed a challenge to university administrators trying to balance free speech rights with complaints that the rallies have veered into anti-Semitism and hate.

Footage of police in riot gear summoned at various colleges to break up rallies has been viewed around the world, recalling the protest movement that erupted during the Vietnam War.

Columbia University president, Minouche Shafik, in a statement on Monday announcing talks had broken down, said, “Many of our Jewish students, and other students as well, have found the atmosphere intolerable in recent weeks.

“Many have left campus, and that is a tragedy,” she continued. “Anti-Semitic language and actions are unacceptable and calls for violence are simply abhorrent.”

Protest organisers deny accusations of anti-Semitism, arguing their actions are aimed at Israel’s government and its prosecution of the conflict in Gaza.

They also insist there have been incidents engineered by non-student agitators.

A protester wears the university's disciplinary warning covered over by support for Palestinians in Gaza at Columbia University in New York City. [Alex Kent/Getty Images via AFP]

The protests have upended university campuses across the US, with the number of arrests crossing 1,100. [Caitlin Ochs/Reuters]

A faculty member holds up a sign as faculty members seek to protect students in the Pro-Palestinian "Gaza Solidarity Encampment" at Columbia University. [Michael M Santiago/Getty Images via AFP]

Protesters at Columbia defied a deadline to disband the event with chants, clapping and drumming. [Stefan Jeremiah/AP Photo]

Columbia University issued a notice to the protesters asking them to disband their encampment after negotiations failed to come to a resolution. [Spencer Platt/Getty Images via AFP]

Demonstrators gathered outside an entrance to Columbia University as the 2pm deadline to disband or face suspension approached. [David Dee Delgado/Reuters]

Students condemned the university’s attempts to silence the protesters and said they were determined to continue. “What trumps our fear is our love for Palestine, and our love for liberation, and our refusal to accept subjugation and censorship from an oppressive institution,” one said. [Nuri Vallbona/Reuters]

Pro-Palestinian supporters continue to demonstrate on the campus of Columbia University. [Spencer Platt/Getty Images via AFP]

One graduate student protester said: "It's finals week. But at the end of the day, school is temporary." [Alex Kent/Getty Images via AFP]

#free palestine #palestine #save palestine #free gaza #gaza #save gaza #columbia university #anti war #student protest #activism #war on gaza #gaza genocide #gaza strip #gazaunderattack #palestine genocide #palestinian genocide #stop the genocide #genocide #west bank #israel palestine conflict #gaza solidarity encampment #ceasfire now #ceasefire #usa #american politics #palestine news #current events #world news #news #settler colonialism

[tinystepsforward]

i've still been keeping tabs on what's happening at automattic. a couple of things i've observed:

toni schneider (who is a man btw), the interim ceo, has been quite open with staff in ways that mean they generally seem relieved to have him leading the company for now. i've heard people speak optimistically about him from all parts of the spectrum (by which i mean: staff who are trans tumblr users right through to staff who are "anti-woke" or whatever and were absolutely intolerable to work with as a trans person), which seems like... a good sign? maybe.

this relative transparency includes things like weekly updates from an executive level, as well as openly saying that he did have to directly speak to matt and encourage him to, you know, stop posting.

matt is back to his usual milquetoast blogging, and replied to someone on mastodon about the AI issue saying he'd comment on it when he's back in may, so whatever toni said to him seems to have worked for him keeping out of it for now.

people have no idea what it's gonna look like when matt's back.

the best case scenario is that schneider manages to create a significant enough boost in morale and productivity that "it'd be nice if we just kept him" becomes a sentiment that isn't held just by the rank and file. i don't know how likely that is, but there's a sense of cautious hope and of making the most of this reprieve from matt's increasingly erratic decisions no matter what.

the tumblr staff statement was approved by schneider and hr, so i am also hopeful they won't face repercussions. what they said might seem pretty mild from the outside, or carefully worded, but it's pretty clear to me and to most people who've worked at companies like this that it's a pretty bold one.

i'll quote a friend:

keep reminding the more histrionic elements out there that: 1. there really are trans people, INCLUDING TRANS WOMEN, in the fight here. 2. we don't have nearly the power they seem to think we do. 3. we're fighting anyway. was the statement we wrote enough? fuck no. does it fix everything? fuck no. but we literally called out the CEO, and got the greenlight for it from the interim CEO. i don't know where this will end, but that's not nothing.

i'm not sure automattic deserves the immense honor of having this many of its brave, dedicated trans staff put effort into trying to make it better. but it has them, and it would be wise to do its best to keep them. so many of us — even me, even now — believe in the ideals that drew us to the work automattic does, and hope that it can return to them. we will see!

other things i want to say:

the wellbeing of my friends on staff is my priority. i am interested primarily in their safety, and won't pressure them to give me goss. the ways i've spoken publicly are already pretty scary to people who might worry about retaliation against them just for being known to be my friend.

this is a regular personal blog. i'll keep updating if there's shit to update about, but i also don't work at automattic any more (thank fuck, again), have a life, and am not interested in declaring matt my specific nemesis or otherwise acting purely out of spite.

some of youse really deeply do not understand companies, the internet, generative ai, or pretty much anything else i've said. that's okay — big tech in particular is fucked up on purpose bc it benefits those in power to have it be incomprehensible! but maybe it's not a great position from which to get mad at me specifically or at staff for idk not personally assassinating matt.

got tired of blocking transphobes so i've turned anons off. i'll probably flick them back on eventually.

#tony muses #tumblr meta #<- just for my blog's tag search

[petitemistletoe]

Hate

Pairing: James Potter x Reader, James Potter x Regulus Black

Warnings: smut, some homophobia (sorry)

Word Count: 2.1K

A/N: Please request more from the marauders era please!!

“He’s staring at you again,” you commented, barely looking up from your book as you adjusted your position so your head was sat more comfortably in your boyfriend’s lap. James stared down at you and sighed. 

“He doesn’t stare at me. He’s probably staring at you.”

“I’ve seen his eyes follow you, James. It’s not me he stares at.” You were talking about Regulus Black, who was also laying in the grass on the other side of the courtyard and pretending to listen to whatever shit Barty Crouch was spewing. 

You noticed that Regulus would stare at James any time he saw him from Regulus’s first year at Hogwarts. You initially assumed it was because James was Sirius’s best friend and young Regulus would have done nearly anything to seek his older brother’s approval. Even when it became clear that Sirius was not going to give any such approval, Regulus continued to stare. You certainly couldn’t blame Reg, James was gorgeous. His sharp jawline, his easy laugh, his arms strong from Quidditch, his skin beautifully tanned from all the time he spent outside. And most of all his infectious kindness. Those were all the reasons you had fallen for him. But James couldn’t see it. Or wouldn’t. 

James was ready to rebut your statement when Remus and Sirius flopped down next to you on the grass. 

“What’ve you two been up to?” Peter asked, taking stock of the boys’ pink cheeks. You had almost forgot that Peter was there. He more often than not third wheeled you and James, saying it was far preferable to third wheeling Remus and Sirius. You suspected it was more so because James was far too polite to tell Peter to fuck off. 

“Took a walk,” Remus said at the same time as Sirius said, 

“Had a quickie by the lake.” 

You burst out laughing as Remus turned a deep shade of red and punched Sirius’s shoulder. 

“What the fuck happened to discretion?” Remus snapped.

“It’s alright, Remus. James and I had a quickie by the lake earlier today too,” you grinned. It was James’s turn to blush and he stammered, 

“You and Sirius are animals.”

You and Sirius laughed and high-fived. Your jovial attitude was apparently ill received as the younger Black stood from his patch of grass and stalked over to you all. Sirius immediately shot to his feet, as did Remus to hold him back. 

“What the fuck do you want, Regulus?” Sirius asked coldly, his head held high in order to look down on his younger brother. The sun seemed to glint off of Regulus’s sharp cheekbones as he sneered, 

“I’ve heard a rumor about you, Sirius.”

“I’ve heard one about you.” Sirius said, his eyes flashing dangerously. You and James were on your feet now too, anticipating the incoming storm that could only occur between Regulus and Sirius Black 

“I’ve heard things about you and Lupin.” Regulus said, narrowing his eyes as he looked Remus up and down. 

“What kind of things?” Remus asked, his hand still firm against Sirius’s chest. 

“I’ve heard you two are in a relationship.” Regulus hissed. 

“We are.” Sirius said simply, grabbing Remus’s face and kissing him deeply. Regulus looked gobsmacked. 

“You-you’re going to hell!” Regulus stammered. 

“I heard you’re a death eater,” Sirius said, grabbing Regulus’s arm quickly and tearing his sleeve up to reveal the dark mark, “so I guess I’ll see you there.” 

Sirius then turned cooly on his heel and stalked back towards the castle, hand firmly in Remus’s. You all followed, you turned back only once to see that Regulus was glowering at you and James. 

“He’s staring at you again.” You nudged James. You were at dinner this time, two days later and James was still upset about the situation with Sirius and Regulus. 

“I just don’t get how he could say that to you!” James was saying to Sirius. “It’s just…it’s so intolerant! So homophobic! It’s terrible!” 

“He’s Regulus. I don’t know why you’re surprised. Honestly went better than I thought. Thought he was gonna hex me or something,” Sirius said with a shrug. 

“Yeah Prongs, newsflash. People are homophobic.” Remus clearly wasn’t torn up about it either.

“James! He’s staring at you again.” You repeated, tugging on James’s sleeve. James turned to look at Regulus. Sure enough he was staring and once James looked over, Regulus blushed and dropped his head. 

“Just forget about him.” Sirius suggested, “We have.”

James couldn’t let it go. You and him were on a late night walk, trying to find some place in the castle you could hook up in. Sirius and Remus had claimed the dorm room and exiled Peter to the common room. Marlene had Yaz in the girl’s room and Lily would have had your head if you had even tried to bring James there. He was still stewing as you walked. 

“Regulus is just so awful to Sirius. And he knows better. He should know better. I just hate him so much and I’d honest to god kill him if I knew that Sirius wouldn’t be a little cross with me about it.” James was ranting. You had finally found a classroom that wasn’t locked and you pulled James into it. 

“James, baby, please. Stop talking about Regulus. God, I almost feel like you want him more than you want me.” You said with an eye roll. 

“What?”

“You haven’t stopped talking about for two entire days. You honestly sound like you want to hate fuck him.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” James looked appalled. 

“Just saying. Hate and love are really close emotions. It makes sense that you would be a little confused about it.”

“Confused? What the fuck could you mean?”

“James. Haven’t you noticed that the entire time you ranted about Regulus you’ve gotten harder and harder?” You looked down at James’s pants which were practically tented with how strong James’s erection was. James was surprised at this and shook his head.

“Channel this energy,” you said, holding his face in your hands, “and fuck me really really hard.” You smashed your lips against his. He resisted at first before giving and and kissing you back. It was toothy and intense and you think James might have bit you a few times but it was delicious and it was different. Your clothes were coming off and were being thrown in every direction. James had you backed onto a desk as he was fumbling with his belt buckle, his lips still on yours when you heard the door to the classroom creak open. 

“Fuck,” you cursed, crossing your arms over your chest and turned to see who had spoiled your fun. When you saw it, you couldn’t help but giggle. 

It was Regulus Black. 

“What the fuck do you want?” James barked, pulling his belt out of the loops and unzipping his pants. You were a little confused as to why he wasn’t stopping but you weren’t any less turned on. 

“I’m,” Regulus had to clear his throat, “I’m doing prefect rounds. I ought to give you a detention. What are you even doing?” Regulus was walking slowly towards James. 

“Hi Reg,” you said, leaning up on your elbows so Regulus could see you. Regulus froze in place when he saw you and scowled. 

“Oh, a hundred points from Gryffindor.” He hissed. 

“You have no authority to do that and you know it.” James growled. 

“Come on Reg, we’re just having a little fun.” You said with a light shrug. 

“Shut the fuck you stupid halfblood.” Regulus snapped. 

“That’s it. Perfectus totalus.” James pointed his wand at Regulus. Regulus went rigid and dropped to the ground. James maneuvered Regulus with his wand so Regulus was sitting in a chair facing the desk you were laid on.

“I’m tired,” James said, raking a hand through his messy hair, “of your bullshit. I know you’re in love with me, Reg. Everyone has noticed you staring at me. But you’re a piece of shit and awful to my best friend and my girlfriend so now you’re going to watch me fuck her brains out.” 

You got even wetter at that. James turned back to you and attacked your neck, leaving large teeth impressions around your neck and clavicle. He pushed two fingers into you, causing you to throw your head back and moan. You kept your eyes open and on Regulus. He was staring at you with a mix of hate and lust, his pupils blown and his fists balled. The hex seemed to be wearing off but he made no indication that he was going to move from his seat. James added another finger inside you and curved them so they brushed against your g-spot. You moaned again, grasping James’s wrist and fucking yourself on his fingers. James was moaning with you, obviously extra turned on by the situation. He pressed his thumb against your clit and began moving it in quick small circles and you came, moaning James’s name and carding your fingers in his hair. He kissed you again before taking his cock out and helping you off the desk. He turned so he was facing Regulus and pushed your head down towards his cock. You took the hint and started to suck him off, relaxing your jaw and gently massaging his balls with your free hand. You looked up at him but James’s eyes were fixated on Regulus. James had his hand on the back of your head and he pushed your head suddenly against him. Your gag reflect instantly activated and you were gagging and spitting around him but you noticed that James barely seemed to care and then you heard Regulus moan. James released you and you fell backwards, breathing heavily and looked between the two boys. You were right. They did need to hate fuck but you had a feeling that wouldn’t happen tonight. Tonight, James wanted to punish Regulus. Make him a voyeur. 

James grabbed your arm roughly and pushed you back onto the desk. He kissed you deeply and you could tell he felt a little bad about how rough he was being but one quick finger to your pussy and he would have seen that all it did was make you wetter. James pushed inside you. You moaned loudly, locking eyes with Regulus. Regulus’s erection was straining against his pants and his nails were digging into his palms. There were beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

“He’s so big, Regulus,” you whispered as James fucked you. You were getting close and so was James. His thrusts were getting sloppier and his breath was heavy on your neck. 

“He feels so good, Reg,” you said again.

“Shut up,” Regulus said through clenched teeth. That got James’s attention as his head snapped up and looked back at Regulus. You came around James’ cock, moaning loudly and raking your nails down James’s back. James pulled out of you before he came and stared hard at Regulus.

“Come here,” he said, practically vibrating with rage, “and suck my girlfriend’s juices off my cock.”

You could only stare at Regulus as he stood on shaky legs and walked over to James. He fell to his knees and stared up at James with wide eyes before taking James in his mouth. James’s eyes shut and he carded his fingers in Regulus’s hair before pushing Regulus’s head down on his cock roughly. Regulus’s eyes shot open in surprise and he gagged, his fingers pressing bruises into James’s thighs. 

“Don’t stop, I’m going to cum.” James commanded. Regulus’s eyes were tearing up but he was nodding and opening his mouth even wider for James. James came and Regulus was caught by surprise swallowing some of it but backing away too quickly so his face and hair were coated the remainder of James’s cum. 

Everyone took a moment just to steady their breathing before James looked down at Regulus and said in the coldest voice you had ever heard from him, 

“Don’t you ever call my girlfriend a dirty half blood or tell my best friend he’s going to hell again. Now get out of my sight.”

#James potter #James potter smut #James potter x reader #James potter x reader smut #Aaron Taylor johnson #James potter x regulus black #regulus black smut #jegulus #marauders #dead gay wizards #sirius black #remus lupin #Sirius Black x remus lupin #wolfstar

[hirokari]

aestival, c.xs

pairing :: cheng xiaoshi x gender neutral!reader

word count :: 18.7k

genre :: high school!au, senior!au, popular boy!xiaoshi, lovesick!xiaoshi, mutual pining from the start (like he's absolutely smitten for you i swear)

warnings :: explicit language, mentions of wounds, mentions of medical supplies (band aid, antibiotic), eating food truck food

author's note :: i got this fic idea in class and just . threw up words HAHA anyways i love cheng xiaoshi our bbg pls enjoy pure mutual pining!!

masterlist. navigation.

i. meet.

Cheng Xiaoshi's backpack is severely under-packed for senior year. It even seems deflated to Lu Guang as they walk into the school campus.

"I'm surprised you weren't held back a year." Says the younger boy, though his tone does not hold any hint of jest. Nevertheless, Xiaoshi laughs at the comment.

There's a small jump in each of his steps. Breathing in, Xiaoshi looks around and takes note of how… different it seems this year.

The grass is greener, the sky is clearer, the students are chattier. As the sun shines its warm rays against the skin of his arms and cheeks, he beams.

"Y'know, I have a hunch."

"Shoot me." Replies Lu Guang, his face already resembling one of amusement. Whatever Xiaoshi has to say always humors him. "I've got a feeling senior year has something in store for me." Hums the boy, shaking a hand through his raven locks. His friend, in return, deadpans.

"What makes you think that?" Of course: the standard logical Lu Guang response.

Xiaoshi smiles, "I've got a funny feeling in my bones."

"A funny feeling?" Lu Guang repeats in a laugh. "You're basing a statement for the year off of your funny bones?"

Xiaoshi's mouth hangs open as he's about to retort back with something that would not help his case at all— but a grunt escapes his lips instead as something comes crashing against his abdomen.

"Shit- sorry!"

In front of him is a scrambling student, apologizing profusely. He freezes.

As you gather yourself and apologize to the boy, he leans down and grasps the spine of your chem textbook, lifting and handling it towards your direction.

"Oh, thank you. Sorry, again," You sigh, taking the thick textbook from him. The tip of your finger grazes his and Xiaoshi's sense of time stops. He takes a good look at you within a split second– the warm sun and cold morning air hitting your cheeks makes you look absolutely ethereal.

Cheng Xiaoshi had gone to this school for the past 6 years of his life– but not once had he met anyone that looked as pretty as you do right in this moment. You send him a small, tight-lipped smile that seems grateful and still a little apologetic. Your chin scrunches and your cheeks puff out when you do, and he likes the sight of it.

The whole ordeal happened quick. Too quick. You stand up and pat off the material of your uniform, adjusting your hold on your textbook. Xiaoshi stares. After noticing you shift and tilt your head at the gawking boy, Lu Guang nudges and pushes against his friend’s elbow, sending you a quick ‘goodbye’ and dragging Xiaoshi away.

Xiaoshi doesn’t want to leave. In fact, he refuses to. But what’s the use, you had already left, the only remnants of you being your warm floral scent in the summer morning breeze. He breathes deeply, feet planted firm on the ground and feeling a little strange when his nose tingles at your smell.

“That was the most beautiful, pretty, breathtaking person I’ve ever spoken to.” He sighs. “You’re acting like you’ve never spoken to a human before in your life, Xiaoshi,” Comments Lu Guang as he starts treading away.

“I haven’t spoken to a human that looks as if the sun and the moon shared a hug and a million stars danced with each other and everything in the milky way was perfect and not one person on earth had lactose intolerance!”

“What the hell are you even saying? Are you okay?” Lu Guang is starting to grow genuinely worried. The last time he’d seen Xiaoshi act like this was when he had a full-on obsession over Angelina Jolie for a solid 3 hours.

Xiaoshi feverishly shakes his head, cheeks flamed.“No! Do you know who that was?”

“No.”

“That makes things worse,” Groans Xiaoshi into the palm of his hands. He can feel how hot his skin had turned just remembering how pretty you looked.

 “What if I never see them ever again? Do you know how bad I potentially just fumbled the bag here?”

“You’re saying that as if they’d like you back.” Lu Guang can’t help but let his eyes roll. Xiaoshi cries something along the lines of ‘harsh, much?’ and proceeds to whine about having just let you walk away as he stumbles his way to class, Lu Guang directioning him the whole way for the most part.

Cheng Xiaoshi, though he doesn’t seem it, is a hopeless romantic. As his feet drag against the tiled floor almost automatically, Xiaoshi wonders if whoever you were could have been more to him. He’d let fate decide: An acquaintance, a friend, an enemy, a lover. Maybe all of those in that order. Maybe you could be, somewhere in the future.

But he doesn’t really like the idea of waiting for fate. Not when he’s so eager to run into you again– why hadn’t he met you earlier? In sophomore or junior year? Had the universe intended to keep you cooped up away from him until you swept and escaped from its grasp to get back to him?

