#restraining order for any non students

[beardedmrbean]

Pro-Hamas protesters seize control of historic Barnard academic building and assault college employee

Dozens of keffiyeh-clad anti-Israel protesters took over a building at Barnard College for several hours Wednesday evening, assaulting a school employee while protesting the expulsions of two students who stormed a Columbia University class in January and threw around flyers loaded with hateful rhetoric.

Videos circulating online, posted on X by Columbia Students for Justice in Palestine, show the masked students lining a hallway in Milbank Hall, the oldest building on campus, beating drums and loudly chanting through megaphones.

One of the X posts made by the group — which proclaims “Long live the student intifada” in its bio — includes a list of demands, among them a reversal of the expulsions, amnesty for students punished during last year’s anti-Israel campus protests and a public meeting with dean Leslie Grinage and Barnard president Laura Rosenbury.

The group’s demands also include “abolition of the corrupt Barnard disciplinary process and complete transparency for current, past, and future disciplinary proceedings.”

The pro-Hamas student group claimed in a follow-up post that Barnard public safety officers have “harassed and shoved” several students, and knocked at least one to the ground. “Who are they really protecting?” the manic, all-caps social media post read.

But a Barnard spokesperson said the protesters “physically assaulted” a college employee, sending them to the hospital. 

“They encouraged others to enter campus without identification, showing blatant disregard for the safety of our community,” Robin Levine, Barnard College’s vice president for strategic communications, said in a statement.

College administrators offered to meet with the unruly group if they removed their masks — but the protesters refused, according to Levine.

Levine said masked rabble-rousers had until 9:30 p.m. to leave the building, or the school would consider other actions. 

“We have made multiple good-faith efforts to de-escalate. Barnard leadership offered to meet with the protesters,” Levine’s statement said. “They refused. We have also offered mediation.”

A representative for Columbia University also attempted to reason with the angry crowd — taking a conciliatory tone to the students in a video posted to social media.

Kristina Milnor, a classics professor at Columbia University, meekly extended an olive branch on behalf of the Barnard College administration — offering a meeting with administrators if protesters took off their masks, presented school IDs at the meeting, and promised not to post recordings of the proffered pow-wow on social media.

All of the proposals were met with groans and boos from the dissatisfied crowd, who seemed set on continuing their campaign of complaints.

Protesters graffitied political messages — such as “Free Palestine,” “Barnard expels students” and “F–k Barnard” — on the walls of Milbank Hall and vowed to continue their sit-in until administrators entered into “good-faith and substantive negotiations,” the Columbia Students for Justice in Palestine posted on X Wednesday night.

Despite vowing to continue protesting until their demands were met, the mass of students left Milbank Hall just before 10:40 p.m. Wednesday. 

The crowd marched to nearby Riverside Park — promising to return to the front gates of the school at 12:45 p.m. Thursday to continue their efforts.

Protesters also called for fellow students to skip classes on Thursday.

Rosenbury called out the protesters over “their disregard for the safety of our community” in a statement released after they departed the campus.

“Tonight, a small group of masked protesters attempted to undermine Barnard’s core values of respect, inclusion, and academic excellence. Thanks to the efforts of our staff and faculty, the protesters have now left Milbank Hall without further incident,” Rosenbury said.

“But let us be clear: their disregard for the safety of our community remains completely unacceptable.”

Wednesday’s demonstration was set off by the permanent dismissal of two Barnard students.

The two expelled students — who haven’t been publicly identified — barged into a “History of Modern Israel” class at Columbia University in order to distribute anti-Jewish literature, including a flyer depicting a boot stomping on a Star of David and another showing an Israeli flag on fire.

The caught-on-camera saga erupted on Jan. 21, the first day of the semester at the Ivy League campus. The students were quickly slapped with suspensions, and were permanently tossed from the university last week following a probe, according to Columbia’s Apartheid Divest — a student-led anti-Israel group.

“When rules are broken, when there is no remorse, no reflection, and no willingness to change, we must act,” Rosenbury told The Post in a statement, noting she couldn’t comment directly on a student’s disciplinary record, citing federal law.

“Expulsion is always an extraordinary measure, but so too is our commitment to respect, inclusion, and the integrity of the academic experience.”

Other video shows a large gang of students thuggishly shoving their way into the historic academic building, pushing past security guards as they shouted, “Free Palestine.”

Another video shows a Jewish student wearing a yarmulke allegedly trying to get into the building for class and pleading with a person who appears to be a security guard.

“You’re catering to them. You gotta get them out. We all have to go to class,” the student says.

In a statement, Columbia University said it was “not acceptable conduct” to disrupt academic activities — though it stressed that Barnard College bears the responsibility for addressing the protest.

Mark Treyger, CEO of the Jewish Community Relations Council of New York, condemned the disruption at Barnard.

“It is completely outrageous that these protesters endorsed masked strangers barging into a New York City classroom during instruction with the clear intention to intimidate Jews and spread fear. Accountability is needed,” said Treyger.

Columbia/Barnard Hillel’s executive director, Brian Cohen, said he was “appalled that students once again stormed an academic building, prevented classes from taking place.

“This is a direct infringement on students’ right to enjoy an education without fear of harassment.”