He knows he’s getting ahead of himself. Nonetheless, he hopes you bump into him again, maybe holding an extra book or two so he could retrieve them for you. Or maybe, if the universe was kind enough to him for a second time (the first was meeting you.), he’d bump into you.

The soccer field is on a large strangely elevated patch of grass. Xiaoshi doesn’t like the extra flight of stairs he has to travel up on in order to enter it. It was originally a large hill, he heard from Lu Guang, but the school thought it’d be of better use if it were a soccer field.

The summer sun is blaring too hot, the boy thinks, as he wipes his sweat off of his brow.

“I’m open!” Yells Xiaoshi, waving his arms.

Far too much movement out in the open sun.

The senior feels sticky and his feet feel like jelly. He doesn’t know how long he’d been playing at this point. Frankly, Xiaoshi doesn’t know why he’d called out for the ball. Instinctual, he supposes.

The ball comes flying at him, and being the basketball-loving goof he is, reaches out to grab it with his hands. Within the last split second, and Lu Guang shouting at him to take it to the chest instead, he forces his arms down, taking the impact to his face instead.

Xiaoshi is wordless as he grasps at his face, feeling extremely dazed.

“Shoot, sorry! Are you good, man?” Shouts a fellow player, though it sounds warped in his ears.

As he waves the concerned murmurs off, he lets his feet lead him to the bleachers, calling for a quick break. It is too damn hot out today, he thinks, heaving at the thick warm afternoon air. Xiaoshi still holds his palm to his face, shielding his eyes from the bright sun that seemed to burn.

Reaching out, Xiaoshi expects to feel the cold metal of the railings that stand in front of the bleachers, but is met with nothing but the air his fingers cut through as he sweeps his hand around. “Wh-?”

Uncovering his eyes, his feet travel forward before he could process where he’d been walking into.

The yelp Xiaoshi lets out embarrasses him and he blushes a little, though none of that really mattered anymore when he realizes he’s tumbling down the other side of the hill, stray twigs and leaves pricking him as he rolls down the grass. He doesn’t let out one noise, the whole situation happening too quick for him to react properly to.

Before he realized it, he’d stopped rolling. Probably for a good few seconds already, but his head needed time to stop swaying.

“Ugh,” Groans Xiaoshi, gripping his hair as his vision seems to keep spinning.

It takes him a solid moment to fully absorb what had happened and where he is. He first looks at the grass around him. Unlike the field he’d just been playing in, these were shaded by tall canopies of trees– the ones on the opposite side of the field, facing the bleachers from at least 100 meters away.

The second thing he notices are the pair of crossed legs in front of his, tensed and pressed up against a chest. Xiaoshi makes an effort to tilt his head up— as much as it made him nauseous— and face the owner of said pair of legs.

There you sit, your book discarded and arms length to the side, eyes blown wide as you scrutinize the boy. “Are you- are you okay?”

Xiaoshi’s mouth hangs open dangerously wide as he meets eyes with you. His skin burns– and he can’t tell if its from 

spending so much time in the sun and overheating, or because you just witnessed what might be the most embarrassing moment of his life.

“I’m… fine.” Is all he’s able to say. A little bit of everywhere stings. His elbows, his knees, his head especially. But it’s alright because Xiaoshi thinks you look absolutely ethereal with bits and patches of sunlight peeking through the leaves of the trees standing above you two, as if shielding you both from the reality of the world. The sunrays frame your face in a kind and soft way, lighting up your nose and cheeks when you lean over to check up on him.

Xiaoshi admires you (almost shamelessly) but you can’t care to notice because you’re busy fussing about him. 

“You’re- bleeding! You need help!”

“It’s fine,” Scoffs Xiaoshi. “It’s barely anything.”

But as you carefully fish a handkerchief out of your pocket (of course you’d have one, thinks Xiaoshi, it’s also bear-patterned!) and slowly press it against his shin, the boy winces, flinching his leg away with a whine as his hand instinctively flies up to grip at your wrist.

“I’m sorry,” You apologize. “Could you hold that for me there? I promise it’ll just be a moment.” Your fingers grace over his knuckles as you instruct him, and Xiaoshi doesn’t even think once about protesting, immediately following and holding the cloth in place. 

He can feel the pads of your fingers linger for a little longer, and although he’s already overheated from the hot summer sun, your fingers radiate a different kind of warmth– a friendly, homely warmth that reminds him of all his favorite things. A kind of warmth that feels like a ladybug crawling across his arm, but he lets it be for the good luck.

“I’ve got an antibiotic in here somewhere,” Rummaging through your bag, you briefly look up to send the boy an assuring and calm smile. His chest thumps violently. Your sheer persistence to help out someone you’d only talked to once— though Xiaoshi doubts you even remember that encounter— moves him.

As you search, the raven-haired boy lets his free hand travel down the grass he sits on, relishing in the chill contrast of it compared to the blazing hot field. He picks at a weed, then a daisy that grows right by his thigh, and threads them together, creating a braid long enough to circle around his pinky finger. He binds them together with a knot and slips it onto his pinky finger, a small, boyish ingenuous grin spreading across his lips.

“Here,” Tenderly lifting his fingers, Xiaoshi lets you pry his hand off his leg, watching as you dab a small amount of antibiotic cream on the cloth. 

“Could you press this in place again? I have to find you a bandaid,”

“Yeah, of course,”

Dazed, Xiaoshi doesn’t react at the first contact the rag makes with his wound. And a moment later, after having enough of his fill of watching you, he returns to wincing, wearing a sour grimace on his face as he refuses to take the cloth off just because you ordered him not to.

“Here.” Taking Xiaoshi’s free hand, you place the bandaid into his palm and take hold of your handkerchief again. With an open palm, the boy looks at it, the corner of his lip twitching upwards at its animal pattern.

“Thank you,” Says Xiaoshi in a small voice. You nod, “It’s alright, I’m just glad you’re fine. Although,” Pausing, you lean forward, face nearing his as you press the back of your hand against his cheek. He inhales sharply, eyes widening at the feeling of your soft fingers against the skin of his face.

“You’re burning up.” You conclude. “You did put on sunscreen before playing, right?”

Xiaoshi’s silence answers your question, but the guilty glance towards the field tells you more than you need to know.

You shake your head, “Wear a hat next time; that’s the least thing you could do. Sunburns are no pretty thing.” You pause, tilting your head to the side with a teasing look in your eyes. “But red’s a good shade on you.”

It’s until now when Xiaoshi realizes how close you’d been, his breath hitting the peach fuzz on your face. “Shut up,” He groans, pushing at your shoulder. Letting out a quick chuckle, you let him push you back into your original position and watch as he applies the band aid across his wound.

“You’re… the guy I bumped into a few weeks ago, aren’t you?”

Oh. He hadn’t expected you to remember that, considering how fast the whole thing had happened.

“Yeah,” Replies Xiaoshi with a nod. “I forgot to ask… for your name,” He says, fidgeting and looking to the side, discovering a shy part of him he hadn’t known existed.

“It’s Y/N L/N.”

“Y/N L/N,” He repeats. It rolls off his tongue nicely, he thinks, and he wants to say it again. “I’m Xiaoshi. Cheng Xiaoshi.”

“Cheng Xiaoshi.” You say, repeating his name like he did yours. You say it again under your breath and at the sound of it, he thinks everything is right and beautiful in the world.

“We’ve got to go,” You mention, checking the time on your phone as you stuff your bag with your belongings you’d taken out. “We’ve got seven minutes ‘till class.”

Xiaoshi watches as you rush to your feet, patting against your legs and uniform. You offer to help him up, but he shakes his head politely, picking up the novel you’d been reading and wiping off the little dirt that had gotten on the cover with his slender fingers.

“Will I see you again?” Asks Xiaoshi, though he hadn’t thought before he let the question slip past his lips. You look back at him, offering a smile, “I’m not sure… but we’ll see, I guess. Bye, Cheng Xiaoshi.”

“Bye, Y/N L/N.”

His cheeks burn, this time not because of a near-sunburn he’d gotten playing soccer in nothing but his uniform.

ii. cheng xiaoshi!

You hadn’t realized you’d lost your book until after arriving home from school a few days ago. Now here you are, sitting next to your upperclassman and lab partner, Qiao Ling, legs leaning against the bleacher in front of you. Even under the shades of the thin metal ceiling the bleachers came with, you felt like you were being boiled alive.

The two of you watch a mix of seniors and juniors play a friendly match of soccer, and you can’t help but wonder where Xiaoshi had been since the last time you’d seen him.

After him stumbling into you— almost literally— you hadn’t seen him all week. Not like he’d been looking for you either.

Fun fact: he actually was.

Xiaoshi sits in the spot he’d last met you in, fingers grazing across the title etched onto the hardcover of your novel that you’d forgotten with him. Wearing a small pout, the boy heaves a childish sigh, letting his back fall onto the fresh grass under him, admiring the canopies towering over him.

It’s definitely a peaceful and sound place, but there was a sense of beauty knowing it was exclusively yours. He can see remnants of you everywhere: a dented patch of grass that he imagines happened because you’d sat there every time, several traces of plucked weeds and flowers, your initials you’d scratched onto a tree because you’d been bored one day.

Xiaoshi’s fingers travel up to the rough, textured bark that spelled out your initials, inhaling its earthy scent of oak. He imagines you, with a pen or a pocket knife, etching the letters onto the dark and dull bark with the same concentrated look you’d worn a few days ago.

His phone suddenly vibrates in the pocket of his uniform. Still staring at the engraved letters, Xiaoshi takes his device out and unlocks it, finally turning to his screen.

Lu Guang

| Where are you?

| Sociology starts in 10 minutes.

Cheng Xiaoshi

| im omw

Standing by himself in the deserted hall in front of the library, Lu Guang scoffs to himself, knowing very well his friend is not in fact on his way.

Lu Guang

| Please hurry

| Those popular douchebags are here and I can’t stand putting up with your nonsense, let alone theirs.

Cheng Xiaoshi

| those “douchebags” are my friends, Guang :l

Lu Guang doesn’t respond, having gone offline, and Xiaoshi takes that as his cue to get to class.

He hadn’t realized it, but when he looks down, he can make out the faint trail you’d made with your frequenting visits here, a beeline of thinning grass and hardening soil leading him towards the campus. It seemed like a little portal between the calm of the forest and the bustle of high school.

Finally, Xiaoshi arrives at the bottom of the hill, staring up at the flight of stairs leading into the bleachers. The air feels extremely more humid from where he stands, letting the sun hit his skin (but he’d worn sunscreen this morning, just because you’d told him too, of course.)

The first step up feels somewhat like a struggle. A feeling like something in between refusing and complaining. But he’s just being dramatic, really. Xiaoshi walks up the rest of the stairs like it was nothing.

Finally on the top of the stairs and shielded from the sun under the ceiling of the bleachers, Cheng Xiaoshi feels like his stomach tightens at the sight of you talking with Qiao Ling and lets his mouth hang open, eyes wide like buttons.

“Y/N L/N!”

Your shoulders shrug up at the sudden yell of your name, and it seems like everyone has stopped talking, just as startled. Turning around, your eyes widen when they meet with Xiaoshi’s, your mouth parting slightly, though you’re not sure what to say.

“Cheng… Xiaoshi?”

Qiao Ling, who hadn’t bothered to look (because things like this had happened too often to her, though she should’ve known it was Xiaoshi), whips her head towards his direction, ridiculed.

There’s a moment when you both look at each other and everyone else goes back to minding their own business. Xiaoshi’s cheeks are dusted pink from both the walk in the sun and meeting you here coincidentally. He holds your book up, his fingers wrapped around the spine of it, giving you a grin.

Charming, you think. His smile is charming. And teethy.

“I’ve… got your book.” He says. Brows raising, you let out an exasperated breath. That was, in fact, the book you’d been searching for during the past few days. “Oh,” You can’t resist the small smile growing across your lips as he offers it to you. You take it with nimble fingers, brushing against the cover, then looking up at him. “Thank you.”

What followed was another moment of silence.

Was this going to be a usual thing between you two?

“Hold on, you know him?” Qiao Ling, who had been ogling at your interaction the whole time speechless, plants a hand on your shoulder, completely disregarding the enthusiastic “yeah!” Xiaoshi replies with.

“Yeah, met him on our first day this year. I bumped into him, actually…” Although the whole ordeal has passed, you still wear a shameful smile. Qiao Ling narrows her eyes at Xiaoshi, “Oh you’re the golden boy they talked about?”

“Golden boy? Talked about?”

“Um,” You hiss before he could question any more, giving Qiao Ling an embarrassed and pointed look. A realization settles into her and she apologizes quietly, though she seems more teasing than anything. “Class is like, pretty soon, is it not?” You chuckle nervously, two fingers fiddling and pinching the cover of your book.

“Right, yeah, I was on my way to sociology.” Says Xiaoshi, though it seems like he’d just remember himself. “Oh, I’ve got advanced math— which is like, right down the hall to your class.”

“I can walk you there!”

“That’d be cool, yeah,”

Qiao Ling wants to interject. Remind you two of her presence. But she’s completely dumbfounded at the fact that she knows very well that if she did, neither of you would acknowledge it, too lost in the small talk and shared glances.

“Right, well, while you two do that, I’ll be here, I guess.”

“You’re not going to class?” You ask. “Nope.” Her ‘P’ pops against her lips as she leans back against the bleacher. “I’ve got a free period. Pros of being a future valedictorian, eh?”

“Shouldn’t you be using that time to study?”

“Oh, you’re one to talk, Xiaoshi. Go, shoo, before you’re late. As far as I know, Mr. Lee doesn’t like tardiness.”

“Shit, that’s my class.” Groans Xiaoshi, wiping a hand against his sweaty face. “Let’s go, Y/N L/N.” As you tread after him and wave goodbye to QIao Ling, you can’t help but laugh at the boy. “You could just call me Y/N.”

“But I like saying Y/N L/N. It rolls off nice on the tongue.”

“So does Cheng Xiaoshi.”

Shit. Is this flirting? Is Cheng Xiaoshi really flirting with the prettiest person he’s ever met? Xiaoshi seems to sweat even more, despite already entering the air-conditioned campus building. Your finger brushes against his lightly while you walk next to him, but he doesn’t think you noticed. You’re still complaining about taking advanced math with Mrs. Wang.

“I don’t get it,” Xiaoshi interjects. “Why did you pick it in the first place?” Your cheeks dust red. “Er, well,” You sigh. “I thought I’d look smart if I took the class. Turns out absolutely none of her students understand the material and we’re all left to fend for ourselves with youtube tutors and a really, really thick textbook that amounts to nothing but yet another droning lecturer.”

“Isn’t Lu Guang taking that class?”

“Lu Guang?” You hum, tilting your head. “Your friend?” Xiaoshi nods, “Yeah, the one with the white hair. People absolutely fawn over him.”

“He’s taking the class on Wednesday, then, I’m assuming.” You shrug. The both of you turned the corner and there Xiaoshi’s class was. The big metal door stands heavily in all its glory, declaring itself an entrance and separation from you. You look beyond the hallway, and spot the familiar graffitied door of Mr. Huang’s class (so many students had failed his class that they’d graffiti on his door in a feat of protest. The old man never minded it, though, it just reminded him more of his streak in paining high school kids).

“I’ll see you later,” You pause, looking up at him. “Cheng Xiaoshi.”

“You too,” He smiles. “Y/N L/N.”

The next time Xiaoshi sees you, you’re typing away at your laptop on a lunch table out in the courtyard, shaded by a generously thick tree. You’re completely neglecting your food, absolutely focused on your task at hand.

“Ahoy there, Y/N L/N.”

Cheng Xiaoshi greeting you boldly and loudly out of the blue does not faze you anymore. Not when he’s been doing it for weeks on end. Sipping on your soda with a straw stuck into the can, you swallow with a fresh sigh.

“Hello, Cheng Xiaoshi.”

“What’re you writing there?” Asks the boy as he plops down next to you, comfortably keeping a knee pressed against his chest as he plants his lunch next to yours. “It’s my English report. I planned on pulling an all-nighter last night, but,” You sigh, having been cut off when Xiaoshi offers half of his sandwich to you. You eye it, then lean down to smell it with a heavy whiff.

“You think I’d poison you, Y/N? And here I thought we were friends!” Xiaoshi mimics an arrow shooting straight through his chest, leaning against the table and dramatically hanging his head as if he’d just lost consciousness.

You laugh.

God, your laugh, Xiaoshi could live off of it alone. Your cheeks when you smile, the teeth you bare to him when you chuckle. He wishes to see it everyday.

“You called me Y/N. Like, Y/N only, Y/N.”

“Yeah, yeah, I guess you came around. Anyways, eat up.” Xiaoshi taps the bread of his sandwich against your mouth and you roll your eyes, taking a bite and wiping the crumbs off the corner of your lips.

“Thanksh.” You murmur through a mouthful. You push your lunch towards him. “I made fried rishe. Pleash try it out fohr me.”

Xiaoshi’s lip quips up at your strange, mouthful accent. “Of courshe.” He says obnoxiously at you, laughing when you push his cheek away with your hand. Picking up the stainless steel spoon you’d packed, Xiaoshi eats a spoonful of your cooking, smacking his lips as he chews obnoxiously.

You’re very aware he’s trying to cheer you up. You can’t imagine how grumpy you looked typing and frowning when he approached you.

“Well?” You say, finally swallowing down the little bit of his sandwich you’d eaten. “Is it any good?”

“Is it any good?” Repeats Xiaoshi. “Do fish live in the sea?”

“No,” You spit playfully, hands hovering back over your laptop keyboard. But before you could start working again, Xiaoshi smacks your hands and you gasp, looking at him wide-eyed as he closes your laptop shut.

“You did not just do that.” You hiss. Xiaoshi sticks a tongue out at you. “I just did. Anyways, give your little laptop a break would you? And yourself, too, of course.”

You suppose he’s right. A part of you appreciates Xiaoshi a little more (if that were possible) now as he munches on food, and another part wants to smack him in the face when you realize it’s your food he’s munching on.

“Cheng Xiaoshi! You just ate, like, half of my lunch, you goof!”

“It’s your fault you cooked it so good, Y/N L/N.”

You take Xiaoshi’s ham sandwich sourly, wanting to get back at him as you take a big bite right in front of his face. And although you think he’s as upset as you are for eating his lunch, Xiaoshi’s chest warms at the sight of you eating the rest of his lunch, and when he offers yours back, you snatch it and devour it quickly. His smile grows each spoonful of food you eat.

“Hey,” He says, leaning his head against his fist as he watches you eat. You hum in response through full cheeks. “I’m gonna buy a milkshake. Want one?”

You mouth something along the lines of Hannah montana and a strangely structured word. 

“...what?”

You roll your eyes at him, swallowing and finally telling him: “banana, please.” Xiaoshi’s mouth forms an ‘o’ and he nods at you. “Don’t you mean ‘banana, pleash’?”

“I hate you. Like genuinely. Like I’m going to be friends with Lu Guang now instead.” You huff, and he juts his bottom lip out at you. 

The milkshake stand in the small nook of the canteen is run by two freshman girls. You and Xiaoshi are in fact their first and top customers… and their only customers during this season. Xiaoshi offers them both a wide smile and orders one strawberry and one banana. As one scurries off to whip up their orders, Jia, the younger of the two, leans against the counter of their property (they have a cooking and selling permit from the principal herself until lunch hour ends) with a suggestive smile.

“So? How’s Y/N? How’re your kids?”

“Holy shit,” Groans Xiaoshi. This was the only reason he hadn’t asked for you to come along. Both Jia and Yanyu know about the senior’s harboring feelings for you. They also know about your harboring feelings for him.

You both had admitted to your feelings to them individually, unable to decipher their devious, knowing smile.

“Language!” Yells Yanyu over the blender. “Sorry,” Replies Xiaoshi, monotone. “But really, I don’t want to talk about it, Jia.”

“Uh oh. Trouble in paradise?” Says Jia, crossing her arms, her braided hair shifting against her shoulder. The boy scoffs, “Stop acting like we’re married.”

“You two may as well be. Quick, tell me, my therapist hours are open.”

Xiaoshi can’t believe he’s about to spill his heart’s heavy doubts to a 14 year old.

“They’re… not interested.” He sighs. Jia, wide-eyed, leans closer. “They told you that?”