[delphi-shield]

— 「 STRICTLY BUSINESS 」 PT 1

Sylus x Reader x MC — 10k

summary: mixed signals are her first language. she strokes her hand down your forearm, laces her fingers with yours and hits you with a one-two punch: "i'm so happy you made it! this is my boyfriend."

content: threesome, piv, pussy inspection, body worship, fem reader, reader is not mc, established relationship (mc & sylus), creampie, unsafe sex, voyeurism, exhibitionism (fantasized), dry humping, miscommunication trope that kind of works out in reader's favor, alcohol consumption, mc is nameless, non-descript, and referred to with she/her. mdni. dividers by @/adornedwithlight

You were on your way out the first time she walked into your bar.

She had come in with a gaggle of other hunters - work friends, you’d learned quickly. Hunters came in all the time. It was just far enough from headquarters that their superiors wouldn’t stop by for a cocktail, just ritzy enough to justify the elevated prices, but not enough to break their budgets. The bartender was a complete madman, but he could make a hell of a signature cocktail. Something pretty enough for a Moments post, but tasty enough to order again and again, and rotated just often enough that there was something new to post when you needed it.

You’d worked there for years - longer than you had ever planned on staying. Cocktail waitressing was supposed to help you get through school. When you had graduated, you’d found yourself struggling. You'd landed a cushy gig in the archives. Zero contact with the general public, great benefits. It was perfect, almost, except for your salary. It would have been enough to live on if you hadn’t been saddled with student loans, suddenly accruing interest again after years. As much as you hadn’t wanted to pick up more work (read: cried into your drink with some friends, lamenting that you weren’t born rich), you wanted to be debt-free more.

It had been easy enough to start picking up a few shifts a week. No need to look around for some place new when your old manager had practically dropped to her knees and wept when you asked if there was any room for you in the schedule again. It was less that you were a world-class server, more that you were consistent. On time, minimal call outs, already knew the ins and outs of the club. The interview was a formality. You filled out your paperwork while she caught you up on the workplace drama. Who broke up, who got together, who finally got fired – important stuff.

The first time you had served her, she had seemed so polite.

Any other time, you would have been happy to have a regular like her. Hunters were usually a mixed bag. Tips were usually good, but they could get rowdy. She kept her more boisterous coworkers in line with an ease you hadn’t expected from her. She was sweet, almost gentle at times - but she curbed bad behavior swiftly. Sometimes through misdirection - her hand on someone’s elbow, nodding along with their joke, effortlessly steering the topic of conversation away from the hot button issue. Sometimes, though, she’d put a stop to things with force.

You still remember the time she’d hefted her friend off of a table, scruffing him by the back of his shirt like a naughty kitten before you’d had the chance to intervene. She’d managed to haul him off of the table top with one arm, muscles flexing underneath her sleeves, steadying the table with her foot.

“No one came here to see you crack your head open,” she started in, shoving him back into his seat. You left long enough to return the mop to the supply closet. When you got back, she was still tearing into him.

It had been such a thorough dressing down that you’d said the only thing you could think of at the time – “yeah, get his ass.”

That had been the first time you had heard her laugh.

Not the sweet, restrained thing you’d heard before, the kind that you had leaned closer to hear more of, but loud and raucous, a snort taking her by surprise. She took the drink you passed her, her shaking shoulders sloshing it from rim to rim, and pressed her laugh to the edge of the glass.

That was when she became your favorite.

It’s mutual, you think. You dove for her table every time she came in. When you didn’t manage to get her right when she walked through the door, she requested you by name. Niceties gave way quickly to small talk, to hushed confessions and secrets exchanged underneath the driving bass of the club’s tracklist.

'Please' and 'thank you', eye contact every time she spoke to you. She laughed at your jokes - a little too long, a little too loud. Was her sense of humor that broken, or was she just dedicated to being kind to service workers?

You live for the moments she walks in the door, for the times that she picks the lint off your black button ups. No judgement, no comment, cleaning up your frayed edges like it was the most natural thing in the world. You start pushing your sleeves up in a bunch, only because after her first drink she will demand you sit next to her. She pushes your sleeves down and rolls them up nicely, takes her time making every fold crisp and presentable. She pats your arm when she's done, smiles sweetly, and turns back to her drink.

You'll catch an earful about playing favorites later. What are they gonna do, fire you? You're on your way out, anyway.

That day is closer than you thought. One sunny weekend, you’d sat at your kitchen table, blearily squinting at your computer. The realization warmed over at the same speed as your breakfast burrito, the microwave blaring as you realize that you’re at the finish line. You click through the pages, searching for anything you missed, any hidden fees or missed payments that would put you back into the hellhole of student loan debt - but there’s nothing. This next payment, and it was really over.

Thank you, scholarships. Thank you, dollar menus. Thank you, pretty hunters who leave fat tips.

You didn’t think twice about putting your notice during your next shift. The late nights after your 9-5 had been getting to you for a while. There was no benefit they could offer, no raise substantial enough to get you to stay. All that was left was to tell the regulars and struggle through your last few shifts.

The temptation to walk out during your last week was almost irresistible. You’d said most of your important goodbyes. There was only her left, your favorite hunter - and lo and behold, she came traipsing in with her usual crew that Wednesday.

You’d intended to tell her straight away, but her friends were rowdy that night. You're sure they'd all want to know thatyour're getting out of here, but the selfish part of you wants her focus. Some drama about protocores and wanderers keeps them chattering. Not your concern. If there’s no immediate threat, most of it goes in one ear and out the other. With no Evol yourself, you left that to the people a little more gifted than you. It was their job to deal with that, and your job to get them drunk so they still showed up to work.

Opportunity presents itself when you're busy collecting their fourth round of drinks. Her friends dart away to the bathroom, stumbling down the stairs, leaning against each other. You stack their orders quickly onto your tray and try not to seem excited when you bounce up the steps to her booth.

She looks up from her phone at the sound of your footsteps. There's a delay in her reaction, smile lagging before she's able to muster it. She sways gently. Definitely drunk, you note.

“It's my last week.” You lower your tray. Her hand stills on the glass before delicately curling around the stem.

Her fingers are slim. Well kept. Short, clean, probably a clear coat of polish if anything. She cradles the martini glass as if you'd offered her a flower.

A rose. No – too much, too forward. Daffodils, maybe. Vibrant, bright - something that could bring her good luck.

“What? That's so exciting!”

She tries to clap, forgetting the glass in her hand. Her manhattan spills against her chest, stains her white shirt. You divert your eyes immediately, pull a clean cloth from your pocket and offer it to her. It takes every effort to stop yourself from dropping next to her and dabbing her chest clean yourself. Not appropriate behavior with a customer, you chide yourself.

"You're kind of a goblin, huh?"

Shit. Neither was that. The words slipped out of your mouth before you could catch them. You kept the grin pinned to your face even as your heart shriveled up in your chest. Oh my god, how could you have said that? She was still a customer. You didn't know her like that.

She blinks at you, lips parted - shock. She's too polite to say anything, but she’ll lodge a complaint with your manager. It shouldn’t matter. This is your last week. You’ve been saying out of pocket shit all week just because you can. But to her, of all people?

"Kind of?" She laughs. She drains her drink and sets it back to the table. You intercept her hand, fingers brushing against hers. She trades you for the cloth and paws at the mess like a little kitten. "It took you this long to figure it out?"

Your shoulders round, grin smoothing into a smile. The tension in your stomach unspools into warm relief.

"You put up a good front. Want another?"

She shakes her head. Her whole body sways with the movement. Hopefully she's got a ride home. Otherwise, you'd be calling her a cab. A pretty girl like her, making her way home on public transit, stumbling every other step, was a recipe for disaster even if she was some kind of ace hunter.

"Nah, I probably shouldn't," she sighs. She lays back into the plush chair, arms splayed over the back, legs kicked out wide. Her head turns to the ceiling, eyes shut. A sigh rolls through her body.

Your eyes scan down her form. Stop, you tell yourself, eyeing the space of her legs, how the width between her knees is the perfect amount of space for you to step into, to kneel down, hands braced against the tops of her thighs.

It's not that sort of club, you chide yourself, eyes sliding back up. A jolt cracks down your spine, aftershocks tingling through your fingertips. Her cheek is cushioned against the back of the seat, eyes low and half-lidded, staring at you. You shift your weight from foot to foot, pretend to be busy wiping the rim of her glass. Your fingers brush against her lipstick print. Don't think about it. Don't think it. Don't–

"When's your last day?" She asks, leaning forward, elbows dropping to her knees. You force yourself to hold her gaze, to keep your eyes averted from the clear view down the front of her stained shirt.

"Friday."

"Two more days! Are you excited?"

I was, you think. You shrug, playing at non-committal detachment.

"It's bittersweet," you finally settle on. It's not a lie. You're excited to move on, excited to leave the late nights, the rowdy patrons, the constant turnover.

But then there were your coworkers. The years of memories. The routine and policy that was ingrained in you, as easy as breathing.

There was her. Her smile, her laugh hidden behind her hand, the brush of her fingers when you passed her a drink.There were the fleeting touches that you convince yourself you imagined when you were alone in your bed, sheets tangled in your legs. You’d stare at the ceiling, pet the empty space next to you, imagine her tucked under your arm and snoozing peacefully against your chest. How long will she stay in your memory? How long til her edges bleed into something formless? Til you no longer imagine her, or someone in her shape, or anyone at all, til you’re staring up at the ceiling alone again.

She falls quiet. You imagine it, you're sure, the way that her eyes rove up and down your body, the way they flit back to your eyes. Locked on, target sighted -- one shot from those fancy hunter pistols and you're done for.

"You're my favorite," she says, voice approaching a whine. Her head tips back, delicate column of her throat bared to you.

You laugh, a little too late to be natural. You swipe your thumb – the same one that had smudged the lipstick from her glass – against your bottom lip.

“Want the scoop on the other servers so you can pick your new favorite?”

She shakes her head, her brow furrowing.

“No. I want you.”

Heaviness settles between you. Your fingers twitch towards her. You flatten your palm against your hip. The music fades as the track blends to something slower, softer, and you realize at once that the thrumming in your chest isn’t the beat, it’s your heart, hard and fast and pounding in your ears.