“Well, no.” She deadpans. “You can’t just assume they aren’t. Communication. Is. Key.” She says, clapping her hands to corresponding syllables she speaks. Xiaoshi shrugs, “I’ve been trying to drop hints, but they’ve either been ignoring it or they’re really, really, blind.”

“It’s the latter.” Says Yanyu as she hands him his drinks. They both know too much about how you both can be ridiculously blind to dropped hints. She grimaces at the thought of you both prancing and dancing around a bush, Xiaoshi’s pathetic attempts to earn your heart when he doesn’t know it’s in his hands. “Definitely the latter.”

“Well, I just bought them a banana smoothie. Think that’ll be eye-opening enough?”

“Are you crazy?” Groans Jia, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You do that for each other all the time! Do something nice out of the blue or norm, like…”

“Tell ‘em you think they look pretty today!” Interjects Yanyu. Xiaoshi tilts his head, “But I think they look pretty everyday?”

Aw. Yanyu and Jia share a knowing look. “Well, do you tell them?”

“No, I guess not…” He hums. “Then this is your chance! Flatter them. Everyone loves that. Tell them you love their eyes, their lips, their hair– the way they part their hair.” Jia pauses, smiling cheekily as she watches his cheeks heat up. “In fact, tell them you love all their parts.”

“I can’t say that!”

“Sure, you can!” Sings Yanyu, planting her hands against his shoulders and directing him towards the table you sit in.

In the distance, the three of them can spot you, having finished both yours and Xiaoshi’s lunch. You write down in your notebook, scribbling almost aggressively, but he still thinks you look heavenly.

“Well, see ya, lover boy!” Jia pushes against his back lightly, nudging him as he takes a step forward. “And tell Y/N we said hi! And that we miss them!”

Yanyu tells him a few encouraging words but he can’t process them when he’s trying to figure out how to tell you how damn pretty he thinks you look everyday. The condensation of both your cold smoothies mix with the sweat of his palms– either from the humidity or just the thought of you– and he sits down next to you, eyes trained on you.

“Thanks, Xiaoshi,” You say, accepting the banana smoothie he’d handed to you subconsciously. But quicker than he’d wanted, you notice his intense gaze and gulp thickly.

“Is there… anything on my face?” You ask, wiping the back of your hand against your cheek self-consciously.

“Yeah,” Says Xiaoshi slowly. “Pretty… ness.”

What. Was that. So much for golden boy.

You give him a questioning look, taking a sip of the smoothie he’d just bought you. “Are you okay? Are you having a heat stroke? I told you to put on some sunscreen.”

“You look really pretty today.” Xiaoshi finally says in a blunt tone. “Oh,” You mumble, surprised. “Thanks.”

You hope you sound calm, because you definitely aren’t. Cheng Xiaoshi had just gone to buy you a smoothie and came back to tell you that you’re pretty. Totally not something the universe had personally hand-picked out of your delusional brain filled with fantasies.

“I think you look pretty, too.” You say in a small, breathy and shaky voice. “Thank you,” Replies Xiaoshi with a small smile. 

“Wanna try some of my milkshake? You haven’t tried the strawberry one, right?”

“Oh, sure. Thanks.”

“Also, Jia and Yanyu miss you.”

Xiaoshi thinks this is a mission success. Your cheeks red from the sun (and from Xiaoshi complimenting you, but he denies that) as you try his smoothie, and he takes a sip of your banana flavored one. He told you he thought you looked pretty and you think he’s pretty too; definitely mission success. 

You don't expect Xiaoshi to coincidentally have the same free period as you– let alone have him sit with you in the library as you highlight keywords and statements in your textbook.

"It's so weird that we've got the same free period," You mumble with half the effort, focused on skimming through your material. Xiaoshi lets out a 'pshh' sound with his breath: "Nah. I skipped class."

"You skipped class?" You repeat, dropping your book and highlighter as you furrow your brows at him. Though a little surprised at your reaction, the boy nods slowly. “No, one does not just ‘skip class’.” You cough. “You’ve gotta go through the paperwork and give the teacher a dismissal note for whatever reason you made up. And then have your classmates make an alibi for you as you’re out.”

“...or you could just walk out the door and never return.”

“No, Cheng Xiaoshi, you can’t just do that.” You laugh, though it's the kind of laugh where you’re in disbelief and somewhat in denial. “Holy shit.” Says Xiaoshi, leaning closer with a teasing smile. “You, Y/N L/N, have never skipped a class.”

“I have!” You say a little too loud for your liking, earning looks from the students at the table next over. Mumbling a small sorry, you clasp your hands together in a makeshift apology before rummaging your head into your open textbook.

“I have never skipped a class.” You admit, sullen.

Xiaoshi can’t help but chuckle lightly at your current state, and he can’t help but laugh even more when you look up at him with a frown. “You’re really laughing at me right now!? I’m never going to live a fun and rebellious high school life and you’re laughing at me!”

“I-I’m not,” Xiaoshi pauses to collect himself. He eases his chuckles as he pats on his chest with his hand, which makes you more upset at him. “Alright, I’m sorry. It’s all the more better that you’ve never skipped a class, really. There’s no hype to it or anything like that.”

“I don’t know,” You huff, watching your breath turn over a page of your textbook. “I don’t really want to graduate high school knowing I’ve never skipped a class. It’s unfulfilling, or something like that.” Your expression turns sour. “Winning perfect absence sounds cool, though,”

“You wanna win that?” Asks Xiaoshi, leaning down and pressing his cheek to the cold hardwood of the table, facing you. You look at him, at his squished cheek and his intent gaze. Something in you whirrs– tingles.

“...no.”

Xiaoshi laughs. “It’s not too late, you know. You’ve still got, like, a semester to go.”

You whine, squeezing your eyes shut as you groan and let your forehead hit the cover of your textbook. “It’s too late, Xiaoshi, I’m already too deep in. I’m going to receive that award with some half-assed smile and so many regrets. Imagine how many bobas I could have had if I did have the strength to skip a class. Or fried rice. Or food truck burritos! God, imagine how many burritos.”

“So many burritos.” Xiaoshi lets out a melancholic sigh, and it somewhat humors you and comforts you as you turn to face him. You meet eyes with him, both your faces pressed against the table and you give him a small laugh when he repeats more and more foods you could have enjoyed if you’d ever skipped a class.

If you ever could.

iii. 3.27 PM

The fact that Cheng Xiaoshi stands at the door frame of your math advanced class doesn’t surprise you. Neither is the fact that he’s looking at your teacher with a bitter look. Though, the fact that those two don’t surprise you is just a bit concerning. Just a bit.

“Hello,” You say, pushing at his chest as you both exit your classroom.

“You’re so right,” Says Xiaosh a little too loud for your comfort, pausing to take another good look at your professor over your shoulder. “She does look divorced.”

“Holy shit.” You cough when her head whips to the both of you. “Great, now my advanced math teacher hates me. How could I ever repay you?” You groan sarcastically, bumping your knee to his. “Actually!” Beams Xiaoshi. “There is. You were called to the office.”

“Me? Called to the office?” You repeat, suspicious. “Should Mrs. Wang kno-”

“Nuh-uh! They told me it was urgent. Involves the both of us, apparently.” Xiaoshi is quick– almost too quick, too eager– to cut you off, grabbing a hold of your wrist. The action alone makes the ends of your fingers tingle and your chest to swell, and you hope Xiaoshi can’t tell your elevating heartbeat from the beating spot of skin in your wrist.

“Did you just say nuh-uh?” You say in a small snicker, letting him drag you down the hall and several flights of stairs. “Shut up.” Laughs Xiaoshi, his stomach caving in at the sound of your enjoyment.

Though Xiaoshi mentioned the office, for some ridiculous reason, you both end up walking up to the front gates, still hand in hand. You look back, the earthy scent of autumn enveloping you as you stare at the old, wet campus building.

“Why are you taking me outside.” You ask, though it sounds more like a demand. Xiaoshi’s mouth opens, but nothing comes out. He pauses for a moment, looks back at you, then looks back at the front gates you’d just walked out of, and then turns back around.

“I’ll tell you in a minute.”

Something in you wonders why you’re letting him drag you away from the school grounds, and to the opposite direction of where you’re supposed to be right now. But the answer is clearly obvious:

You have the biggest fattest crush on this boy.

You’re not sure when it happened, but it happened, alright. You’d realized when you were talking to him as he took a break from playing basketball, and when he’d confessed that he hadn’t put sunscreen on, you immediately whipped yours out and applied it to his skin yourself. As your fingers traveled and graced across the milky, plush skin of his face, you found yourself fawning over how he just sat there, eyes shut closed, and let you.

In the end, he retreated back to his teammates with a childish smile, with his cap on your head.

“In return for the facial!”

“It was sunscreen.”

But as you clutched the hat to your chest where your heart bloomed, you realized how much he’d grown on you.

“Okay.” Says Xiaoshi, letting your hand go to adjust his jean jacket, then the thick sweater layered under it. It’s until now when you realize you’re severely underdressed for this rainy weather, but with clutched and crossed arms, you let him speak.

“Congratulations Y/N L/N! You’ve just skipped your first class!”

What. The fuck. You can’t help but think. Wordless, you stare at him blankly, waiting for a punchline or a big reveal that this had been a silly prank. But as Xiaoshi pats both your shoulders and puffs his chest out as he tells you how proud of you he is, you grimace.

“There’s no fucking way I just fell for that.” Your hand travels up to clutch the side of your face. “You just dragged me out of class! Just like that!”

“I did!” Cheers Xiaoshi. He’s too cute to be mad at, really, but you just can’t believe he did that. “Xiaoshi! This is not something to be happy about!” You declare, though you’re trying to hold back a laugh when your best friend starts wiggling his arms and shaking his hips in what you think is a celebratory dance.

“In legal terms, you just kidnapped me. You’ve kidnapped me, Cheng Xiaoshi.” You say in a dramatic voice, flailing your arms at him. “Do you realize I left my jacket in class? I’m so underdressed for this.”

Xiaoshi takes a good look at you. Scans you up and down. Then frantic, he gingerly throws his jean jacket off and ties it around his waist, rushing to escape the warm binds of his sweater. The bottom hem of his uniform lifts as he tries to get his sweater off and you pull on it, laughing when you hear a muffled thanks through his multiple layers of clothes.

Finally, he’s rid of his green sweater— it's the type of green you like, and he very well knows that— and hands it to you with a toothy grin.

Like a puppy… You think when he seems to shake like a wagging tail.

“Thank you.” Is the only thing you can say as you accept the sweater. As you bow to put it on, you’re completely engulfed in his scent. He smells warm and earthy. Like fresh blades of grass after a light rain. He smells like the sun shines– not too hot, but warm enough for a good rest under the rays of light.

There’s a hint of AXE body spray, too. A very subtle hint of it.

The feeling of personally wearing a sweater that belongs to Cheng Xiaoshi is frankly… surreal to you. The sleeves are too long for you and you bunch the extra bit of it up until it reaches the palm of your hands, breathing into them for extra warmth.

Though he’s not wearing a jacket, Xiaoshi thinks seeing you in his sweater is enough to heat him up. There’s a shiver that descends from the top of his head down his spine and he thinks he likes it– or maybe it's the cold finally getting to him.

As he throws his jean jacket back on, Xiaoshi bumps his hip into yours, “Where do you want to go now, you class-skipping menace?”

You take no time to ponder:

“We’re going to have burritos. All the burritos.”

“So many burritos.”

It’s odd how warm you suddenly feel as soon as you take the first bite into your burrito. Maybe because it’s freshly made because they just opened, maybe it’s because Xiaoshi insisted on paying for it when you realized you left your wallet in class.

You frankly left everything in there, save for yourself and your phone.

Xiaoshi hums when he finally gets a taste of his burrito, wiping at the sauce that spilled on the corner of his lips with the back of his hand. After swallowing your bite, you nod at him with a knowing, smug smirk.

“Good, huh?”

The boy nods eagerly in response, which humors you a little. You pull the thick sleeves of Xiaoshi’s sweater up to your elbows so as to not get it dirty or spilled on, but it’s evident that you’re growing cold without the extra layer (and the pits of your elbows start to sweat a little too much). Xiaoshi, noticing the thoughtful gesture, assures you to keep your forearms covered with a full mouth.

“But I’m gonna get ‘em dirty!”

“It’sh foine!” He says through the several ingredients of his burrito (which consists of: a flour tortilla, beef, baked beans and several veggies).

“Are you shore?” You mimic him, pulling your sleeves down. Despite his eyes rolling at your antics, Xiaoshi sets his food down to help you with it, the warmth of his fingers alone radiating off of your skin that he begins to help cover.

Your stomach churns as you look down at the action. His gentle fingers help unbunch the material of his sweater and they wrap around your wrist for the second time today, his thumb rubbing across the bottom of your palm.

Chest wavering, your eyes cast up and they unexpectedly meet Xiaoshi’s (though he was staring at you the whole time). There’s a moment– he gives you a moment to make up something to say to him in return– but he’s really expecting a quiet, shy thank you and a full-blown confession. “Thanksh.” You say, cracking into a smile when he groans.

“You won’t let that live down?”

“You didn’t in the summer.”

Xiaoshi ignores your response with a pout, his hands fishing for his burrito and grabbing hold of it to take another dangerously obnoxious bite into it. Boy likes his beef and baked beans.

 You watch him, watch as more and more crumbs build up onto his chin until he wipes it off with a napkin and shoots it at an absurdly small trash can that sits a few feet away from you two, laughing at him when it hits the rim and misses.

“I’m bored.” You mention out of the blue when you’re finished with your burrito, crumpling the thin paper you’d used to hold your burrito with and used tissues into a big ball, handing it to Xiaoshi when he asks to have another shot into the bin. He misses.

“How the hell am I on the basketball team,” he laughs. You freeze, fingers playing with the plastic fork you were given as you ask: “you’re in the basketball team?”

“Hell yeah, I am.” Answers Xiaoshi with pride. And then a realization hits you. You’ve known Cheng Xiaoshi for nearly half a year and you barely know anything about him aside from the fact that he’s a big (maybe the biggest) goofball and he’s purely a golden retriever.

“Let’s play 21 questions.”

“All of a sudden?” He hums, swiping his hair up away from his forehead. Your head spins a little at how charming the action alone had made him. “Mhm. I barely know anything about you, and I doubt you know me more than I know you. So,”

“What I’m getting here,” Xiaoshi pauses, his face leaning closer to yours as he plants his elbow against the table. He wears a boyish smile and it makes your head buzz. “You wanna get to know me better, huh?”

“Exactly.” You say in a whisper, the ends of your fingers tingling when his smile grows at your response alone.

“Alright, I’ll go first: what’s your shoe size?”

You can’t help but let out a loud chuckle, “You’re so weird!”

“21 questions are 21 questions! Answer me.” Defends Xiaoshi, though he’s laughing with you.

“Alright, I’m like a decent size 40.”

“Only? I’m like, 43. I win.”

You’re about to comment on the fact that Xiaoshi just considered comparing shoe sizes for competition, but you don’t think you want to when he tells you not to be sour in a coo, patting your arm. He teases you in a sweet way, and you know he means no ill intent.

“Opinion on pineapple on pizza?”

“I’m neutral.” You shrug. Nodding, Xiaoshi wears a contemplating look, “I, for one, am all for it. You can never go bad with sweet and savory. In my opinion,” He pauses to press a hand against his chest. “I think they make a great pair. Soulmates, even.”

“Oh, yeah?” You hum. “That’s an interesting way to think of it. Between the two of us, who would you think is the sweet and who’s the savory?”

Oh. Xiaoshi looks at you, a light in his eyes as he wonders. You think he’s pondering for the answer, but he’s already got that figured out. You were the sweet to his savory. What he really was wondering was: were you regarding him as your soulmate when you asked that? He can’t tell. You’d said it in such a naive, innocent, genuine tone that makes him fold.

“You,” He starts, tapping his heel against the pavement of the street floor. “are a sweet cutie patootie sugar booger honey bun-”

“Oh my god, shut up.” You laugh loudly, leaning over to lightly press your hand against the direct front of his face that he teases nearer you. “Your turn, savory.”

“It’s your turn, sweets. Don’t you know how taking turns works?” Jests Xiaoshi, his cheek still pressed against your outstretched hand. You shake your head, "I took it already– I just asked you which of us were sweet and savory– don't you know how questions work?"

“Very well,” He replies, removing his face from your taunting grasp. “Favorite Pringles flavor?”

“Sour cream and onion.”

“I thought you were sweet,”

You roll your eyes, ignoring his quip, “Go-to takeout?”

“Pizza. And boba. Favorite movie?”

“It has to be any of Wes Anderson’s movies. Oh wait! Ghibli, too,” You nod your head momentarily. “You?”

“Say Something for sure. A classic.” Answers Xiaoshi with his whole chest, nodding with a proud smile. You stay quiet, lips thinned and fingers retreating to play with the sleeve of his sweater. It takes the boy a moment to fully digest the look you wear: one of a little embarrassment and guilt.

“No.” He gasps. “You’ve never watched Say Something?” There’s a shock and what sounds to you a small bit of hurt (feigned, of course). Wordless, you answer with a shake of your head. He presses the back of his palm against his forehead, faking a faint as he falls back against his chair.

“You’ve wounded me, Y/N. Look at me, a dead man!” You scoff, nudging his knee with yours under the table, and it sends a little electricity through him. “Stop being so dramatic! You’ll get over it.”

“Anyways, what’s the daily agenda of the oh-so-popular golden boy, hm?” You ask. Xiaoshi, still slouched back into his chair, gives you a questioning look, “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you have a lot of friends. A lot of friends mean a lot of plans. A lot of basketball games, a lot of karaoke runs, a lot of parties. Am I right?”

The look the boy gives you says you’re absolutely wrong. He stays silent for a moment, spending his time to think as he watches your expression fall from a smile to one of a lost thought. “I don’t have a lot of friends, Y/N,” He admits. “I just know a lot of people. I don’t take anyone out to a food truck burrito run.”

Your stomach caves in at the way he regards you. Or rather, the fact that he emphasized the fact that he treated you differently.

“And I don’t party. Well- okay, I’ve been to a few, but it’s not my type of genre, you feel me?” Xiaoshi’s hands press together and he looks at you a certain way as if waiting for your verdict.

“Oh.” Is all you can say. You’re surprised. But something in you tells you that you shouldn’t be, because he’s literally eating burritos with you right now. Why on earth would he hang out with you if he had other friends to spend time with?

“You seem disappointed.” He deadpans. Immediately, you shake your hands and head at him, denying fervently. “No, no, no, not like that! It just seemed like you were a big party person.” You confess with a certain tone in your voice, one of slight remorse. “It’s… surprising you’d hang out with me, actually. But it’s nice of you to. I like spending time with you.”

You bloom a certain warmth in Xiaoshi’s chest. It swirls and spirals, accumulating enough to just burst out of his abdomen. He feels as if he’s about to float. All the fall cold that had been itching its way past his layers and onto his skin had just melted away merely by the heat he radiated after hearing you say that you’d enjoyed spending time with him. He feels like he could fly and fall at the same time, but he thinks he prefers falling if you’re there to catch him in the end.

Oh. This is bad. This is really, really bad. Here, in the cold hour of 3.27 PM, on a table that you’d just shared burritos with, the realization that Cheng Xiaoshi had fallen in love with you just hit him.

Though, it doesn’t really seem bad anymore. Falling in love in front of a food truck could be romantic, right? It doesn’t really matter to him. Not when his mouth parts, voice lumped and stuck in his throat as he attempts to tell you how sudden and how hard you’d just made him fall in love with you. He wants to tell you in the form of words; in the form of touch; in the form of mingling breaths and intertwined fingers; in the form of his palm pressed against the skin of your jaw, drawing you closer as his whispers fan the lobe of your ear.

But, no. All that comes out is a quiet, shaky:

“I like spending time with you. Too.”

You wear a smile. Then you give him a small, but bashful and shy laugh. He thinks he might die at the sight. Cheng Xiaoshi wants nothing in the world right now but to hold you in his arms– or be held in your arms. Either way, as long as his skin is pressed against yours, he’s all for it. He wants you to run your fingers through his hair, for his head to rest on the soft flesh of your thighs or arms or frankly any limb you’d be willing to offer to him because god your touch looks just too good to waste.