“Really?” You try to whip the heaviness to something lighter, offer her a dollop of levity. “You don’t want the gossip?”

Her silence stretches on. She worries her bottom lip with her teeth. A burst of movement and she fishes out a scrap of paper, struggles to find a pen.

“I know you’re not supposed to,” she says, already waving away the company line before you can draw it between you. She scratches the dry pen against the paper again and again, crumpling it until the ink flows. “But if my number just happens to wind up in your pocket, then I guess I was just a patron who had a little too much. And when you don’t work here anymore…”

She tucks her number into your pants pocket, fingers pressing flat against your thighs. Your heart is in your throat. If you try to speak, you’re certain she’ll hear it, loud, beating for her.

“You keep trying to get me fired right up until the end.”

It takes you until Monday to text her.

You have no excuse. Your weekend was unhurried. You'd barely left the house, spent your time turning her words over and over in your head in between housework and intermittent naps. Text her. Don't text her. It's wrong, it's right - do you even want to? Do you like her, or do you like being seen? You don't know her. Not really.

But isn't this part of the knowing, though? This awful in-between, hanging in limbo, getting tossed around on the wash cycle.

You type out a hundred drafts and delete every single one. She was drunk when she gave this out. You should have just texted her after that shift to check if she got home okay. That would have been what a better woman would have done, a woman that could match her step for step.

It's too late now. You're not self-sabotaging, you're just being honest with yourself. There's a difference.

Monday rolls around and you find yourself drafting out your 101st message in between synchronizing old archived files with the city’s new database. Your eyes flit from the screen, the progress bar creeping up torturously slow, to the flicker of your cursor at the end of your latest drafted message.

Fuck it. Why not.

hey. it's your favorite waitress. is this weird? lol

Regret punches into your stomach the moment that you hit send. You stare at the faint 'Delivered' status and grimace. Definitely weird. All that time and that was what you ended up with? God, you didn't even put your name in the message. She probably thinks some rando is texting her, creeping –

She read it. She's typing.

You lock your phone immediately and click around pointlessly on your computer. Open email. Close email. Refresh. Log into the old archives. Click around through the years. Nod along sagely as your eyes glaze over some old police report. Yes, of course. Evol records. Traffic reports for 8th Avenue. Mhm.

The light flickers, message preview lighting up the screen. You drop your head into your hands, more than prepared to just delete the number and forget this ever happened. You snatch your phone up, dread weighing your movements down.

I was wondering when you would text! Saving your number right now.

What are you doing?

Huh. You hadn't seen that one coming. It only takes you a handful of drafts to respond this time. You're both at work - shocking, you had commented. You thought that hunters would be too busy to play on their phones. Turns out there's more desk work involved than you imagined.

The ease you felt in person weaved quickly between your texts, even when the demands of the day pulled you both away. By the end of the day, you'd made plans to meet up with her for drinks later in the week. Some great place she knows, a real hidden gem.

The conversation tapered off naturally, and you found yourself swiping up to reread your messages. You're smiling at your phone like a teenager. Embarrassment cold clocks you. You focus up, tucking your phone into your desk drawer to try to focus.

You’re on cloud nine for the rest of the work day, humming to yourself, tapping out a rhythm against your desk while the system takes forever to process basic search requests. By the end of the day, you’re still bubbly. You bounce into the break room to collect your lunch box.

Even the sight of Inspector Devon’s scowling mug doesn’t ruin your day. He’s just clocked back in, you’re sure. A whole half shift to go, finding minor infractions to meet his quota.

"What's got you all," he waves a hand up and down the length of you, nose crinkling, "giddy?"

"Can't I be happy?"

"No. It's creepy."

You roll your eyes and brush by him, out the door. Nothing could ruin this.

You stare down at the text on your phone, brow pinched.

We’re at the bar! Excited to see you. Punctuated with a little crow emoji waving at you through the screen.

You should have just asked. You should have made sure this was a date, not just expected it to be one. Now, standing outside the club, you feel like a kid playing dress-up in her mother’s clothes.

You'd gone all out. Wore your favorite outfit, fixed your face up, the whole nine yards. Now it feels like too much. The jewelry is too heavy, makeup caked on too thick. You're acutely aware of every place your outfit fails to hide your flaws. The pinch of your heels is suddenly unbearable.

You had showed up on time - not early, not late, 9 PM on the dot. Disappointment stings the fresh edges of rejection. You did this to yourself. You know that. It's no one's fault but your own.

You force yourself to move, one step at a time. It can still be fun, you tell yourself, deleting the draft you had typed out that claimed some mysterious stomach virus had struck you down. You can stockholm yourself into having a good time. Your life is different now. You're different. You send back a perfunct ‘omw in’ and force yourself through the doors.

The place is packed. It's far larger than your old workplace. Less private booths, more tall tables and standing room, crowded dance floor and driving bass that propels your every step forward. Couches dot back end of the room, fitted neatly into recessed conversation dens. That’s going to be filthy, you think. The clientele skews older. One glance at the bar has you realizing you’re far out of your price point.

You peer past glittery dresses and designer shirts, rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet for a glimpse of her. You expected her to be with her hunter friends, but she's posted up at the bar, leaning close to some man. None of her usual crew is to he found.

He's tall - silver hair, angular features, outfit that screams ‘I have money’. More importantly, he has all her attention. Through the crush of bodies, you see her hand rest against his knee.

You divert your attention immediately, ignoring the spike of jealousy. She takes a long sip of her cocktail - a Manhattan again, you might have guessed - and that's when she spots you.

Her face lights up. Your smile is gentle, dim in the shadow of her own glow. She pushes her drink into the man's hand and weaves her way over to you.

"You made it!" She cheers, her hands sliding from your elbows to your wrists. Your heart flutters. You try to sear the touch into your memory. "I'm so happy you're here. C’mon - you have to meet my boyfriend."

Her boyfriend. There goes that. You take some solace in the idea that she wants to introduce you to her boyfriend. What you’d hoped for is out of reach, but you can still find friendship here.

"This place is great," you lie.

She says something under the cover of the music that you don’t catch. You lean close, cupping a hand over your ear, and you still don’t catch it on the repeat. Sure. Smile and nod, and that's enough to get her pulling you back to the bar. The people part for her, like they know better than to stand in her path

The man – her boyfriend, you correct – turns, hands her drink back. He looks you up and down, opens his mouth, and she cuts him off.

“This is Sylus,” she says, hopping up into the seat next to the tall man again. There's something unspoken in his gaze, the way his eyes cut to hers, the sly twist to her smile when she ignores him. She introduces you quickly. You smile, wave, go through the motions of small talk. Whatever that was, you're not getting into it.

She leans over the bar, flags down the bartender to get you a drink. It goes on his tab. Sylus keeps watching you from the corner of his eye. He probably knows you’re into his girl, can smell it on you. She's plucked herself in between the two of you, and every time you find yourself staring at her, Sylus’ cold gaze cautions you to cast your own out to the dance floor.

Their back and forth is easy. Your heart aches, but you laugh along with jokes that you lack context for, pretend you don't see the easy touches he presses to her waist. He's not being cold, you know that. You're hyper-aware, analyzing every tiny movement, looking for a reason to call it quits. Your little rabbit heart wasn't built for this.

When she flutters away to the bathroom, she trails her hand along your back so gently that you want to believe it was intentional. Your heart plummets into your stomach. It's a miracle it doesn't just fall out your ass.

Silence stretches between you as far as it can in a nightclub. You flash Sylus a smile. It goes unreciprocated. You drain your drink instead, set it back to the bar.

How do you make a swift exit? How do you get out of this and preserve your friendship with her? You map out escape routes in your mind. You’re mentally half-way out the fire exit when the bartender drops another drink off in front of you.

"You didn't have to do that," you say, cradling your drink close, both hands clasped around the lowball glass.

"That's a funny way to say ‘thank you’.”

Real charmer, this guy. You swallow a mouthful with a swing of our head, let the whiskey burn down your throat. You were just going to assume that was his attempt at teasing. Good will goes a long way.

“Are you a hunter, too, or–”

“No.”

You nod. “Cool. Me either.”

“What is it that you do?”

“I work for the city.” You wave your hand nebulously in the air. Another long drink. “Back in the archives. I’m a ‘Data Steward’. Basically just means I handle information requests and deal with the record management.”

Sylus appraises you for a moment, carmine eyes tracing your expression, stalling on your lips. Whatever he finds, he seems to accept. He smirks - the first sign of warmth you’ve seen from him aside from the drinks you keep draining.

He leans forward, the gap where she had been diminishing. The timbre of his voice undercuts the music, reaches your ears in a way that makes you shudder. “You must have quite the security clearance.”

You laugh, push your empty glass back. Sylus raises a hand. It's removed swiftly.

“Background checks are a cakewalk. I’m super boring.”

A look flickers across Sylus’ face. Amusement, you think. You'd seen the same look when she had made a joke, thought it was disdain at first.

“And what does someone who's ‘super boring’ do for fun?” He casts his gaze around the club. Your eyes linger on the slope of his nose. “Not this, clearly.”

Wherever that line of questioning was going, you never find out. Warmth and weight presses against your back. Her perfume envelops you - sweet up front, just short of cloying, cut with a spice underneath those layers. Your hunter is back, her arms draping around your neck. You twist to see her. It takes everything in you to keep your hands on the bar in front of you.

"Dance with me," she demands, her hand finding its way to yours. She tugs you up and off your stool before you can compose a denial.

Your eyes flit to Sylus, wide and worried. He only sips at his drink, gaze focused on you. You don't know if he nodded to the dance floor or if you invented the movement in your memory to assuage the guilt.

The guilt doesn't last long. She has an incredible ability to wipe your mind the moment it’s the two of you. She twirls out of your reach, leaves you stumbling after her, and laughter comes easy afterward. You've never heard any of these songs in your life, but she dances as if every one of them is her favorite. Her joy is just as infectious as her laugh, her smile. If you make a fool of yourself, she doesn't let you feel it.

Affection worms its way between your ribs, wraps around your heart and squeezes. She grabs your hand on the up tempo, raises it high - you get the memo and keep it held there, let her do a pretty little spin that sends her reeling into your chest. You giggle, stumble back onto your heel. You brace her with hands poised on her hips, and she meets your eyes, so close, so warm.