But he knows he can’t. Not now. Not when you’re telling him to ask you a question and when he does, it’s a dumb, shallow, vague one that you answer with heart and mind anyway because you care about this game. You care about getting to know him. That’s what makes you worth every bit of love this universe has to offer, he thinks.

“That’s enough,” You groan, staring into a street light– which you really shouldn’t, because it’s illuminating light shines and blinds directly into your eyes, and you groan everytime that happens.

“One more,” Pants Xiaoshi, picking up the round and faded basketball, dribbling it past the 3-point indicator line. He repositions himself, his knees bending just slightly as he adjusts his aim. With a jump, he stretches his arms out, the ball flying out of his hand and traveling right through the center of the ring.

Xiaoshi sings a little ‘whoop!’ as he jogs over to you.

You’re laid out on the court floor, bored out of your mind as you start staring straight at the streetlight just to feel a little entertained. You fiddle with the boy’s bottle in both your hands, and he lends down to pick it out of your hands, sounding a thank you, though you don’t respond.

Xiaoshi sits by your feet, tilting his head at your lack of response. “Sweets? You good?”

That damned nickname. Ever since he’d forced you to bail and went to get burritos with you, it was all he ever called you. Not like you’re complaining, but how could he frankly expect you to return a verbal, sane response after what’s practically a couple’s pet name?

But you do respond, of course, throwing a thumbs up his way as you nudge him with your shoe.

“You know,” Xiaoshi starts, setting his bottle down to lay down next to you. This doesn’t help your case at all, your body tingling when his hand brushes against yours during the action. “You can just go home. You don’t have to stay with me while I practice.”

“Nuh-uh,” You reply, shaking a finger at him. “I’m like, officially your number one fan. Who else would be your fanclub president if not me?”

“I’m just saying, a fan doesn’t spend hours with their idols. They always say: ‘never meet your idols.’” Xiaoshi shrugs, and you can feel his arm brushing up against your uniform. It makes you nervous. Nevertheless, you face him, stomach churning when he mimics you, your noses nearly touching at the close proximity.

“You’re not so bad to meet.”

Xiaoshi doesn’t think you know just how crazy you make him feel. His heart beats faster and more rapidly than when he was shooting hoops and doing drills. He lets a moment pass by, the air settling as he counts how many times he can feel your breath brush his chin.

“Neither are you.”

You smile. He can see your teeth a little. Your cheeks puff out and your lips stretch in a nice way that makes him want to kiss you until you can’t breathe.

But he can’t do that.

Not when you’re sitting up and patting his thigh and urging him to walk you home. Not when you hand him his bottle and brush the dirt off his sweater that you still haven’t returned (but he doesn’t mind because it just means in the ultimate time you do, it’ll smell like you). Not when he carries both your backpacks and pats a beat against yours that he has pressed to his chest.

But he really wants to, though.

There’s a little bounce in your step as you walk a few feet ahead of him, cooing at how much faster at walking you are than a basketball player, but he’s really just staying behind because he likes watching you walk.

Suddenly, there’s a lump in his throat. He attempts to swallow it down. It doesn’t work. He wonders what it is, but he doesn’t think he cares because you rub your hands together with the sleeves of his hoodie and he likes the sight of it. But whatever it is, it’s bubbling and rising and it tastes weird in the back of his mouth.

Suddenly it spills out. The words spill out.

You’d stopped in your tracks, turning around slowly at him with a shocked expression.

Shit! What had he said?

“What?” It seems you don’t know either, because you tilt your head at him (and he thinks it's adorable) and ask him to repeat what he’d said. Xiaoshi shakes his head, “Wait, I blanked out. What did I say?” 

“You screamed something along the lines of ‘date and say something.’”

Oh shit. Cheng Xiaoshi had asked you out on a date unconsciously.

“Oh, there’s, uh, a showing of Say Something in the local theater. They like to rerun old films. No one really goes there, anymore, so we don’t have to if you don’t want to-”

“No!” You suddenly yell, and for some reason, you both jump. “I’d really, really like to see Say Something with you. Y’know, since you were so hurt by the fact that I haven’t watched it.”

There it is again. The blooming in his chest. It’s crazy he hasn’t fallen into a cardiac arrest yet. You smile at him, and he finds it contagious, smiling back even harder. You tell him something about you having to hurry home and telling him to hurry, and he does. He runs with you, the two backpacks that had just weighed him down now feeling weightless as they bounce against his back and chest because he’s jogging down a hill towards your house.

iv. unsaid.

Cheng Xiaoshi is dressed in his best pair of jeans and his favorite bomber jacket layered with a sweater underneath– he hopes you aren’t wearing anything thick enough so he could lend this one to you too, as stupid as the idea is.

He spends a solid five minutes in front of the mirror, telling himself many things:

“You got this.”

“Don’t screw up.”

“Act cool.”

“Do not screw it up.”

He takes one last good look at himself, huffing as he smooths the collar of his sweater, unable to rest at the thought of spending a night alone with you in what will most likely be a deserted theater. Nothing to screw up there.

Grabbing the house keys– because both Qiao Ling and Lu Guang had better plans to do rather than stay at home and help Xiaoshi get ready after he begged the both of them to– and stuffing them into the pocket of his bomber jacket, he repeats the three crucial words to himself over and over: “Don’t screw up.”

There’s not one thought running through his mind that’s not about you as he twists at the doorknob, mindlessly stepping out and turning around to lock the front door. Completely disregarding the fact that his teammates are pulled up in a red camaro in front of his house, Xiaoshi doesn’t think twice about immediately turning to the direction of the theater.

“Hey, Cheng Xiaoshi!”

Shocked, the said boy’s shoulders shrug up as he turns around, feet almost stumbling against the small bit of ice that had frozen on the pavement overnight. “Oh- hey! What are you doing here?”

“Giving you a ride to Hu’s, what else?”

Oh shit. Cheng Xiaoshi had completely forgotten about the pregame party he’d been invited to. Of course, he had no intention to go. But his teammates are stubborn, too stubborn.

“Sorry, guys, I can’t make it tonight.” Replies Xiaoshi, trying his best to sound guilty. One of them tilts his head, looks him up and down and asks: “Where else are you going, dressed like that?”

“I’ve… got a date.”

“Ah, come on!” His teammate scoffs, waving his hand in the air. “You can’t win yourself plenty of dates at the party. What’s one?”

One is with you. He can’t really afford to miss it, not for the world. Xiaoshi shrugs, turning around as he tells them: “Sorry, I can’t just stand someone up like that.”

“How do you know they’re not at the party? Can’t you just invite them there, whoever you’re going out with?”

Jesus. It’s not that easy, is it? Xiaoshi isn’t the golden boy they make him out to be. Their Xiaoshi was hand crafted and molded by their standards of a tall, charming basketball player that had many admirers. A porcelain that’s hollow inside. Hollow and filled with echoes of what they claim him to be. A player, a charmer, and MVP.

Almost all his life, Xiaoshi had been living to fit what everyone wants and expects him to be. And though he really, really wants to break through that porcelain and completely deny what they demand, he doesn’t think he has the strength to do that. Not even now, as his mind races with thoughts about you: how you look waiting for him in front of the theater, how you smell of cinnamon and gingerbread because you’d been making cookies with your mother at home, how warm you feel as you sit next to him, your arm pressed up against his. 

Xiaoshi can hear his teammates begging him to come, and he absolutely despises it. Despises how his chest aches with guilt because his friends just want him to have fun with them.

He turns around, gives them a serious, pointed look, “Ten minutes, and then you drive me to the theater. Got it?”

“Got it! You’re the best, Cheng Xiaoshi!”

The tip of your nose is numb and you rub it in hopes that its sense will return. The theater is open and its warmth lures you in to welcome you, but you don’t want to enter before meeting with Xiaoshi.

You bring the collar of the hoodie you wear up to your chin, closing your eyes shut as if it’d help. It doesn’t. Taking out your phone from your pocket, on its screen projects the fact that Xiaoshi is ten minutes late. Your stomach drops, but you scold yourself for it, refusing to think lowly of Xiaoshi.

He’s going to show up any second now, sweating although it’s extremely cold out, nearly slipping on ice as he spits a spew of feverish apologies, cheeks dusted pink because of the cold. And you’re going to lean up, swipe a few snowflakes out of his hair and reassure him that you hadn’t been waiting too long. He’s going to lead you inside, take you by the arm and sit you right next to him in the warm seats of the theater, and whisper a few words in your ear; something along the lines of “you’ll love this movie, I promise you” or “you’re going to see what I was dying about, sweets.”

And he’s going to call you that name. That god-forbidden name that shouldn’t make you absolutely melt into an icky, thick puddle because it’s generic and commonly used in western movies. But it does. He does. Cheng Xiaoshi makes you melt as if you’re stuck in the summer, when you first met him, the electricity he sent when he’d handed you your book and your fingers brushed still humming through your fingers until now.

But he doesn’t.

You wait another ten minutes, then twenty, then thirty. A solid hour had passed and you’re still left outside in the cold, shaking and jittering as you constantly check your phone for any sign of him.

The old janitor had spotted you and called you to enter many times, but every time you informed him: “I’m waiting for someone.”

And he responds: “I hope this someone is worth waiting in the cold for.”

And typically, you’d completely agree with the statement. But now, as nearly all your limbs are frozen from either the cold or from standing for a solid hour, you don’t think you can agree with it. Not when your hopes had been so incredibly high. Not when you’d spent the whole day getting ready both mentally and physically. Not when your mother kissed the crown of your head and reassured you of the fact that this night was going to be as warm and as welcoming and as safe as it was in every other season.

No. The cold bites at your skin and you grow bitter and tired and cold.

“You promised me you would drive me to the theater.”

“Do I look like I’m in the condition to drive?”

Xiaoshi wants to punch this guy. Square in the jaw, or nose, or frankly anywhere. With the way he’s slurring his words and swinging his drink around in his hand makes himself practically a target with a big red circle in his face. But he knows better. Especially when he knows something as worth it as you awaits for him later.

“Okay,” Replies Xiaoshi, holding back the urge to roll his eyes as he sets his friend down on the couch. “You take it easy, alright cap? I gotta head out.”

“What? No! If this is about your stupid date, I swear to god we can find you one here that’s probably better than wherever you originally planned to be tonight.”

Okay, this guy was really testing his limits. Xiaoshi’s hands fist at his sides and he gives him a look, a dangerous one that no one had ever seen him wear. After a moment of contemplation, his teammate finally groans, waving with his hand, “Fine, bye. Go have fun on that super fun date.”

Xiaoshi doesn’t spare anyone one second to greet them goodbye, he grabs his bomber jacket that had been hung up on a coat hanger and immediately sprints out of the house, nearly tripping over the ice and the snow because Hu hadn’t shoveled his damn driveway and he can barely see because the sun had already disappeared.

“Shit, shit, shit.” The one thing Xiaoshi had to do was to not screw it up. What had happened? He screwed it up, because he’s such a damn people pleaser he can’t make one decision for himself.

The theater is a solid half an hour away on foot from Hu’s, but Xiaoshi made it in 10. His stomach drops and his head spins when he suddenly stops to a halt, his heels skidding against the ice against the pavement. You’re not here. You don’t stand in front of the theater like he’d imagined, and he thinks he wants to scream.

He rushes inside, breathless, searching frantically everywhere and calling out your name.

“If yer the fella that lovely one’s been waitin’ for,” An elderly suddenly speaks, his voice seemingly echoing and ricocheting against the walls of the theater, though it was built to be soundproof. “They’ve just gone. Probably still a block or two away.”

Xiaoshi mutters a quick thank you and wastes absolutely no time in sprinting, nearly falling to his knees when he takes a sharp turn to the left. And there you were, walking with a sullen face underneath a streetlamp.

This part of town was one of the first sections to be built, so many of the antique streetlights are either too dim to see, or have completely died. But the one you stand under illuminates brightly, showing your breath dissipating in the air as you heave a sigh.

His feet act before he thinks. He runs through the snow, the crunch against ice alerting you when he’s nearly a few feet away from you. You don’t want to look. Not when there are tears brimming your eyes.

“Y/N, I’m-” Xiaoshi is completely winded– not because he’d just sprinted nearly across town, but because he can see he had clearly hurt you. He can’t tell how long you’d been waiting for him, but considering the sour look you give him, he assumes you’d been waiting a long time, and he aches inside.

“I’m sorry.”

That’s all he can say. All that he’s willing to say. He’s afraid that if he let out any more, it’d escalate and he’d be going on and on about how deep in love he is with you and how much remorse in him there is right now and how much self poison is boiling in his stomach, bubbling and popping nearly out of his throat.

You look at him dead in the eye. Though he’d made you wait all that time, you don’t think you can look at him as if he had done you wrong. You look at him as if you try to understand him and what he’s going through– because you want to. You want to look at him like you hate him, and you want to say it too, but you can’t help but do the opposite.

“I love you, Cheng Xiaoshi.” You let out, and the boy twitches, as if you’d snapped something in him. But he’s still wordless, and you think you hate that.

“I love you, like a lot. And I’m not going to let one mishap get in the way of our friendship over these months. But waiting for you, out there, in the cold and in the snow, I felt embarrassed. Like I was throwing away my time– and maybe I was.” Tears flow down from the rims of your eyes and trail down your cheeks. Though it’s nearly a negative temperature out, your tears are hot against your skin. They’re hot and boiling and filled with both love and hatred.

Suddenly, you step forward and hit him in the chest. He lets you. You do it again, a sound escaping you. “Where were you? You better tell me the damn truth.” You spit.

“I was at a party.” Answers Xiaoshi with no hesitation. It just came out. He wants to explain about how his asshole teammates that he can’t believe he’d called his friends forced him into coming and refused to let him go anywhere else, but his body doesn’t let him.

You let out a laugh, one of disbelief. “You are the school’s golden boy, aren’t you? You are every little stereotype they call you. You’re charming, you’re handsome. You’re friendly.” You pause, letting out a shaky breath. “You’re a liar.”

“No,” Whispers Xiaoshi, though strained. You shake your head at him. “You’re a liar and a thief.” He’d stolen your heart, afterall, “You’re the golden boy. And I hate that I’ve learned to love every part of you, even the ones that hurt me.”

You want to turn around a walk away, but a part of you forces you to stay. Forces you to look him in the eye, forces a little bit of hope into your chest as he looks back at you. His mouth parts, and something in you jumps.

"I'm... sorry."

You don't know what he's sorry for: leaving you to wait for him in the snow for an hour, or you loving him. You don't want to find out, nodding as you bite the flesh on the inside of your cheek, resisting the tears that urge to fall from your eyes.

You’re walking away now. He hadn’t fully processed it, but as you're walking away, he can make out the crunch of the snow under your feet, and the sounds of your sniffles traveling away, further and further. His fingers twitch.

He screwed up. He always screws up. 

But he can’t believe he’d screwed up in telling you how much he loved you. How much he’d wanted to reach out and caress you, whisper apologies in his ear in every form he has to offer. How much he was willing to bet he loved you more than anyone could love him.

Cheng Xiaoshi is always one to leave things unsaid, because in most cases it’s better if he does. But he’s become so conditioned to it that in times like this, his body is not his own anymore, and what he wants to say doesn’t come out, and what he wants to do doesn’t happen.

He can still see your silhouette under another streetlight shining, or maybe it’s just a light that follows you. And as much as he hated it, Xiaoshi had noticed that even when you beat at his chest, crying and overflowing with tears, you still felt warm. He doesn’t think he deserves to feel that warmth anymore.

v. winner, winner, chicken dinner!

You don’t know what you’re doing. Legs pressed up against your chest, you bite at your nails as your free hand hovers over the spacebar key of your laptop. The opening scene of the wretched movie ‘Say Something’ is projected across your screen and you fully intend on watching it, as much as it hurts you. A film or a memory to hold on to because Cheng Xiaoshi will not be wanting to see you anymore.

And as the film introduces its main character, Lloyd Dobler, you hate the fact that he reminds you so much of him. Just a big and strong guy that doesn’t stop chasing this girl that he likes– though you don’t think you could play the role of Diane. Not in this story.

Cheng Xiaoshi is like Lloyd Dobler in many ways. He’s not the brightest, but he’s loyal. He loves his family. He can’t keep still. In some cases, you even think he can box, too. He’s supportive of those he keeps close to him. He’d rather live in the moment, and can barely think about the future without letting his mouth run about what he thinks of his future.

And you hate that you know all this, because you still love him. You know you shouldn’t, because he practically rejected you with that last apology, but god, was it hard to hate someone like him.

He’s the golden boy. Shiny and untouchable.

You’re honestly surprised you let your feelings brew this much before realizing that he is untouchable. And it’ll always remain that way.

You’ve reached the part of the movie where Diane and Lloyd kiss after she’d led him to nearly break his nose, whispering apologies and reasons why she loves him and needs him. You ache inside. Bitter, you huff and close your laptop shut (a little too harshly) and bury your face into the covers of your bed, wanting nothing but to scream. And you do, and it creates this wet spot on your pillow but you’re too miserable to feel disgusted and wipe it away.

As much as Xiaoshi reminded you of Lloyd, he was Diane in this situation. He’d hurt you and left you to fend for yourself.

It is officially spring and a solid week before Xiaoshi plays against what might be the nation’s best high school basketball team, and he’s worried completely about something else. His arms stretch up and he shoots the firm basketball out of his palms, grimacing when it all but just bounces off the rim of the ring.

Shit.

This is not good. Why the hell was he here, anyway? He should be jogging to your house, knocking on every crevice because you’d refuse to open the front door for him. He should be climbing up to your window, looking at you with desperate eyes and tell you how much he loves you and how much he doesn’t deserve to be loved by you.

As it happens, he doesn’t believe you in fact love him. Not as much as he adores you, at least, because he finds himself utterly unlovable yet that’s the one thing he asks of you. To be loved, to be held, to be comforted and appreciated.

Xiaoshi can’t make his mind up and he’s extremely furious at himself for it. This is no love or hate situation, but he can’t help the latter. The hate. Not towards you, but towards himself. There’s no way in this world anyone could convince him he could be loved as much as he loved– and yet, you did. You convinced him one winter night, where the first snowfall had happened.

Something so sweet and innocent, ruined by tragedy and his stupidity.

“Hey.” Xiaoshi is startled out of his inattentive state with a firm hand smacked to his shoulder. “You alright, man? You aren’t looking good these days.” Though his teammate voices clear concern, it’s obvious he only cares because of an upcoming game that Xiaoshi really needs his head in the game for.

“I’m good,” Answers Xiaoshi, brushing his hand off with a hollow smile. “Just bad sleep.”

Bad sleep, his ass. Bad sleep, anyone's ass! He couldn’t get a wink of sleep because he’s always up thinking about you, about what he should have said to you on that winter night.

Cheng Xiaoshi’s chest beats erratically in his chest, and he can’t tell if it's pre-game shivers or the fact that you’re sitting on a bleacher next to Lu Guang and Qiao Ling, clad in the sweater you still haven’t returned since autumn. He hadn’t seen or talked to you since the day he tried to apologize. He was convinced you’d hate his guts– but here you were. He knows you’re not the type of person to hold an argument like that to heart, but you’d still avoided him the whole half month he tried to reach out to you in the halls or through your number.

Frankly, you don’t even know why you’re here, either. Xiaoshi had rejected you (though he really doesn’t realize you think so): shouldn’t that be enough of a hint for you to back off?

“There he is,” Qiao Ling mentions as the basketball team makes their way onto the court. As you turn to watch said team, Xiaoshi’s eyes meet yours for a brief second, and you can clearly read the surprise in them, but ignore it with thinned lips as you tear your gaze from him, electing that striking up a conversation with Lu Guang would ease the harsh thumping against your chest.

“I don’t get it; why didn’t you join the team?” You ask Lu Guang, his lowly-lidded eyes examining the opposing team. “Sure, I’m good,” He says, blunt. “But I play purely for fun. Plus, I don’t like getting too sweaty.”

“Please, don’t you know how many more people would fawn over you if they knew you were smart and skilled in sports?”

“I am not skilled in sports. Plus, that’s just more of a reason for me not to join. I don’t like people.”

Wow. A very Lu Guang thing to say coming from the boy himself.