The club dances on around you, bass a driving heartbeat that the patrons pulse to, but you're suspended with her. It happens in an instant. She moves to kiss you and you surge forward to meet her.

The first pass is clumsy. Your enthusiasm crashes your noses together awkwardly. Her lips are soft against yours. She laughs into your kiss, effortlessly shifting to align with you. She raises your hand again, demanding another spin. You give it to her - of course you do - but you're chasing after her kiss, leaning after her.

She’s at the end of your reach, clinging to your fingertips, when reality slams back into motion. Your muscles seize. The graceful, flowing way you had reeled her in turns stiff, elbow locked tugging her back. Your breath barely squeaks past the lump that’s wedged into your throat.

She's still laughing, radiant and shining under the pulsing club lights. Your hands brace on her shoulder. Confusion pushes the happiness in her eyes to the side. She tries to curl against your chest again, and you take a step back, this time without her.

"I'm sorry," you say in a rush. “I didn’t mean to – I shouldn’t have.”

Her boyfriend is going to kill you. You don’t know how he’s going to do it, but you know that it’s going to hurt. They’re going to bring your family in to ID your body and they’re going to shrug and say ‘this could be anyone. I’m not convinced you’re not just showing me a pile of ground beef.’

“No, I liked it,” she insists. “You can do it again.”

“I can’t.”

“Please?”

Your mouth works around syllables that stay inside your mind. What the fuck kind of world did you wake up in? Is this a protofield? Are you in a coma? You thumb towards Sylus over your shoulder, only managing to produce a singular, confused noise.

Her foot wedges between your legs, body pressing against yours. “It’s okay.”

That does not help. Your hands hover over her hips, fingers flexing in the air, so close to touching her, restraint held by a thread. If your hands land on her again, you don’t know if you’ll push her away or pull her close. What the fuck is going on?

A big palm settles at your hip. You jolt, reeling back into a broad chest. Sylus peers down his nose at you, hand tightening to keep you upright. This is the end, you think, while he sets you steady.

“You're staring,” he drawls. You haven't figured that expression out yet. Right now, they all mean death. “What? Do you want to spin, too?”

 His hand slides slowly, purposefully, along the small of your back. He steadies you there, thumb arching across the cheap material of your dress. You’re wedged firmly between them, snared between a snake that winds and writhes against you and one that keeps you still, binds your movements with a single touch.

The pieces click into place, an audible snap accented by your head whipping between both of them.

“This is, like, a thing?” You blurt out, index finger drawing a line between the three of you, wagging back and forth until she snares your finger in her hand.

She nods, confusion in her expression smoothing. Sylus smirks, his brows raised. He guides you from the dance floor with the mere suggestion of a touch, a barely there pressure at your side.

“You didn’t tell her?” He drawls, amusement dripping from every syllable.

“I thought she knew!”

You can imagine the way she might have stomped her foot if not for her heels. The world is spinning. Did you just get unicorn hunted? How the fuck did you get yourself into this situation.

“Why would I know that?”

She flounders for an answer. “I talked about my boyfriend all the time.”

“You said ‘partner’.”

“Same thing.”

“Not when you’re a hunter.”

“Are you upset?”

Yes. Of course you are. You’re completely blindsided. She could have at least given you a heads up, dropped some hints. You probably still would have said yes.

Your jaw works, grinding your sharp, pointed words down to dull, harmless things.

“No. I’m just confused."

Her hands circle your wrists. Sylus’ heat disappears from your back. He slips away, barely tracked in your peripheral. The squeeze of her hands brings you back, calluses dragging against your soft skin.

“I should have said something.”

Yes, you think, you should have. But she’s giving you those puppy eyes, big and round, the same kind that she would flash whenever she spilled a drink, when she knew you would have to clean the mess. You bite your tongue. You can’t fall for this forever.

“Yeah, you should have.” There you go. Your spine grew three sizes today. “I still had fun.”

Forget it. Your spine is collapsible. You can hear your own vertebrae collapsing into themselves, hollow thunk-thunk-thunk every time she bats her eyes.

Sylus manifests from the depths of the club, your coat slung over his shoulder. He stretches his arm out to her, welcomes her back with that simple unspoken invitation. She fits against him snugly, like she was molded for him. He reaches up, brushes her hair back from her face gingerly - the sort of care that you hadn't expected from him, that had been absent in his evaluating gaze earlier.

"Ready to go, kitten?"

There’s the escape route. She hesitates, her eyes drifting back to you. It's her pout that does you in, perfect glossy lips pursed, her lipstick only faintly smudged. (Is it pressed to the corner of your mouth, you hope.)

"Do you want to come back to my place?" She asks, voice somewhere between hopeful and hesitant. Sylus' hand squeezes her hip. She clarifies, rolling her eyes. "With both of us."

You can think of a hundred reasons to say no. This isn't good for your heart. You know it isn't. It will hurt, and you will be just as alone as you started.

"Yeah," you say. Sylus swings your coat off of his shoulder, offering it out to you. You shrug it on, noting that he has both of your purses tucked under his arm. You fumble with your coat, hand getting caught in the sleeve. You flap it aggressively until your hand pops free. Sylus snorts, but she laughs. "Sounds fun."