“Aren’t they the team that made it to nationals last year?” Gasps Qiao Ling as she swings an arm around your shoulder, urging you to look with her. With your shoulder pressed against hers, you do in fact recognize the logo and jerseys from the sports channel you’d distinctly watched last year– your classmate had made you watch it with him.

Qiao Ling mutters a small, quiet curse under her breath, “You think he can beat them?”

Without a beat or a second of hesitation, you answer firmly: “Yeah.”

The older girl turns and gives you a look, and you roll your eyes at her, “I’ve seen the boy play. Surely you have, too,”

“Yeah, but, you answered in like, a heartbeat.”

“He’s like, a basketball god, Qiao Ling. He’s not the golden boy for no reason.”

You hate the fact that you admit it, even though you’ve said it nearly a million times before. Qiao Ling is about to say something, but the two, very bold, student commentators cut her sentence short with a brief introduction to the match and each team player.

Your mind blanks. You can hear cheering from both the students of your school and the opposing school. The commentators introduce their MVP first: Xiaoshi. He wears a shy smile as he jogs to the center of the court, bowing politely. You can’t help but smile a little at his bashful behavior. And for a moment, you think he looks at you. You can’t tell by the students’ waving arms in front of you nearly blocking your vision. But even if he did or not, your heart nearly pauses for a second, and your hearing becomes faded and warped– as if you were underwater. 

All you can hear now is your slow breathing, your heartbeat; all you can feel is the warmth you relish in as you wear his sweater, even though it’s spring and unnecessary.

And then he takes a look at the other side of the bleachers, smiling brightly when his friends from sociology cheer his name like fanboys.

Qiao Ling comments something about the biggest player on the opposing team and you nod, though you didn’t really fully comprehend what she’d said.

Xiaoshi is completely short of breath and he hadn’t even started playing. He tries to convince himself it’s because nearly the whole crowd had cheered him on, but he knows better. The one fleeting second he had stolen just to look at you left him dazed and he doesn’t think he can play if you’re going to be looking at him like that the whole time.

Standing in the center, the match begins with a loudd whistle from the referee, andd suddenly everything around him is moving rapidly. The muscles of his legs force him to move and suddenly he’s jogging past an opponent, his arm stretching out and waving for the ball.

Every part of his body that functions right now is running off of pure adrenaline and muscle memory, his mind still in a fuzzy haze that clears slowly. He suddenly feels the rough edge of the ball in his hand. His fingers trace and grip along the leather material of the basketball, and in pure instinct, his knees bend low and his hands dribble the ball like it was as easy as breathing.

Swift and nearly too quick to miss, Xiaoshi races across the court with the ball bouncing in his hand, and he runs up to the ring, jumping and scoring a point for his team with a right hand layup.

The crowd screams. The haze that had clouded Xiaoshi’s mind fades and clears, and with a bright, toothy grin, he turns immediately to your side of the bleachers, meeting eyes with you. 

You, who’s stunned and hands cover your mouth because the whole thing had happened so fast and so early within the game. You, who doesn’t look away this time, but instead cups your hands around your mouth as you shout: “Go, Cheng Xiaoshi!” You, who can’t help but let out a joyous laugh when he throws two thumbs up in the air, winking. The crowd goes wild over the sight, chanting his name over and over.

For the remainder of the match, Xiaoshi scores and scores and scores, and everytime he spins to look at you. And when you cheer for him, he feels like the energy he had just exerted throughout the game was recharged and even doubled. You look at him with a toothy grin, throwing a thumb-up at him, and he literally thinks the whole world revolves around him and the fact that you just gave him one.

There’s one last minute left of the game. The entire gymnasium is quiet, save for the players’ quick pants and sneakers squeaking under the polished wood. Your breath is bated, and you don’t know whether to watch the ball, the opponents, or Xiaoshi. The ball flies from one teammate’s grasp to another and every time it does

 your fingers stretch and flinch a little and even muscle and bone in your body pauses. It’s frankly killing you.

The ball travels between at least every player on the team, until it eventually falls into the hands of Cheng Xiaoshi.

With 10 seconds to his name, the boy aims, his breath cutting short in his throat, his knees bending naturally as he prepares himself to shoot. And then his fingers flex, and the ball flies out of his hands, traveling gracefully yet painstakingly in the air. It bounces against the rim once. Then twice.

You think it’s going to bounce again one more time, but you’re wrong because Lu Guang exhales just a split second the orange leathery ball rolls through the ring. He’d known. He could tell already.

You’re shocked.

But you don’t have time to be, because after at least 5 seconds worth of silence, the entire gymnasium erupts in cheers and everyone around you is standing up, save for Lu Guang who wears a rare smile.

Qiao Ling grabs onto your arm and shakes it, jumping with her eyes shut as she yells: “Holy shit- we won!”

Holy shit. They won. We won. He won.

Grabbing onto her two hands with your own, you jump up and down with her, at some point grabbing onto Lu Guang’s hand and nearly forcing him to bounce with the both of you.

Xiaoshi, from below, watches as the three of you celebrate, his face warming when he sees you mouth the words: “Oh my god” over and over again. Although the entire team and nearly the entire student body that had come to watch rushed down to him, he had zero intentions with anyone else. All he wanted to do right now was be with you, letting you hold his hand as you tell him how crazy his last shot had been.

But he can’t, because his legs turn jelly and the adrenaline that had been piloting him the whole time is suddenly shut off. The team captain swings his arm around Xiaoshi’s shoulders, yelling, “To our MVP!” But everything feels and sounds warped to the said boy.

“Don’t miss out on the post-game party!”

Great, thinks Xiaoshi. Another party to get mad at my friends at. Though, he’s convinced even you might be there, so he might just go.

“Post-game party?” You repeat, turning to both your friends. “Are you guys going?”

“Obviously not.”

“Yeah, I am.”

Lu Guang and Qiao Ling both give each other looks due to the difference in answers, and it almost cracks you up. The girl turns to you, her expression hopeful, but you almost immediately shake your head at her, “Sorry, you know I’m not a party person.”

“But come for me!”

“I already attended this game for you!”

“Okay, fair,” Hums Qiao Ling, her finger tapping against her cheek before she sighs with a click of her tongue. “Fine, have fun, you cozy homebodies!”

“We will.” Answers Lu Guang as you both watch her walk away with a friend that had called her over. The boy turns to you, “You,” he plants his hand to your shoulder, and you almost shiver. You’d never seen this look on his face. It almost seems… conflicted. “You’d better make things right with Xiaoshi. Please. He keeps whining about trying to think of ways to make it up to you.”

“To make it up to me? I’m in the wrong here, am I not?”

“You think so?” Lu Guang’s voice is graced with slight sarcasm, and you think you like it that way. You nod, “Yeah, I’m pretty sure.”

“...this is a conversation you should be having with Xiaoshi.”

After sending you an encouraging squeeze to the shoulder and a gentle , tight-lipped smile, Lu Guang descends from the bleachers, swiping through the crowd almost too easily. You watch him, chest growing heavier yet lighter at the same time at the mere thought of talking to Xiaoshi again after months of avoiding each other and exams and basketball.

You don’t think you can bear it, frankly, but you feel like it’s a tide. It’s slow but inevitable. As you step down from the bleachers, you look back at the center of the court, where the basketball team has a brief talk with the coach, and through the many figures of his teammates, Xiaoshi still somehow meets eyes with you, his shining in something you can’t figure out yet.

You let yourself linger, counting as your heart skips a beat or two, before tearing away, heaving a sigh you hadn’t meant to hold in.

Xiaoshi’s knee jumps up and down as he can barely watch you exit the court hall, holding back a whine because his coach is taking too long in debriefing and congratulating. He wipes at his browline, looking to the ceiling lights and squinting, attempting to ease the eagerness in him to just run after you.

And then he realizes: he’d been resisting to this whole half semester, why should he now? He’s earned it.

“And don’t forget your defense transitio-”

“Hey, coach?”

Xiaoshi interjects with a finger stuck up in the air, pulling his hair back with his other palm. His teacher, a little stunned, replies with a quiet ‘yes?’ and it takes nearly everything in the boy not to jump up from his spot on the polished floors.

“I need to go to the bathroom. Like, really, really bad.”

“...right now?”

“Yes, right now. I can’t hold it in, teach,”

Well, that’s half true. The coach looks at him, slightly humored as he waves a sign of permission with the back of his palm.

Immediately, he springs up to his feet, wasting no time in sprinting straight through the door and narrowly passing students taking their time in the hall.

Xiaoshi never realized how fast you walked, because within that minute of holding back in the court, you’d made it to the gates by the time he spotted you. The place is strangely deserted, but that’s probably because everyone is taking the way behind the school to get to the post-game party in the woods. Your hands are jammed into the pouch of his hoodie and you watch your feet as you move, and anyone could tell there was something troubling you just by looking at you.

Your name is stuck in his throat. He wants to yell for you, call out to you and just grab and engulf you in his arms, but he doesn’t want to scare you. It’s 8PM and he knows how jumpy you get when you’re out at night.

Instead, he lightly jogs behind you, nimble fingers stretching out to just barely graze his hoodie you wear. Though he’d barely touched anything, you stop almost promptly, feet planted right next to each other as you listen to the sound of the soles of Xiaoshi’s shoes scraping to a stop against the pavement ground.

“...Y/N.”

The sound of your name escaping his lips makes you inhale sharply, and you’re hesitant to turn around. But you do anyway, because there’s a pulling force gravitating you towards him, like the moon and the earth. The first part of him you see are his pair of jordans, slightly worn out with a loose yarn by the tongue of the shoe. Then you spot his knees, taking notice of how they’re a little darker than the rest of his legs, littered by a scab or two. His fingers clench and unclench in fists, and his elbows nearly lift towards you, and you’d let full heartedly let him hug you– you think you want him to right now.

“Xiaoshi.” You finally breathe back, nearly everything in you shivering once you meet his gaze. He looks at you as if full of remorse and want, and it shakes something in you.

“I missed you, sweets.” He says, voice hoarse and quiet. You nearly erupt in butterflies or honey bees or whatever bug invades your stomach that he never fails to elicit in you. His fingers stretch and pause in the air for a brief moment, before they settle, your sleeve pinched between his grip. He tugs a little, just a little, and yet it feels as if that alone had brought everything pieced together– his words to you, your feelings for him, his breath fanning your forehead as he breathes out a sigh.

“I’m sorry, too.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry.” You say, but this time you look at him and you mean it and it hurts him. “I’m sorry I told you how I felt about you with no regard to how you would feel. And for calling you a liar. And a thief.” The last parts come out in a guilty whisper, like a child confessing to their wrongdoing. “You have every right to tell me to get out of your face– and your life– and to not want to speak to me ever again.”

The air is thick when you finish, but Xiaoshi doesn’t let go of your sleeve. In fact, you think he grips it tighter, now in all five fingers instead of just the two.

“Actually,” You cough. “Frankly, I’m a liar. I-I said I wasted my time waiting for you. But I was wrong. Actually, I can’t believe I ever said that. You are worth… everything. Everything this universe— and I have to offer. You give so much to this world, you’re changing lives! And nothing, and I mean nothing can ever amount to waste when it comes to you.” You look up at him, your fingers tracing around and holding his wrist.

“I’m sorry.” And though you’d already said it earlier, the sound of your voice and the look in your eyes portray the exact same kind of apology Xiaoshi had given you that night. “You are a thief, though,” You laugh through bitterness, the confused tilt of his head far too adorable for you to hate it. “You’re a dirty thief for stealing the stupid, little thing in my chest that beats only when you’re around.”

Xiaoshi’s head might just explode at the load you’d just chucked at him with your own bare fist. The feeling of your fingers loosely hanging around his wrist that grips at your hoodie prickles and gives him a small shockwave– the nice one you always give him when your skin touches his.

“...you really don’t expect me to take without giving back, do you?”

“Huh?”

Suddenly you’re wrapped in Xiaoshi’s firm grip, his arms gripping around your waist and his chin tucked right on top of the crown of your head. “You’re so stupid sometimes, Y/N.” He sighs, the vibrations of his chest as he speaks ricocheting through you like echoes.

“What is that supposed to mean?” You can’t help but argue into his clothed shoulder, drooping your arms around his chest. “That’s rich coming from Mr. 50 points on his last math quiz.”

Xiaoshi pinches your sides lightly at your quick retort and you jump with a gasp, smacking his shoulder when he laughs. His scent, his warmth, his touch. you’re so relieved to feel all again. He sways you slowly from side to side, breath steadying but his heart still beating as fast as a racer’s– and you can feel it faintly when your cheek presses up against him.

There’s nothing to stop the both of you as you hold each other close. The rays of the sun become cooler as it sets, painting the skies several hues of pink and orange. Your shoes are pressed against his, his two feet planted on either side of yours, nearly completely engulfing you in him.

“I’m so madly in love with you, Y/N,” Xiaoshi finally says, though it really just… escaped him. You freeze against him and it forces him to slow the swaying to a halt, and it scares him. Your fingers bunch into the material of his jersey and you pull away, something unreadable swimming and wavering in your eyes as you ask him, “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“You’re not telling me this because you feel like you need to like me back?”

“No, not at all.”

You want to say something, be firm with him, but your throat betrays you as you let out a broken whisper:

“You better not be playing with me right now, Cheng Xiaoshi.”

The boy’s hands, leaving your sides, trail up your neck and rest at both sides of your face, fingers pressed against the base of your jaw. His thumb swipes at your cheekbones, then the outer lines of your eyes, and then they follow the lengths of your eyebrows. His right thumb traces down your nose bridge, then presses firmly against the button of your nose, wiggling and eliciting a small breathy laugh out of you.

Then, slowly– almost too slowly–, he lets the pad of his thumb feel down the underside of your nose, then the crease above your lips. He looks at your mouth, a burning feeling of want brewing in him as he presses his lips together.

Your lips part just a little, to let out an expecting breath, then they close as you gaze up at him, your eyes watching how his scrutinizes your face.

“I love you.”

“What?”

“I love you.” Xiaoshi says again, firm this time. You give him a smile, shaking your head. “No, what?” And then it clicks. He grins, chest puffing out a little at the reference you make.

The fact that you’d still watched Say Something meant a lot to him. It proved how much of an impact your little gestures make in his life.

“I love you. How many times do I have to say it?”

“One more time would be nice.” You hum, and he laughs, pressing his forehead against yours. “I love you.” He whispers, his voice little as he relishes the feeling of your skin pressed on his.

“You’re so incredibly pretty, Y/ L/N, I could just kiss you right now.”

“You’re so incredibly pretty, Cheng Xioashi, that I might just let you.”

Oh. Xiaoshi can’t seem to believe you’d just said that. “Wh- are you- are you sure? I mean, after all I’ve done– I stood you up! I ghosted you for half a semester. I don’t think it’s right. For me. To have the pleasure of planting my lips to yours. Frankly, I wouldn’t even want to kiss a guy who- oh!”

Seemingly growing tired of his rambling, your hand presses against his cheek and you stand on the tips of your toes to give him a gentle kiss, his lips molding to yours almost immediately. He smiles and when you pull away, he’s quick to pull you close by the neck, kissing you again, then again, then again.

His lips, though you’d imagined they’d be scorched and hot, are warm. Not temperature wise, but warm in an inviting way, like toasted marshmallows in hot chocolate. Or like fresh burritos in autumn. Or like the summer sun where you share a milkshake in the outdoor canteen. Like home.

Xiaoshi hums when he manages to steal you with a kiss again, and you can’t help but grin against him, murmuring against his lips, “You’re so stupid.”

“I’m your stupid.” He shoots back, lips chasing yours when you finally part from him. You bring a hand up to his mouth and it’s moist and warm, ���Give me a break! We need to breathe, Xiaoshi,”

In response, he breathes out a heavy sigh, the weight on his back he’d carried for two months vanishing as he melts into your shoulder. “You don’t understand how lucky I am to be with you right now.”

“I’m not all that special-”

“You are! It may not seem like it to you, but to me, you’re everything. My energy, my breath, my best friend. Or, maybe, a little more than that, if you wanted to…?” He trails off nervously, facing down and planting his lips on your shoulder, which you find endearing. “I’m sorry I didn’t show up that night. I was forced to go to this party and I ended up pissing some of my friends and to add to all of that I pissed you off. And- and all I had to say to your confession was ‘I’m sorry’. ‘I’m sorry’!?” He pulls away, hands grabbing yours tightly.

“Who even says that!? Frankly, I’m surprised you didn’t punch me right then and there. I’m- I’m such an ass when it comes to stuff like this, ‘m sorry.”

“Hey!” You gasp, interlacing your fingers with his. “That’s my boyfriend you’re talking about!” You cough, “That is, uh, if you want to be my boyfriend.”

Xiaoshi, now beaming, flushes a bright pink, but he can’t bring himself to care when his arms wrap around you and you laugh into his chest as he squeezes you almost inhumanly tight. “‘M sorry, sweets, I’m so difficult.” He mumbles in your hair. “I’ve never really done anything like this.”

“Neither have I, big guy.” You let out a shaky sigh. “But I have faith in us. We’ll figure it out, right?”

Xiaoshi leans back and presses his forehead to yours, your nose brushing up against his affectionately. “Right.”

Summertime is a time of new opportunities. New year, new experiences, new companions. And though the warmth of summer doesn’t seem to stay all year long, it’ll always come back, just as fresh and welcoming. The fleeting moments of your first encounter with Xiaoshi will forever hold a place in your heart, as will the season of summer.

And as debatable as it is, the best moments in your life are aestival. Born and belonging in the summer.

© hirokari, 2023.

to all the link click readers out there, and to boba bub.

#♪ mari writes! #link click #link click x reader #cheng xiaoshi x reader #xiaoshi x reader #link click imagines #cheng xiaoshi imagines #xiaoshi imagines #shiguang daili ren #shiguang daili ren x reader #shiguang daili ren imagines #lu guang x reader #lu guang imagines #qiao ling x reader #qiao ling imagines #aaa i did it!!!

[mariacallous]

In recent months, Rafah in the southern Gaza Strip has experienced population expansion on a dramatic scale. Before the war, the Rafah area, which abuts the Egyptian border, was home to around 275,000 people. Now, an estimated 1.5 million people are crammed in there, many in tent cities visible in satellite images.

In February, U.N. Secretary-General António Guterres warned that an Israeli military operation in Rafah, as Israeli officials have repeatedly said they are planning to do, “would exponentially increase what is already a humanitarian nightmare with untold regional consequences.”

This latest armed conflict began on Oct. 7, 2023, when Hamas and other Palestinian militant groups perpetrated mass atrocities against Israel, including killings, brutal mutilations, torture, and sexual assaults. More than 200 Israelis and other nationals were abducted, ranging in age from 10 months to 86 years. More than 100 remain unaccounted for.

In response, Israel unleashed a military campaign of extraordinary intensity. The civilian death toll in Gaza is intolerably high, especially the estimated 14,000 Palestinian children who have been killed. Israel says Rafah is the last stronghold of Hamas and in the absence of a hostage deal it is intent on continuing its military campaign.

According to the United Nations, famine is imminent. The World Bank and U.N. also estimate that more than 60 percent of all homes in the territory have been damaged or destroyed as well as vital medical and civilian infrastructure. In all, some 1.7 million Palestinians have been internally displaced.

So why, in a war of this intensity, are there no refugees? Or perhaps the question should be asked in a slightly different way: Where are the refugees from Gaza?

The simple answer is that most Palestinians are trapped within Gaza behind fortified borders, impregnable to all but those with international passports or exceptional connections. According to the Egyptian government, nearly 4,000 people have been evacuated into the country for medical treatment along with their families. A further 67,000 foreign and dual nationals have also been able to leave, but these are not refugees, and most foreign and dual nationals will have since moved on from Egypt.

By way of comparison, at the end of last year 6.5 million refugees from Syria and nearly 6 million Ukrainians were being provided protection outside their countries. In any conflict of this scale and with this magnitude of pain and suffering, one would anticipate a mass influx of refugees into surrounding countries. There have been few situations in living memory where an entire blockade has prevented people from escaping imminent threats to life and limb.

It is remarkable that more than six months into this conflict so few people have had the chance to leave, even though there are daily statements from international organizations that there is no safe place in Gaza; even though UNRWA, the U.N. agency for Palestinian refugees, says it cannot provide protection or assistance; and even as the international community says humanitarian relief is not reaching those most in need.