Her place is everything that you expected. Clean, comfortable, modern. She wobbles out of her heels the moment the door shuts. Sylus is faster than you, catches her elbow to steady her before your hand can slide to her back. You avoid his eyes, feign interest in the decor instead.

She tugs you down onto her couch the moment your coat is off. Her eyes are bright, smile wide, laugh loud. You crash down onto the seat next to her. An old classic – flop carelessly, end up closer than normal. Your shoulder brushes against hers. She doesn't even bother to play coy. She leans against your side, kicks her legs over the arm of her couch.

Sylus strides through her apartment, clearly comfortable. Glasses clink faintly in the kitchen, background noise to the idle conversation that falls so naturally from her. He passes her a water first, then inclines his head to you, wiggling the glass in his other hand back and forth faintly. You take it from him. It’s nearly impossible to avoid brushing his hand when it nearly wraps all the way around.

He makes his way around her apartment like he lives here. Does he? You look around as subtly as you can.

Not that it matters. She's chatting happily to you about the evening - the music was great, wasn't it? Yeah, it was great. Could that shoe rack fit Sylus' shoes? No way. If it would, if he was accustomed to that kind of domesticity, he would have put them there instead of lining them up neatly by the door. You had kicked yours off haphazardly, stumbled into the room after her. Decorum was a second thought when you were with her. Was the sharp scent of leather polish swept in by Sylus, or had it been soaked into her apartment, tucked away neatly in a drawer next to her things?

“Yes, oh my god, that guy was so wasted.” You parrot his drunken babble back to her in your best impression of the man from the club, and she cackles. Her hand slaps over her mouth. You're grinning toothily, eyes pressed to crescents. How do you get her to laugh like that again? You could spend the rest of your life trying to pull that sound from her lips.

Sylus drops next to you, thigh brushing against yours. The same move you'd just used on his girlfriend. His arm stretches along the back of the couch, curls behind both of you. He nurses a whiskey in his other hand - the first drink you’ve seen him have all night, you realize.

You don’t remember when conversation was exchanged for kisses. You don’t even remember who touched you first. She pulled you into her by the front of your dress, sucked your bottom lip into her mouth, and who were you to relent? You kissed your way down her body, hands bunching her dress up to her hips. Sylus had positioned your legs in his lap, hand stroking your ankle while he finished his drink.

You’re mouthing at her through her panties when his grip shifts. The only warning he gave was the clink of his glass settling against the side table. His hands slide to your hips, rucking your dress up along the way, and he flips you in one smooth motion. Static fizzes through your spine - excitement, arousal, shock. Probably all three. Your back is pressed to her stomach, head pillowed between her breasts.

Sylus leans forward. You lift your chin, angle to receive his kiss, and it never comes. She leans forward to receive him instead. The press of them, so close, so intimate, and still so far away, is maddening. Your breath quickens. You’d never expected Sylus to moan like that, but he’s unabashed in his pleasure.

He rolls your dress up further, and you lift your arms obediently once their kiss breaks. Don’t even have to be told - aren’t you good?

She thinks so. She tells you so when she presses a kiss behind your ear, when her hands push at your shoulders and guide you to lay back against her.

Your cheek presses against the plush of her thighs. You nuzzle against her skin, stretch like a pampered cat and press your nose to the point of her hip, breathing deep. Your face could be buried in her syrupy cunt if the hands bracing your cheeks and pinning your hips didn't keep you from turning over. Mean, you think. It's the last thought you plan to have for a while.

There's some murmur happening above you - a conversation about logistics, about the height of your hips, whether your breasts should be bare or restrained by your bra.

“It doesn’t matter to me, kitten.” Words like honey, drizzling lazily down to your ears. “This is your show.”

You preen. You're the pretty little bauble, all dressed down for her amusement. She strokes the back of her fingers against your tummy and huffs. It's not fair; even her grumbling is pretty. Her bottom lip juts out and you can imagine running your tongue along it, suckling gently. How soft her skin, how sweet her taste. Her hands travel down your skin, skating over the planes of your ribs, curling upwards to press your breasts together. She hums. Her brow furrows. You arch your back, mold yourself into the shape of desire.

A hand slides up the valley of your breasts, backs of her fingers dragging. She catches your chin with her knuckle, urges you to tilt your head up to her.

You can't imagine what you must look like, so you picture the roles reversed instead. She'd look just as good lying in your lap as she does looking down her nose at you. Your nipples peak, press against the cups of your bra and fuck, you must be hot if you can feel that, if every breath has you tingling for more.

"Off," she says with a determined nod. She smiles down at you, turns her hand to cup your chin. You lower your head to her touch instantly, all but purring.

If Sylus cares one way or the other, he gives no indication. He presses the small of your back, urges you to keep arching. His warmth surprises you. You’d expected him to run cold, expected his long fingers to dot your skin with goosebumps. There’s no caress to his touch (not like when he touches her, fingers drifting down her skin, stroking, circling, ever present. You could watch him pet her for hours. In your mind, she bends into his hands. You bend the same way, wonder if it will turn his touch gentle, but it’s–) just efficiency. 