Wherever people flee from or to, states are prohibited from sending anyone to face risks of war, torture, or persecution. This universal obligation includes letting people escape, giving sanctuary for as long as the threat persists and to return safely when conditions allow.

These rights originate in the teachings of the monotheistic religions. According to Islamic migration law, individuals have the right to seek and be granted asylum in any Muslim state. Judaism, whose people have long fled persecution, has a biblical principle of welcoming and protecting the stranger.

Torture in the conflict is widespread. I have reviewed evidence of the extreme torture perpetrated during the Oct. 7 assault by Hamas and other Palestinian fighters, as well as reports of ongoing violations against hostages. My office has received allegations of torture and mistreatment by Israeli forces against detained Palestinians. The collective punishment of the Palestinian people is, in my legal opinion, tantamount to torture.

While there is little legal ambiguity and the right to asylum is an apolitical right, there are few more politicized regions than the Middle East. Neighboring Arab countries have historically borne the greatest burden of influxes of fleeing Palestinians, and these influxes have often caused significant political instability in their own states. Israel has an abysmal track record of allowing Palestinians who have fled to reenter.

So it is unsurprising that Arab leaders are now deeply sensitive to any charge of helping to facilitate the mass expulsion of Palestinians from Gaza. This would be a “red line,” according to King Abdullah II of Jordan. The possibility of Palestinians fleeing en masse in a repeat of the Nakba—the displacement of around half the Arab population of Palestine in 1948—haunts leaders in Cairo, throughout the region, and well beyond.

In due course, the International Court of Justice will determine whether there has been a genocide in Gaza. The court’s provisional measures recognize that all states have obligations to prevent genocide, which would include preventing the killings of members of a national group, by, for example, letting them leave the territory.

Despite the complexities of the politics of this conflict, the legal reality is that states cannot pick and choose which human rights obligations to implement. It is self-evident that Israel will not open its borders to Palestinian refugees, but the Israeli state and Egypt have legal obligations to do so. Egypt’s decision to seal its border with Gaza violates international humanitarian law and international refugee law.

Egypt cites security concerns as a reason for not letting in Palestinian refugees, especially given the challenges of militancy in the Sinai Peninsula potentially being aggravated by the arrival of battle-hardened fighters from Gaza alongside civilians. While that threat certainly exists, the international legal framework includes safeguards to protect against this, and robust screening processes must be put in place to ensure that militants do not cross the border alongside civilians.

Early in the conflict, Egyptian Foreign Minister Sameh Shoukry told CNBC that he could see “no reason why Egypt, which is hosting 9 million refugees—hosting them and providing them integration into our society at considerable burden on our economy—should have to bear solely [the] additional influx of Gazans.”

That figure appears to be way off the mark, at least based on the latest UNHCR statistics. The U.N. Refugee Agency says Egypt currently hosts 575,000 registered refugees and asylum-seekers from 61 countries, while another nearly 250,000 refugees have not yet been registered. More than half of those registered are Sudanese, with Syrians forming the next largest group. The estimated number of Palestinians in Egypt is unclear as they are not included in any official figures, but may number in the hundreds of thousands.

Shoukry is right, though, to say that Egypt should not have to bear responsibility for Palestinian refugees alone. Other states and international organizations must support them.

UNRWA serves Palestinian refugees in Jordan, Lebanon, Syria, Gaza, and the West Bank, including East Jerusalem. Under the 1951 Refugee Convention, responsibility transfers to UNHCR outside these areas. In other words, UNHCR is required to support Palestinian refugees who reach Egypt. The Refugee Convention stresses that international cooperation is a foundational principle and that all states must play their part.

There have been reports that Egypt has been clearing land near the border preparing for refugees in the event of widescale fighting in Rafah. The international community and the U.N. have been right to call for a cease-fire and for the immediate and unconditional release of all hostages. With negotiations still proceeding, the humanitarian imperative to save lives must be paramount.

Whenever peace is achieved, the level of destruction will take years to repair. Where and how are Palestinians from Gaza to live in the meantime?

The fact remains that the right to flee and to seek asylum under law is an individual right. Palestinian families, as they consider their future, must be able make this decision for themselves. The U.N.—whether it is UNRWA within the territories or UNHCR in Egypt and beyond—must support Palestinian civilians.

Short-term planning to help relieve pressure on Egypt and other countries receiving any refugees should include offers of medical evacuations, family reunification, and temporary protection transfers into third countries. There must be commitments of return to Gaza as soon as conditions allow. There are many precedents around the world of similar comprehensive strategies by the international community.

Right now, though, civilians in Gaza have no ability to determine their fate. Starvation is becoming ever more likely, and death could come at any moment. Palestinians deserve the opportunity to choose whether they wish to flee, however painful a decision it is.

Alice Jill Edwards is the United Nations special rapporteur on torture.

[bg3trashcompactor]

Obedience Brings Blessings: Ascended Astarion x Female Tav x Gale Part 1 of 2

Trigger warnings: Not beta read. Extremely NSFW, bondage, dubcon, tentacles, unhealthy relationship dynamics, being really bad at boundaries and feelings, probably dead dove do not eat

Summary: Astarion, still bitter about Tav being elected to the seat of Grand Duchess decides he’s going to teach her a lesson about what embarrassing him in public gets her…with Special Guest Star Headmaster Gale Dekarios of Blackstaff Academy!

Post-Canon, set after the events of the end of Baldur’s Gate 3.

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55683643/

As always, I’m sorry.

🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

“Sweet Mother of Magic!” Gale drops the drinks he’s holding, Astarion catching them deftly beneath his hands.

“When you said Tav was tied up for the rest of the day, my assumption was that it was not going to be so literal,” Gale says, flushed with arousal at the sight of Tav tied and bound by scarlet red silken cords to the 4-post bed she shares with Astarion.

“My lady wife wouldn’t have to be if she had been a good girl earlier, isn’t that right pet?” Astarion clips, still angry from her very vocal disagreement with him at the Lord’s Council over the matter of refugee settlement. 

It’s humiliating enough that Ulder Ravengard passed him up for one of the empty seats on the council of four, choosing Tav over Astarion. 

It was intolerable to be made the fool like he was earlier. If her transgressions were committed in public with an audience present, it’s only fair that the favor be returned in kind. 

While she had won the battle this day, she was most certainly going to lose the war. Sex was one of the many tools he had at his disposal for reminding her who was master. Gale in particular was a very effective way to deliver his punishment- it was an open secret how he lusted after the Grand Duchess and her gorgeous husband. 

For Gale to remain fully complicit, however, he had to be kept ignorant of the truth behind his involvement.

At least, for now.

“I-I don’t think it’s right for me to be here. This…ah, seems to be a private matter between the two of you and it would be remiss of me to participate any further,” the wizard stammers out. 

He tries to step forward and leave but is blocked by a single step of Astarion’s, enraptured suddenly by the dark lidded, predatory stare of the vampire lord.

He takes a sip of the wine, observing the wizard’s body language. There were so many things he could name that would add up to the arousal building at the sight of Tav tied up and wanting in the bed.

The easiest to spot, of course, was the tenting beginning to show in his trousers. 

Tav watches her husband in anticipation of what his next words are, anxious to hear where he is leading them when she sees his wicked grin over the lip of the glass. 

“Now…Gale,” he drawls out, watching the mage shiver at how he takes care to caress the name with his mouth.

“You’re a man of discerning taste. You see, I’ve been having trouble with finding a befitting punishment for her Grace. I thought, perhaps…you would have something in mind?” Astarion directs his pointed gaze at Tav while he speaks, tracing a finger up and down the line of the erection contained by the dark color of Gale’s clothing. 

“Fuck, Astarion…” Gale coughs, almost choking on the wine he had been in the middle of drinking.

“Oh, not yet. Not until she’s endured enough suffering to deserve it. There’s got to be something in that brilliant head of yours,” Astarion’s statement is punctuated by his caressing of the tip of Gale’s clothed penis, fully erect and threatening to peek up through the waistband of his trousers. The mage’s eyes roll to the back of his head, shuddering with his touch, hips twitching forward against Astarion’s hand for purchase. 

Tav licks her lips and begins to feel her mouth water. She hates how much this turns her on, even more so now that Gale’s involved. She watches closely for two reasons- the first that it makes her burn with arousal and jealousy, seeing Gale succumb to her husband’s familiar seductions. 

The second? She could always use another excuse for a tax write-off for the replacement glassware, and what a better way than to have them destroyed at the mage’s undoing?

Astarion’s eyes are still on her when he pulls his hand away and stashes away the wine glasses to rest on an accent table. 

“It’s a stretch, but do you remember that spell we found a month after we were cleaning this tomb? The Evard’s modification?” Gale rasps out, now fully recruited by the vampire ascendant’s seduction.

Tav’s eyes go wide with surprise. He wouldn’t. 

“Can’t say I do,” Astarion pouts, tugging Gale closer to him with his fingers curled under his waistband. “Would you be so kind as to give us a demonstration?”

“Don’t even think about it, Gale Dekarios! A gentleman such as yourself would never!” Tav calls out in warning to the Wizard at the foot of the bed. 

“One can’t…always be a gentleman,” he sighs out in bliss while Astarion resumes palming his erection.

Tav looks on in horror as Gale effortlessly casts the spell.

She cannot free herself fast enough to avoid the milky tentacles that sprout up around her and begin to wrap themselves around her appendages. One tentacle immediately takes to rubbing her swollen clit while it slides along the slippery expanse of her slit. 

“Now remember darling- whatever happens, you can’t cum,” Astarion calls out over the squelching noises and strangled moans only a mere few feet away. 

Another voice is panting out small noises of pleasure, softer, closer to him. The wizard’s head is tilted towards the ceiling, eyes closed as Astarion allows him to chase his pleasure against his hand. 

“Eyes on her, Gale…don’t you want to admire your marvelous spellwork?” Astarion snatches his jaw turning it in the direction of Tav, the wizard’s eyes flying open in surprise at the aggressive show of dominance. 

Gale stops breathing for a moment. 

Oh hells, what has he done. 

Tav’s struggling has earned her the following: two tentacles wrapped around her legs that thrust languidly in and out of her tight holes, another tentacle that has encircled her hip and has its suckers placed over her clit, and two smaller tentacles that wrap around her breasts that wriggle around the pert and erect buds of her nipples. Her eyes flutter open and shut, fighting to muster the willpower to obey Astarion’s command.

This has to be the most depraved thing he’s ever seen… and heard. The sounds that Tav and Astarion used to wake the whole damn camp with are nothing compared to the obscene noises made only a few feet away from him. 

She’s panting out hard through her nose, trying to swallow the moans that rip themselves from her dry vocal cords. The conjuration’s greedy limbs are covered in Tav’s sweat and its own viscous slick- the combination making a squelching and squishing noise from the writhing over her skin and plundering of her entrances.

Good thing Astarion has stopped touching him, another well-placed stroke would have very well ruined his trousers. He thinks he’s in the clear from making a mess of himself until he feels the lips of the other man brushing against the hot, flushed curve of his earlobes.

“She is gorgeous like that, isn’t she? You always do nothing short of extraordinary work. Aren’t you the least bit envious of those tentacles? Wouldn’t you rather be the one defiling her instead of your conjuration?” Astarion purrs, gripping Gale’s face tighter. The mage breathes out with a shudder at the increased pressure, wishing that hand was gripped around his cock. 

“I wouldn’t dare to consider the possibility, even in my wildest dreams, especially when she had never been mine to speak of. Not when her heart belonged to another,” Gale’s lovesick mourning earns him a disapproving eye roll from Astarion. 

“Oh please. You’ve wanted her hands on the wand in your pants ever since the day she pulled your arm out of that bloody portal. Anyone with eyes could see as such. It’s a simple question, darling. Do you want her, yes or no?” The vampire’s terse reply is the push the mage needed to confess his forbidden desires. Gale is about to speak when the voice of Tav rings out above the unearthly noises of his spell.

“It’s a trap, Gale! He’s planning to use you in more ways than one! Cast Hold Monster and get your magical ass back to Waterdeep!” Tav gasps out, her voice cracking from the overstimulation of the tentacle’s thrusting.

“Such impudence from that pretty little mouth,” Astarion tsks in annoyance. “I don’t suppose you have some way to occupy it?”

Gale’s desire to earn Astarion’s approval has intoxicated him beyond rational thought. What if…he wants to be used? He craves- no, needs it, the hunger for the vampire’s praise rivaling that of the Netherese orb he has recently rid himself of.

“It would be my pleasure.” 

The wizard makes a motion of his hands, Tav’s noises of protest are silenced by the sudden intrusion of another appendage that forces its way past her lips. She sobs out in muffled cries, eyes rolled to the back of her head as the elongated, slick length slides back and forth in her mouth. 

“Well? What’ll it be, Gale Dekarios?”

Gale pauses, considering the vampire’s offer. He had fantasized about similar scenarios before, his hidden desires placated in the moment by the stroking of his hands. There’s no doubt the dynamic between them will drastically change, and that Astarion certainly would use their tryst to compel them in to doing his bidding in the future.

There’s also a warm bloom of hope in his chest at the chance that he’ll be invited back to their bed if his performance is satisfactory- and maybe the possibility of more between them than just the pleasures of the flesh. He’s worn out and exhausted from resisting temptation for so long, surely giving in to it now won’t ultimately be the ruin of him, will it?

Gale is alight with excitement before he replies, his chocolate eyes tracing the paths of the slick, undulating tentacles that slither over, under, and inside of Tav. She’s going to be terribly angry with him for what he’s about to say to the vampire…

…And it’s going to be worth every last bit of enduring her wrath.

“Yes.”

“Hells, took you long enough. Now that’s out of the way, you are to obey the following rules,” Astarion huffs out a laugh and drags Gale by the waistband until they are standing parallel to the edge of the bed. 

“One- she is mine. You are not allowed to touch her, put your lips upon her, or do anything else to her person without my explicit permission,” the vampire’s possessive growl that makes up the first of his commands startles Gale. He knew Astarion didn’t like to share, but he was still surprised at the intensity behind the man’s words. 

“Two- you must follow my instructions,” the mage tilts his the side as Astarion continues, squinting in consideration. “…to the letter. I require nothing short of total submission from you, wizard.”

“Three- If you stay, understand that this moment is the point of no return. You have no choice other than to comply. Should you leave, we shall forget all about this. No awkwardness, no ill will. Things will remain the same between us. You have my solemn word,” Astarion waves his hand with a flourish towards the door, offering Gale one last chance at walking away. 

“Do I have your consent?”

The vampire watches as Gale looks from him, to Tav, to the bedroom door, and then back to him. 

Astarion smiles wickedly at the sound of the bedroom door being locked shut by Gale’s Mage Hand.

“Sounds like a recipe for disaster. But you know what? I'm learning to enjoy the taste of chaos. Count me in. ”

“Splendid! I knew you’d make the right choice,” Astarion grasps on to the fine silks of Gale’s clothing, leaning forward to claim his lips. He slants his mouth against him, feeling the prickles of his impeccably kept beard against his own smooth skin. 

Astarion presses closer to him, hearing Gale moan with relief as he plunges his tongue in the wizard’s pliant, willing mouth. It’s nothing short of vulgar, almost like he was trying to lick the very last drops of blood from the bottom of a champagne flute. He twitches his hips ever so slightly, their aching erections barely rubbing against one another. 

He gives Gale a little shove away from him when the wizard returns the swipe of his tongue, their combined saliva tricking at the corner of his mouth. 

“Remove your clothing and place it at the foot of the bed,” Astarion intones coldly. 

The transition from passionate kiss to frigid instruction is jarring to the wizard. He is about to open his mouth to object when Astarion puts his index finger against his plush, soft lips to shush him. 

“Remember…you agreed to follow my instructions…to the letter. Strip. Now. I won’t ask again,” the edge beginning to creep in the vampire’s voice makes Gale’s throat dry- he did agree to being on his very best behavior. 

Gale removes his clothing, all of it, as instructed. 

A cruel, toothy smile that Gale hasn’t seen since the goblin camp when the priest of Loviatar flogged Tav spreads across Astarion’s face. 

The vampire’s lustful eyes leave no surface of his skin unobserved. Gale shudders in anticipation when he sees him swipe his tongue across his upper teeth, eyebrow raised in appreciation for every inch of his figure. It’s a confidence boost for Gale to see Astarion’s reaction, he’s been rather self conscious lately about the softness that has replaced the lean and starved man he once was. 

“On your knees.”

Gale willingly sinks down without a single thought. He is reflecting how at peace he feels, focused on Astarion when the vampire grabs him by the face. A manicured, painted thumb presses against his flush lips and Gale parts them for entry. The vampire that looms above him chuckles darkly while he holds down his tongue. 

Astarion looks to Tav, meeting his eyes with hers. Oh, she is furious. She’s cursing him with the foulest phrases she knows in between gagging on the tentacle that fucks her throat. How ironic it is that he has such power over her. The Grand Duchess of Baldur’s Gate, the great hero of the city continuing to endure this debauchery at his behest. 

He laughs, the bright and beautiful sound floating above her muffled voice. 

“See how good he is for me, my love? No smart mouth, no fighting...look at how beautifully he submits to me. Obedience brings blessings- what would you like as your reward, dear mage? Would you like to taste her?” His question earns an enthusiastic nod, but it’s not the response he wanted.

“I want nothing more,” the wizard affirms, having intended that to be his reply. 

Astarion knows he’s holding back. He clears his throat, prompting the wizard to speak up while he looks down at him expectantly.

“Use your words. Tell me what you desire, don’t spare any of the details,” Astarion’s eyes twinkle with malicious intent. Yes, it’s obvious he’s trying to humiliate the wizard, but he’s also assessing the extent of his depravity…which he suspects runs deeper than even Gale himself knows.

“To answer your inquiry- my desire is to be with you, both of you, in any sense of the definition you find acceptable and agreeable. There is no act too depraved for me if it brings you both pleasure, it matters not if I can be by your side.” 

Gale bows his head then, taking in a shaky breath to keep the tears that sting his eyes at bay.

“May you both forgive me, but I…I’ve had feelings for you both, for quite awhile. I’m terrified of them and what it could possibly mean. I'm only beginning to forget the pain that I bore for so long in the wake of my complicated relations with Mystra. In fact, that’s the first time in months I’ve mentioned her name outside of an academy lecture. I fear the pain in my chest I suffered at the hands of the orb has been replaced by a bittersweet ache that is only relieved in your company,” he pauses for a moment to think after his confession. Astarion is clearly offering something to him he’s long desired. The wizard would do well to be as specific as possible. 

“At present, I do find myself quite curious on the subject of if Tav could endure a little more pleasure from the ministrations of my talented tongue,” The end of Gales’s monologue is punctuated by Tav’s muffled groaning. 

If he listens closely, he might be able to make out a ‘Gale, no, please’ despite her currently occupied mouth.

“I suspected as much, and I may permit you the indulgences you seek. But first, we'll need to see if that ‘talented tongue’ of yours is worth pleasuring her with,” Astarion takes two fingers and runs them along the overstimulated sex of Tav, coating them in a mixture of tentacle slime and the clear slick of her juices.

“Open up,” Astarion instructs, shoving the slick digits in to Gale’s inviting mouth. 

Gale emits a noise of surprise from the flavor. It’s unexpected but not unwelcome- a delicious combination of something tangy, salty, and a little sweet. Gale wraps his tongue around Astarion’s fingers, eagerly lapping with his tongue and sucking until he has consumed every last drop. 

He whimpers in disappointment when Astarion withdraws his fingers, looking on in confusion when the other man begins unlacing his trousers.

“Oh, my sweet wizard,” Astarion chuckles, “That wasn’t the trial itself- it was only to see if you were worthy of the opportunity. If your mouth is as good to my cock and I find it satisfactory, you’ll have your reward as promised,” he says reassuringly, amused by the wizard’s adorable response to his teasing.

Taking his erection in hand, Astarion can see that he is already salivating for a taste. He languidly strokes himself, watching Gale’s eyes trace the length of him with his movements. 

“Put your hands behind your back,” he instructs as he peers down, admiring the pretty flush that blooms on the other man’s cheeks. Gale is so, so beautiful like this, flushed and hanging on to his every command. Astarion hums, drunk on power, musing it’s almost as if he was made to serve him.

Holding himself out in front of Gale’s face, he watches on as the human leans forward to take a timid lick at where the head meets the shaft. Astarion’s cock twitches in response, and Gale replies with another lick on the underside with the flat of his tongue from base to tip. He stops just underneath the head, pressing his lips to the sensitive spot and flicks his tongue across it. 

Astarion throws his head back and gasps in delight, his hips stuttering against the slow circles of the wizard’s ministrations.

“Hells, Gale…stop your wretched teasing and take me in your mouth.”

The corners of Gale’s mouth quirk upwards while he looks up at him innocently, mouth open, tongue pressed up at the base of his tip. Astarion gasps softly when his lips close around him, beginning a pattern of moving slightly down the shaft, tracing the underside with the tip of his tongue, and swirling around the head.

“That’s it, that’s my good boy,” the vampire purrs, moving his hips in time with the rhythm Gale sets. 

His nimble fingers release the fine clasps and buttons of his jacket and waistcoat, exposing the lean, sculpted muscles underneath. He’s glad he chose not to bother with a shirt that day, the current trappings of his embroidered and jeweled silks suddenly too warm with Gale taking him in so well.

Gale begins moving deeper, increasing the pace, hollowing his cheeks ever so slightly as he bobs his head back and forth. Astarion groans in bliss, his hands gently raking through the hair of the man working his length with a lewd slurp. They wander to cradle the sides of Gale’s face, looking down at the mage’s glassy brown eyes that stare up at him in adoration. 

“Tav, my love, it would be…unfair to keep him all to myself,” Astarion barely breathes out, never breaking eye contact with Gale. 

Tav sobs out in frustration around the flesh of the conjuration in reply, now having been pushed well beyond her breaking point. The fight in her has been completely drained by the strain of resisting her peak the tentacles threatened her with over and over again. She’d give anything to feel the immense relief of her release at this point. 

If Gale licking her to completion is what it’s going to take, she’s more than willing to participate.

Astarion cards his hands again through Gale’s windswept, sweaty locks before he grabs and pulls. The sensation elicits a low moan from Gale that vibrates deliciously around him. He greedily considers how good it would feel to have him moaning wantonly around him, absolutely certain that he can wrest more from the wizard. 

Extending his leg forward, the vampire puts the bottom of his shoe to rest against Gale’s painfully hard length. He swipes at it with the flat of his leather soles, gasping out in delight from the deeper, louder vibrations that make up Gale keening around his cock. The sensation is incredible, he needs more, deeper…

“Relax your throat, darling. Prepare yourself- I’m not going to be gentle,” Astarion croons softly to Gale, stroking the back of his other hand against his cheek. 

Taking a fistful of hair in his grasp again, he begins thrusting his hips with force, watching as Gale closes his watering eyes in concentration. Oh no, that won’t do at all.

“Eyes on me, yes, that’s good…oh Gale, oh hells you’re so, so good for me,” Astarion rasps out, brutally pounding the wizard’s quivering mouth that dribbles with spit, looking down at his pleading, watery eyes. 

Gale loses focus at hearing Tav’s sobbing over his spell that had continued to ravage her. He momentarily forgets he has Astarion’s rock hard length between his lips and involuntarily gags. The vampire cries out in ecstasy with the muscular contractions of the wizard’s throat that threatens to eject him, continuing the unrelenting pace he had set. 

He notices the rutting he had felt against the bottom of his shoe stills as Gale obediently struggles to keep from heaving the contents of his stomach from the assault he endures. He’s trying so very hard to be such a good boy, continuing to take Astarion in despite the protesting of his body.

Gale’s submission alone could have made him spill his warm seed down the wizard’s throat, but he has a better idea. 

He pulls out of his abused mouth with a sickening pop, wrenching free the hand that had been pulling on his hair. Astarion gives the wizard a moment to cough, catch his breath, and quell his roiling nausea before issuing his next command. 

“Dispel the tentacles.”

Gale does as he is told, barely able to rasp out the incantation while he tries to steady his breathing. Tav takes a deep gasping breath herself, followed by a sputtering cough. 

Leaving the wizard where he is, Astarion strides over to the other side of the bed, removing the rest of his finery as he reaches the opposite post where Tav is restrained.

She’s a mess. A beautiful one, but still a mess. Her skin glistens with sweat and tentacle slick, breasts bobbing and jiggling with the heaving of her chest, tears leaking out the sides of her lovely, flushed face. Her expression is tensed with eyes squeezed shut, softening as he leans over and gently kisses her forehead. 

“Tav, darling, you didn’t cum with all that excitement did you?” He runs his fingers through hair damp with sweat, moving any errant strands that had plastered themselves to her forehead away from her face.

Tav whispers out a barely audible no, her head shaking as she speaks. 

“Marvelous. You did splendidly following my directions, my sweet,” he kisses her gently on her bruised lips as a reward, breaking the tender kiss to untie the restraint closest to him that holds her to the bed. 

Her muscles relax for a moment in anticipation that she’s finally free, tensing again when he scoops her up and sits her on the edge of the bed facing Gale. She furrows her brow in suspicion when he secures her to the other post with a sideways glance.

Before Tav has the time to think of the question she wants to ask, he is sitting on the edge of the bed beneath her, holding her by the waist, her slick entrance lined up with his tip. 

“Only a little bit more, treasure,” he murmurs, pressing tender kisses against her shoulder blade to relax her. He sinks her down slowly with a huff, relishing the perfect arch of her back against his chest as he penetrates deeper into her throbbing warmth. Hooking his legs underneath hers, he pries her knees apart carefully, feeling her sink only a bit further down with the change in the angle. 

He points and snaps his fingers, a direction for Gale to move in between them. The mage settles in between her legs, fixated on where Astarion fills her slick, heated center. 

“Do you want this, Tav?” His question is gentle, speaking to her as if she was a frightened stray cat he was coaxing with a bit of food. She feels the warm, reassuring hands of the wizard rest on top of her thigh. 

The lusty, dewy brown eyes that look up to her hide a tempest of emotions. There’s mostly desire, but also sadness, longing- and something else that Tav knows has remained unspoken since the day they met.

Being honest with herself, she has her own storm of mixed feelings she is finally able to recognize now that her every thought isn’t commanding her body not to climax. While she brushes off her arousal as an unavoidable side effect of the events that have played out, she finds she’s actually fairly angry with the two men. 

Astarion’s brand of bullshit she was used to. While she’s unhappy about his corruption of Gale in whatever game he’s playing at, she knows she can usually work with him by patiently enduring things like this or giving him space until he’s ready to talk.

But Gale? He says all the right things and might even believe them, but when he gets pushed by that stupid, sexy vampire he goes willingly without a fight.

Gale isn’t fooling her with this shy and sweet act, staring up at her like a sad puppy dog. How dare he ask for her consent now, well after his magic violated her, working her up into a shaking, wanton, furious mess? 

Astarion and Gale are to entirely to blame for the state she’s in, and they’re going to fix it. 

“Listen to me, Gale Dekarios of Waterdeep, and listen well. If neither of you doesn’t finish what you’ve started, you’ll wish I was still bound by these ropes,” Tav bites out, her fury aimed to pierce like an arrow through the wizard’s bleeding heart.

“Can you believe what I have to deal with? It seems you have your answer, Gale,” Astarion laughs out in amusement. He licks a stripe up the salty skin of her neck and flicks his hips upwards, a lewd cry escaping her. 

“Shh, little love. Let him take care of you,” Astarion gives a nod to Gale, granting him permission. The wizard hesitates for a moment when he hears Tav whimpering above him, feeling the warm puff of his exhale against her sensitive sex.

If she’s already this worked up, Gale’s going to have to go slow and be gentle so she can really enjoy all he has to offer. He wipes a broad stripe up with his tongue to tease her with the lightest amount of pressure, catching the base of Astarion’s length that slowly rocks inside of her. 

He smiles to himself when he hears both of them cry out for him. Experiencing the real thing is so much better than the major illusion of this exact same situation he had cast months ago.

He cycles through a series of different types of licking patterns to figure out what Tav likes, settling at a rhythm that involves broad, sloppy circles around her folds, across Astarion, and then suckling at her engorged clit white he teases it with the softest swipes of his tongue.

He looks up at them again.

Tav’s breasts are bouncing in circles as Astarion fucks up into her. Her head bends back to rest against his shoulder as the vampire cuts a shallow laceration with his teeth on her neck. They both groan sinfully when he fastens his mouth to her, sucking a bruise that begins to bloom on her skin.

“Isn’t he gorgeous like this, darling? Worshipping us with his tongue? Needy and wanting? He’s devouring you- almost like it’s not enough,” Astarion murmurs, breathless against the next set of purple marks he makes. 

“You want more, don’t you, Gale? If only you could feel this delightful cunt of hers clamping down around my cock,” Astarion gasps out, his voice strained as he increases the pace of his thrusting. 

Gale coughs while his mouth is fastened over Tav’s clit, choking from the filthiness of Astarion’s words.

“To say that I haven't imagined it would be a lie,” he rumbles in between lapping at her folds and the underside of Astarion’s penis. The added sensation with his speech makes her arch her back and whine against the vampire. 

Speaking of Astarion- to Gale’s ears, he sounds like he might be closer to climax than Tav is. The indecent moans and gasps of the vampire and his consort is the sweetest music he’s ever heard. Gale focuses his attention on him, sucking and flicking the base of the length drenched in Tav’s slick.

That’s all it takes for Astarion to climax with a shout, the noise muffled by the curtain of Tav’s sweaty hair that he has his face pressed against.

Astarion’s chest heaves while he rides out the aftershocks of the orgasm that shook him, kissing up and down Tav’s temples, her neck, and her shoulders like a man possessed. The wizard wastes no time lapping up the salty, tangy, slightly sweet fluids that begin to leak out of Tav’s throbbing sex. 

Watching them with his face coated in their slick, the wizard is enthralled at the sight of how thoroughly she is ravished. He finds it interesting that Tav hasn’t climaxed yet, but Astarion has- if he was in her place (and he wishes he was) he probably wouldn’t been able to stop from cumming.

Gale quirks up an inquisitive eyebrow when she continues to try and ride the front of his face, and teases her in return with an agonizingly slow swipe of his tongue.

“Insatiable, isn’t she? What do you say, my little love? Do you want to feel him inside you?” Astarion’s question goads the wizard on to resume his feast on her folds, but it sends the alarm bells ringing again inside Tav’s head. 

She silences them. She knows this is a trick question meant to trap her. Honestly, she doesn’t care who it is- she just needs someone to fill her and give her the release she desperately craves. 

“Don’t make me beg, please Astarion,” she whimpers, thrusting her hips greedily at Gale’s mouth.

“You already are, my love…,” he murmurs against the shell of her ears, nipping at the cartilage while he withdraws from her.

Gale is just barely able to stand up on his shaky, tingling legs. 

The vampire looks up at him with a dangerous, half-lidded gaze, issuing an unspoken invitation as he wraps his arms around her, thighs held open wide with his own and drenched with the evidence of their coupling. 

“You may take your pleasure from her, but you are forbidden from emptying yourself in her- that is for me alone.”

He is hyper-aware of how Astarion watches him like prey, following the bob of his adam’s apple as he gulps nervously. Gale thinks he might spill on to the carpet at that moment with the other man’s demands.

Taking his aching, drooling cock in hand he steadies himself above them, pressing against Tav’s slippery entrance. Gale’s breath hitches as he presses the head of his length in slowly, her hot, throbbing core pulling him deeper until he meets resistance. 

He is about to ask if Tav’s okay and if she really wants this when Astarion surges forward to kiss him, grabbing his throat to hold him in place while he hungrily claims his lips. 

The hand around his throat releases him, Astarion breaking the kiss when he begins to pump his hips cautiously back and forth. 

“I think she can take more than that, can’t you, pet?” 

She nods in wordless agreement. He’s bigger than she’s used to, the foreign stretch of him inside her giving way to a fullness that she finds she needs more of, harder, and faster. She ruts against him desperately to encourage him to pick up his pace and pull him deeper inside her.

“Gods, Gale…don’t you dare hold back, not now, not after all this,” she cries out, struggling weakly against the vampires’s chest. Gale casts mage hand again, this time to work the swollen bud in between Tav’s legs in circles.

Gale works up to a frantic pace, and the next thing he knows his hands are on her knees, spreading them apart. Her tense muscles relax and give way, rubbing against and past the euphoric smoothness of what he can only assume is her cervix. She very nearly screams when he does so, begging him not to stop. 

He thrusts with all the heartbreak, all the bittersweet missed moments where he could have told her but every time he tried he couldn’t speak. Her thighs shake underneath his hands and she clenches tighter around him as he continues to batter the spot deep within her.

Gale is lost, unsure of where he ends and she begins.

He is starting to fall over the edge when he finds the strength to speak his unrequited truth to her, a feeling that’s tortured him ever since he laid eyes on her.

“Tav, I love you- I love you so, so much...”

Astarion’s eyes flash red for a moment, an animalistic, possessive growl rumbling at the back of his throat.

“Mine.”

He shoves Gale away from her. 

Astarion watches with a sneer as the wizard spills his ruined orgasm over his abdomen. Gale covers his red-hot face in shame with his forearm, poorly disguising the tears that stream from his eyes. He lays back on the imported rug that broke his fall, gasping for air, throat dry and breathless. 

Their attention falls on Tav, who had come so close again, only to be denied her release once more.

“Astarion, Gale…I don’t care how you work it out between the two of you, just…please, I need more, damn you…” Tav begins to weep, her anger giving way to desperate sobs. Astarion strokes her hair, kissing her tears away, caressing the side of her face. 

“My sweet, were you still following my instructions? Were you not able to finish because of what I said earlier?”

“I held back for you, because I thought that’s what you wanted…you hadn’t given me permission…” Tav curls up in Astarion’s arms, burying her tear streaked face in his chest. 

Astarion sighs contentedly at her confession. It’s truly a decadent feeling to ruin a Grand Duchess and a former Archmage at the same time, training and breaking them so they are willing and eager to please him. With these two wrapped around his finger, he could easily become the most powerful person on the continent of Faerun. No bloody titles needed. 

Holding her to him firmly, he presses a kiss to the sweaty locks of his most precious thing. 

“Shh now, little love. Let’s get you out of these restraints, I think we’ve had enough of these for one day…” 

#astarion #bg3 astarion #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 smut #astarion fanfic #astarion fanfiction #ascended astarion #really darling tentacles again? #astarion x gale x tav

[girlactionfigure]

🟠 Thu morning - ISRAEL REALTIME - Connecting to Israel in Realtime

( 1 / 2 )

💩US WILL NOT SUPPLY.. Biden: If Israel launches a large-scale operation in Rafah, we will not supply it with bombs and artillery shells.

.. A senior Israeli official after Biden's announcement: We have enough means to enter Rafah and occupy it without American assistance. Rafah will be occupied in any case. The main problem is the message it sends to Hezbollah and Iran, that Israel will apparently come without weapons to the conflict in the north.

.. Speaker of the House of Representatives Mike Johnson and Senate Minority Leader Mitch McConnell sent a letter to President Biden in which they expressed great concern over the decision to suspend arms shipments to Israel.  (( Sadly this is becoming a Republican vs. Democrat issue in the U.S. ))

♦️IDF forces in the Gaza Zeytun area; about 25 terrorist targets were destroyed from the air, our forces are working on the ground to (re)purify the area.

♦️Footage from Gaza channels shows a missile being launched from an Israeli combat helicopter at a target in the Tel Al-Sultan area in West Rafah.

♦️”Sources claim”: Israel dropped a unique bomb in an attack on a Kafrkela in southern Lebanon that has not yet been used previously - to penetrate deep and hit underground bunkers.  Israel used a GBU 10 bomb or a Spice 2000 bomb.

⭕ Islamic Jihad terrorist published videos in which they show launching rockets at IDF forces and armored vehicles in East Rafah.  They took responsibility for 5 terrorist operations against IDF forces in the East Rafah area in the last 30 hours, including the firing of grenades, RPG missiles and machine gun fire.

⭕ HAMAS ATTACKS U.S. AID PIER.. Hamas fired twice in the last day at the temporary dock by the Americans.  

⭕ HAMAS ATTACKS AID PORT KEREM SHALOM.. again (3rd time).  (( Almost like they don’t want aid arriving. I suggest we agree. ))

⭕ DRONE ATTACK SOUTHERN GOLAN VIA SYRIA.. Yonatan, Keshet, areas not previously attacked, suicide drone from SYRIA.

⚠️NEXT STEP - DEMONIZE.. The US State Department is finalizing a report that will discuss whether Israel violates international law (in Gaza - and/or maybe Judea-Samaria).

“YOU DON’T WANT TO SELL US SMART BOMBS”.. MK Tali Gottlieb in a Knesset speech: “the US doesn’t want to sell us smart bombs, we’ll use dumb bombs - and blow up 10 buildings to hit the one we want.”

The US State Department: These are obscene statements, and Israeli government officials should refrain from saying them. (( Umm, no, they are reality.  Israel is not going to roll over and die, we’ll use what we must. ))

🟠 Thu morning - ISRAEL REALTIME - Connecting to Israel in Realtime

( 2 / 2 )

▪️A HERO SOLDIER HAS FALLEN.. Haim Sabach, 20, from Holon, in defense of the north.  May his family be comforted among the mourners of Zion and Jerusalem, and may G-d avenge his blood!

▪️FINANCE MINISTER - RESTART CONSTRUCTION IN JUDEA-SAMARIA.. The Minister of Finance Smotrich sent a letter to the Prime Minister: "The reality in which a de facto construction freeze is carried out in Judea-Samaria is intolerable, unacceptable and is a reward for terrorism. I can no longer put up with it"  The Minister threatened that if he did not receive an answer in writing from Netanyahu to continue with the construction freeze, construction will resume in Judea-Samaria.

▪️AID PROTESTS.. The supply trucks to Gaza are stuck in Mitzpe Ramon after access was offered via the Eilat - Jordan crossing. Residents of Eilat blocked them all night, and residents of Mitzpe Ramon are blocking them during the day.

▪️HOLY TOMB VISIT INTERRUPTED BY ARSON.. Last night the IDF enabled safe passage into Kifal Harath, Samaria to the holy tomb of Yehoshua bin Nun (biblical leader Joshua).  During the visit, local Arabs attempted an arson attack by dumping a burning tire onto the tomb - while the Jews were inside!  Forces were able to extinguish the fire, allowing the pilgrims to continue their visit.

▪️HOUTHIS.. claim to have attacked 3 ships, including one in the Indian ocean.

🔸DEAL ACTIVITY..  It was the head of the CIA, Burns, who authorized Hamas to make the changes in the wording of the deal.

▪️ECONOMY - TAXES..  In the Treasury they are formulating approaches to deal with the war costs: raising the income tax, raising the VAT (sales-value tax) this year, canceling credit points for parents, imposing a sugar tax, closing government offices, cutting coalition funds.

#Israel #October 7 #Hamas Massacre #Gaza #Israel/HamasWar #Real Time Updates #Lebanon #Hezbollah

[good-old-gossip]

Israeli Politicians are so damn psychopathic that they are openly talking about committing WAR CRIMES against Palestinians Hostages

Itamar Ben Gvir, Israel's far-right national security minister, has called for the execution of Palestinian prisoners to ease overcrowding in the country's jails.

Writing on social media, he welcomed a decision by the Israeli army to build 936 additional prison places for "security prisoners".

"The additional construction will allow the prison service to take in more terrorists, and will bring a partial solution to the prison crisis that exists in the Shabak," he said, referring to the Israeli Prison Service. "The death penalty for terrorists is the right solution to the incarceration problem, until then - glad that the government approved the proposal I brought." In a statement on Wednesday marking Palestinian Prisoners' Day, the Gaza media office said over 5,000 Palestinians had been arrested by Israeli forces during their current war on Gaza, which started on 7 October.

The office also said that Palestinian prisoners were undergoing "the worst kinds of torture" in Israeli jails, and asked the international community to intervene. The Israeli Public Defender's Office in February published a report stating that some Israeli prisons have been declared to be in a state of emergency due to severe overcrowding.

During a visit by members of the Public Defender’s Office, squalid conditions were noted, including "intolerable overcrowding", with less than three square metres of space per person, poor sanitary conditions, pest issues, inadequate ventilation, and a lack of basic necessities for the incarcerated.

The report said that the overcrowding has caused people stress and anxiety, which can at times cause unnecessary friction in cells. A statement from the Public Defender’s Office said that it had witnessed an “unprecedented prison crisis, in which detainees and prisoners were crowded into inhumane living spaces”. It added that almost half of the incarcerated in Israel are held in harsh conditions that do not meet the High Court’s "first step" of living space, which states that they are to be held in an area of no less than three square metres.

Thousands have also been detained in the occupied West Bank since 7 October. Palestinian rights group Addameer said on Wednesday that Israel was holding 9,500 Palestinian political prisoners, not including those taken from Gaza.

"The date of October 7 marked a significant turning point that imposed radical transformations on the reality of prisoners and detainees in Israeli occupation prisons," said the group in a statement.

"This was reflected across all dimensions related to this issue, in light of the comprehensive aggression against our people and their detainees, and the ongoing genocide against our people in Gaza for over six consecutive months." Dozens gathered to protest in the West Bank city of Ramallah on Wednesday to mark Palestinian Prisoners' Day, with some demonstrators calling for the release of their imprisoned relatives.

#palestinian hostages #palestinian prisoners #israeli war crimes #israel is a terrorist state #israeli war criminals #free Palestine #free gaza #I stand with Palestine #Gaza #Palestine #Gazaunderattack #Palestinian Genocide #Gaza Genocide #end the occupation #Israel is an illegal occupier #Israel is committing genocide #Israel is committing war crimes #Israel is a terrorist state #Israel is a war criminal #Israel is an apartheid state #Israel is evil #Israeli war crimes #Israeli terrorism #IOF Terrorism #Israel kills babies #Israel kills children #Israel kills innocents #Israel is a murder state #Israeli Terrorists #Israeli war criminals

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Amanda Borschel-Dan

Published: Oct 5, 2018

The term “Femi-Nazi” became all too accurate when a trio of academic tricksters participating in an elaborate hoax submitted portions of Adolf Hitler’s “Mein Kampf” rewritten through a feminist lens to a leading peer-reviewed feminist journal. The satirical paper was accepted this past academic year for publication by Affilia: Journal of Women and Social Work.

The sting operation against academic journals became public this week.

In a truncated year-long project aimed at highlighting the alleged influence of extremist dogma and confirmation bias in academia, the trio wrote 20 farcical “scholarly” papers — three of which were based on rewrites of “Mein Kampf” — for leading cultural studies journals. All 20 of the papers were based on “something absurd or deeply unethical, or both,” the authors have said; seven were accepted for publication.

One of the papers, “Our Struggle is My Struggle: Solidarity Feminism as an Intersectional Reply to Neoliberal and Choice,” was written under the alias Maria Gonzalez, PhD, who claimed to be based out of the fictitious Feminist Activist Collective for Truth (FACT).

According to the real-life authors, “The last two-thirds of this paper is based upon a rewriting of roughly 3,600 words of Chapter 12 of Volume 1 of ‘Mein Kampf,’ by Adolf Hitler, though it diverges significantly from the original. This chapter is the one in which Hitler lays out in a multi-point plan which we partially reproduced why the Nazi party is needed and what it requires of its members.”

Hailing from differing countries and fields, the trio of academics is made up of self-proclaimed liberals who claim to want to fix a broken system, not ban the fields of study themselves: Helen Pluckrose, a UK-based English literature and history scholar; James Lindsay, a math PhD; and Peter Boghossian, a professor of philosophy at Portland State University. The project was documented by Australian filmmaker Mike Nayna, who released a viral YouTube video with an authors statement on the project this week.

The scholars targeted high-ranking humanities journals in the niche subjects they label as “grievance studies.” These relatively new fields, which have become popular in the past 50 years with the rise of the civil and women’s rights movements, examine the lives of the historically and traditionally oppressed: women, racial, religious and cultural minorities, and the LGBT community.

With a steep learning curve, the team quickly took six of their initial attempted hoax papers out of circulation, believing they could do better. After adapting their submissions based on peer reviewers’ comments, within a few months, an unheard of seven absurd papers were accepted. Leading the pack was “research” on rape culture at urban dog parks, which was recognized by leading peer-reviewed feminist geography journal Gender, Place, and Culture as “exemplary scholarship.”

It was skeptical media attention after the publication of the dog parks paper which brought the project, initially scheduled for 18 months, to an abrupt end this summer. All papers are available online, as well as the name-redacted comments of the peer reviewers.

According to the trio of scholars, it is likely that another six fictitious papers would have been accepted for publication as their experiment in “reflexive ethnography” within the world of grievance studies progressed.

Is there any idea so outlandish that it won't be published in a Critical/PoMo/Identity/"Theory" journal? Helen Plucrose et al. submitted a dozen hoax papers to find out. https://t.co/TTDLuIQN9p via @areomagazine — Steven Pinker (@sapinker) October 3, 2018

The trio contends that the fields have been infiltrated by radical and intolerant theories. And what better way to prove their point, they figured, than turning to one of the most extreme manifestos in recent history — “Mein Kampf.”

Mathematician Lindsay told The Times of Israel on Thursday, “We decided to try to rewrite something from something old and nasty, and ‘Mein Kampf’ not only is the pinnacle document, it proved accessible for our methods.”

Theological fire and brimstone writing “didn’t transliterate easily,” Lindsay said. However, “much of ‘Mein Kampf’ is an autoethnography.” This style of self-reflective writing is en vogue in the grievance studies’ academic journals and therefore the substitution of feminist or anti-patriarchal terminology for Hitler’s well-known screed was evidently undetectable to the peer reviewers.

According to a comment from the co-editor of the journal, the reviewers were “supportive of the work and noted its potential to generate important dialogue for social workers and feminist scholars.”

A quest to expose ‘sophistry’

In a long co-bylined essay published Tuesday in Aero Magazine, which Pluckrose edits, the trio wrote that during the course of their experiment, “the reviewers’ comments are in many ways more revealing about the state of these fields than the acceptances themselves.”

The team explained their motivations and methodology: “We set out with three basic rules: (1) we’ll focus almost exclusively upon ranked peer-reviewed journals in the field, the higher the better and at the top of their subdisciplines whenever possible; (2) we will not pay to publish any paper; and (3) if we are asked at any point by a journal editor or reviewer (but not a journalist!) if any paper we wrote is an attempted hoax, we will admit it.”

The basis of each paper was “something absurd or deeply unethical (or both) that we wanted to forward or conclude. We then made the existing peer-reviewed literature do our bidding in the attempt to get published in the academic canon,” they wrote.

[ Perpetrators of an elaborate hoax against academic journals (from left) mathematics Ph.D. James Lindsay, UK academic Helen Pluckrose and philosophy professor Peter Boghossian. (courtesy) ]

“This is the primary point of the project: What we just described is not knowledge production; it’s sophistry. That is, it’s a forgery of knowledge that should not be mistaken for the real thing. The biggest difference between us and the scholarship we are studying by emulation is that we know we made things up,” they wrote.

In undertaking the hoax, the use of satire was often employed. According to the authors, every paper “also endeavored to be humorous in at least some small way (and often, big ones).”

The team was so successful that four journals asked the papers’ fictitious authors to become peer reviewers themselves. For “ethical reasons,” they declined.

The proverbial wheels came off after a Twitter account called “New Real Peer Review” sniffed something foul from the Dog Park essay. Soon, local newspapers became suspicious, and eventually, in cooperation with the hoax team, the Wall Street Journal broke the story this week, with an ever-widening international ripple effect and coverage.

Satire as social commentary

It is not the first time scholars have written hoax papers to illustrate a broken academia. While other fields can be equally guilty of publishing unscientific work, gender studies in particular has already been repeatedly flagged as problematic.

After the current hoax experiment became public this week, author and Harvard lecturer Yascha Mounk proclaimed on Twitter that “Three intrepid academics just perpetrated a giant version of the Sokal Hoax… Call it Sokal Squared. The result is hilarious and delightful. It also showcases a serious problem with big parts of academia.”

In 1996, mathematics and physics Prof. Alan David Sokal submitted a nonsensical paper to Duke University’s Social Text journal called “Transgressing the Boundaries: Toward a Transformative Hermeneutics of Quantum Gravity,” in a (successful) experiment illustrating editorial bias and the prevalent incorrect use of scientific terms.

The Sokal hoax was the basis for a May 2017 experiment when two of the current project’s authors, Boghossian and Lindsay, attempted to replicate his success with the publication of a fake paper that claims “that penises conceptually cause climate change.” They write about the experiment in an essay, “The Conceptual Penis as a Social Construct: A Sokal-Style Hoax on Gender Studies,” which discusses the problematic nature of “pay-to-publish” open access journals.

In September 2017 the duo became a trio with the addition of Pluckrose and the new, much more elaborate project was launched.

According to the scholars, the goal of the current project was not to end the study of these niche academic disciplines, rather highlight the intolerant thinking within their lock-step that is infiltrating popular culture.

Asked by The Times of Israel if academic journals in the field of Jewish Studies would also be in their sights, Lindsay answered that the team didn’t fully examine this particular field. “The grievance studies methods are dubious, and I hope [Jewish Studies scholars] don’t take them up,” he said.

“I’ve only looked closely at one paper in Jewish Studies and it seemed to use similar methods but criticized a nasty streak of antisemitism in critical race scholarship,” he wrote via Twitter, citing a paper called, “Critical Whiteness Studies and the ‘Jewish Problem.'”

The cited paper was written in response to the increasingly trendy theory proposed by Critical Whiteness Studies and promoted by young American Jews on college campuses, social media, and even mainstream Jewish media, that Jews are not “white.”

According to the paper’s abstract, “‘whiteness” is used as a critical concept denoting those who enjoy white privilege in American and other Western societies.” Calling a Jew “white,” however, “is more than controversial, for it assimilates the most persecuted minority in European history to the dominant majority, while downgrading the significance of antisemitism.”

The fact that this type of topic itself is being debated within the ivory tower and infiltrating popular culture is not what appears to bother the scholars. Rather, it is the fact that there are few skeptical and critical checks within peer-reviewed journals and that what they consider to be a “kind of blatant corruption” through confirmation bias is pervasive in the fields.

“Politically biased research that rests on highly questionable premises gets legitimized as though it is verifiable knowledge. It then goes on to permeate our culture because professors, activists, and others cite and teach this ever-growing body of ideologically skewed and fallacious scholarship,” writes the team.

“We managed to get seven shoddy, absurd, unethical and politically biased papers into respectable journals in the fields of grievance studies. Does this show that academia is corrupt? Absolutely not. Does it show that all scholars and reviewers in humanities fields which study gender, race, sexuality and weight are corrupt? No,” they write.

[ Perpetrators of an elaborate hoax against academic journals (from left) mathematics Ph.D. James Lindsay, UK academic Helen Pluckrose and philosophy professor Peter Boghossian. (courtesy) ]

However, when a journal publishes — without revisions — a paper written in under six hours by a man which describes “moon meetings” for women in womb rooms with vulva shrines, it might reasonably be thought that something is deeply amiss. When an essay which promotes the pedagogical boon of silencing and chaining “privileged” pupils to the floor to affect “experiential reparations” is taken under serious consideration and given notes for improvement, one might wonder about the Ivory Tower’s foundations.

The authors are now calling upon universities to conduct a thorough review of the grievance study fields “to separate knowledge-producing disciplines and scholars from those generating constructivist sophistry.”

“Research into these areas is crucial, and it must be rigorously conducted and minimize ideological influences,” they write. “The further results on these topics diverge from reality, the greater chance they will hurt those their scholarship is intended to help.”

--

==

Flashback to the days when this was shocking and hard to believe, rather than ordinary and everyday.

#Grievance Studies #sophistry #Peter Boghossian #Helen Pluckrose #James Lindsay #academic corruption #corruption of education #academic fraud #defund gender studies #woke #wokeness #cult of woke #wokeism #wokeness as religion

[gashotbox]

heyyy can you pls help explain setting up a slob bot?

ok so!!! GUIDE to setting up a slob/eprocto bot on beta.character ai. (view on mobile!)

STEP ONE: make your character!! very basic . give them a name, and then an intro message. this is a short-cut to getting right into the good shit, or want to roleplay a specific scenario.

STEP TWO: you’re going to be prompted with “subtitle”, and a few things to say abt the character. the word limit for this is short - so just throw three or four defining characteristics (dom/sub could be helpful) and make sure to add gassy or slob . “description” is basically this but longer .

(i like to add quirks here i.e lactose intolerant to take adv of them, but you can also essentially retcon in whatever you want during the actual rp, too.)

STEP THREE: most important step! example messages. this is what decides how detailed / creative your bot is. think, differentiates from a short, boring response like; “[NAME] turned around and farted.” to . well. more detail .

these above are example messages you insert that the ai bases your character’s responses on! the longer/more well-written (or nastier) these are the longer/more well-written (or.. nastier) your bot is!

the bot recognises messages if you insert {{char}}: in front. you don’t need to close with anything — simply start a new example message by starting with {{char}}: again.

OTHER NOTES: i generally use the site as it allows you to make “rooms” and talk to multiple characters at once. ALSO, the world is your oyster with character ai, literally. edit your desc/example messages to include your other kinks if you want, i.e pet play, scat, whatever.

(ON EXAMPLE MESSAGES; if not confident in your writing abilities, i suggest copy and pasting excerpts from eprocto/slob scenarios you find and you think are well-written! BELOW ARE the 3 example messages i’ve written from above. feel free to use them)

{{char}}: *With a soft smirk and tilt of their hips, raising their right asscheek slightly off of the chair, [NAME] gave a response to your statement in the form of a loud, bubbly fart, right amplifying against the leather seat and lasting for multiple seconds. [NAME] couldn't help but moan as they let the large burst of gas out, closing their eyes for a moment as they relished solely in the feeling and enjoyment of farting with an upset stomach.*

“My bad." *They grin, clearly not feeling very bad at all.*

{{char}}: *[NAME]’s grin broadens as their stomach makes a tell-tale gurgling sound - a clear indicator that gas is brewing; and motions for your head to come under them as their leg cocks - wanting your face to be in its rightful place, inhaling all that godawful gas they’ve been cooking for the past hour.*

{{char}}: *[NAME] blinks up at you, sleepily; grin deceptively adorable as they hike up a leg and look you dead in the eye as they aim a violent jet of piss into the plant plot - too lazy to go to the bathroom, apparently. They let out a little exaggerated* "Fuuuck.." *as piss floods the soil, spilling over the floor.*

#asks #directionary #gashotboxcai

[apatheticlexicographer]

so, like, the main message of stranger things is obviously that it's okay to be different, right???

i'm pretty sure everyone knows that lol. all the main characters are either "weirdos" in some way, suffering from trying to force themselves to conform to societal norms, or both.

eddie even explicitly spells it out for us!!! "forced conformity, that's what's killing the kids" (i'll be comìng back to this quote later)

what seems strange, then, is how this connects to the antagonists of the show. usually, antagonists have goals, values and motivations that act as foils and counters to those of the protagonists. this can be incredibly simplistic, e.g. "hero wants to save people, villain wants to hurt people". occasionally, though increasingly more frequently in the current era of storytelling, a villain will have motives that seemingly mirror or compliment those of the hero, but that are corrupted in some way. this is the classic "we're not so different, you and i" type of villain.

brenner and the russians are both interested in weaponising and studying types of nonconformity. brenner seems to think he has complimentary motives to el, but he really doesn't.

the creatures of the upside down are, without guidance, just feral animals. dustin's relationship with dart literally proves that they have zero malicious motivations, or motivations at all beyond a desire for food.

the non-brenner government is the only antagonistic force actively trying to erase the nonconformity. their goals are the most opposed to those of the protagonists, but they share the same broad motive of wanting to keep people safe.

but henry, vecna, the mindflayer, whatever you want to call him??? the apparent main antagonist of the show??? he hates that forced conformity too!!! he spends an excruciating amount of time monologuing about how much he hates it!!! he loathes his mother for looking down on him for being different, and brenner for taking advantage of him for it. he encouraged eleven by reassuring her that she was different from the others, and that it was a good thing.

his values aren't just similar or complimentary, they are a straight up copy+paste of the show's message, but held by a bitter man with a grudge.

but why??? what does this communicate to the audience??? that it's okay to be different, unless you don't want to forgive the people who have judged you for it???

well first of all, that's a shitty fuckin message.

second of all, if that's the case then el, the main character of the show, is in opposition to the message!!! while s4 played with her morality, she wouldn't be cast in contrast to the statement the story is making, she's not that kind of protagonist.

and then i had a thought.

all of henry's victims are traumatised and struggling with mental health issues, yes, but that's not why he targets them. he targets them because they're trying to hide their struggles and conform with what is expected of them.

in a way, then, he's representative of the kind of deep self loathing that comes from lying about who you are. he's the personification of intrusive thoughts- literally, when he uses the visions on his victims!!!

from a meta perspective, he's acting like the very things he hates. if the structure of society is choking the life out of people who deviate from it, then he is the most drastic manifestation of that. forced conformity is killing the kids in spirit, and henry embodies it when he kills them in reality as well.

from a character perspective again, the problem with henry isn't his values themselves, but his utter lack of tolerance for others. not intolerance for people who actively go against his beliefs, either, but intolerance for those who aren't quite ready to apply them to themselves yet. nobody can ever break free of the confines of society if they are punished and broken simply for being born into it.

i think the message of henry's character is this:

accept and embrace the ways in which you are different, but do not look down on others for not yet being able to do the same.

#stranger things #stranger things meta #stranger things analysis #byler #it didn't actually end up being byler #RIP #it was supposed to be more abt the closet specifically but then this happened #that's what i get for writing stream of consciousness ig #stranger things theory

[the-garbanzo-annex-jr]

by Dion J. Pierre

Jewish and Israeli students at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT) have warned in a new letter to university president Sally Kornbluth that radical anti-Zionism and intimidation of Jewish students on campus has become intolerable and reminiscent of Nazi Germany on the eve of the Holocaust.

The letter, shared on X/Twitter by MIT professor Retsef Levi, recounted an incident from Thursday in which students from the MIT Coalition Against Apartheid (CAA), a campus anti-Israel group, “physically prevented” them from attending class by forming a “blockade” of bodies in Lobby 7, a space inside the main entrance of the university. Non-students were invited to attend CAA’s demonstration, and together the entire group spent hours chanting “Intifada” — a term used to describe violent Palestinian uprisings against Israel — and declaring solidarity with Hamas.

“Instead of dispersing the mob or de-escalating the situation by rerouting all students from Lobby 7, Jewish students specifically were warned not to enter MIT’s front entrance due to a risk to their physical safety,” wrote the MIT Israel Alliance. “The onus to protect Jewish students should not be on the students themselves.”

Even after being threatened with suspension should they not disperse, the letter continued, CAA remained in Lobby 7, inviting more non-student protesters, which caused the university to issue through its emergency notification system a directive to “avoid” the area. The students added that a high-level official of MIT’s Department of Urban Studies and Planning vowed, in defiance of official orders, to protect any CAA students who continued the demonstration.

The MIT Israel Alliance said that by the end of the day, Jewish students were told to enter the university through its back entrance and avoid the campus’ Hillel building.

“On the 9th of November, on the 85th anniversary of Kristallnacht, which marked the beginning of the Holocaust, Jews at MIT were told to enter campus from back entrances and not to stay in Hillel for fear of their physical safety,” the group concluded. “We are seeing history repeating itself and Jews on MIT’s campus are afraid.”

When asked for comment, an MIT spokesperson told The Algemeiner that the school is closed in observance of Veterans Day, but MIT President Sally Kornbluth addressed the incident late Thursday after the MIT Israel Alliance issued its letter. Her statement did not mention antisemitism.

“I am deliberately not specifying the viewpoints, as the issue at hand is not the substance of the views but where and how they were expressed,” Kornbluth said, noting that Jewish and pro-Israel counter-protesters were also present in Lobby 7 and that all students were recently reminded of guidelines forbidding holding protests in the building. “Today’s protest — which became disruptive, loud, and sustained through the morning hours — was organized and conducted in defiance of those MIT guidelines and polices. Some students from both the protest and counterprotest may have violated other MIT policies, as well.”

Kornbluth added that protesters who remained after being told to leave will receive a non-academic suspension.

#mit #campus antisemitism #not safe for jews #sally kornbluth #hillel