His eyes trail a cold path down the curve of your body, knuckles trailing along your spine until they catch the clasp of your bra. He strokes along the band, assessing the way it sits, counts the hook and eye closures with a swipe of his thumb, and then it’s undone. 

Her hands slide down your shoulders, tidal in their movements. Down, up, down, so steadily you barely realize that she's slipping the straps from your shoulders. She presses open-mouthed kisses down your neck. She paws at your chest, revealing your breasts as if they were works of art, a statue unveiled for the very first time.

Her kisses stop. She hooks her chin over your shoulder, cheek resting against your own. She sighs, her chest pressing against your back, and you find yourself mimicking the movement. Breath flows out of her and into you. She gazes down at your body from the same angle that you do every day.

You squirm as the thought truly cements. You know what she sees. Every angle, every curve and roll, all of the parts that you have fixated on and pinched at, pleaded for to smooth away, to become a firm plane of muscle not unlike the ones that lay behind her clothes.

But she runs her hands down the soft angle of your ribs, the curve of your waist, finally settling at your hips. She noses into the crook of your neck and squeezes.

"You're so soft," she says, words pressed into your skin -- flowers for the artist. You shift in her grip, trying to squirm from her grasp. It's too much attention, too vulnerable, but she grumbles. "So pretty. Look–"

She runs the backs of her fingers from your hips up to your waist. She kneads another palmful of your flesh reverently. Her breath is warm against your neck when she moans, but it sends a chill across your skin, a frigid anticipation. Your head knocks back against her shoulder.

Your eyes close. The comfort of her presence and praise lulls you to a space you’d never felt before, your body melting against her frame. Sylus’ weight is a welcome surprise. He grips your ankle tenderly, position your legs wider, and lays himself in that space, and–

What the fuck. You nearly choke.

You wish his dick wasn't big. Not because it doesn't make your mouth water, not because you can feel yourself clenching at the feel of it against your clothed cunt, but because you don't want his ego to be justified. He chuckles at your little noise, at the restrained pulse of your hips against his. He presses against you fully when he leans up to kiss her and you feel it against your core, hard in his pants. You can imagine the tip, glistening, dripping, wetting the front of his boxers, can imagine it slapping against his stomach when you dip your fingers into the waist of his pants and tug them down.

Your throat tightens, heart hammering against your ribs. His hips shift against yours and you whine like a bitch in heat. You’re torn between the need to press your hips up to meet his and the paralyzing instinct to remain still, to savor every movement. This is meant for her, you know it is, but if you lay still then you can pretend. Your body can be her proxy. He can rut against you until he spills himself on your stomach. She can admire his cum against you skin, swipe it onto a finger, lick it clean and then press her finger into your mouth, let you swirl your tongue amidst the remnants of her spit and his spend, swallow down only the traces of them.

A big hand curls around your rib cage, fingers flexing into the gaps, thumb tucked under the swell of your breast. He could squeeze, cave your chest in, and it might feel like relief. Any touch is relief, even if you want his hand to slide around to your front, his big palms rolling and squeezing your breasts together. You want his tongue running over them, teeth nipping, lips sucking, marking.

Instead, he pulls you up, makes you roll into the movement you’ve tried so desperately to restrain. Your resolve is broken easily. You rock into him again and again, whimpering, desperate for anything they will give you. Her hands slide between your bodies, squeezing your tits hard. Your clit throbs. Desperate and whining, you grind yourself into him, savor every controlled roll of his hips.

He pulls back from her and his hands slide down your body. Long fingers hook into your panties, dropping them down to your knees.

Sylus doesn't move until her hands press at his shoulders. You exchange a look with him, and the unspoken is agreed upon. It's not your pleasure - it's hers.

You thought you were ready. You thought he'd reach down, undo his belt (one hand, you imagine, practiced) and get to work.

Instead, he slips down your body, hands braced on your hips. His thumbs press the point of your hips, and a spark of pleasure ignites the kindling piled in your stomach, sends you squirming. He braces himself on his elbows, lowers his face to your cunt. His breath fans against you, thumbs massaging your skin.

"Wait–" you blurt out. You could kick yourself. You free your hand from her grasp and push weakly at Sylus’ shoulder.

His eyes cut up to you immediately. The sight is enough to make your insides squirm, breath evaporating from your lungs. What kind of idiot were you to stop this?  His hands loosen. For the first time the entire night, he's truly looking at you as if she isn't there. Sylus waits for you to continue. When you don’t, he draws himself up to his elbows.

"No?" He arches a brow. His hands slip from your skin, palms laying flat by your side instead.

Your mouth runs dry. Embarrassment heats your face. You hold his gaze.

"It's too..."

Too intimate. Too much. I don't know you like that.

Sylus seems to get the message. He shuffles back, sits on his heels. His hands come back to your skin, splayed against your thighs this time. There’s no pressure in his touch. When you knock your knees together, suddenly struck by the awareness of how bare you are, spread out in front of him, he lets you.

“We can still – other stuff,” you stammer out.

“Be more clear,” Sylus instructs.

Your breath comes out in a whistle, and the words that follow are a ten car pileup.

"You can fuck me. Like, with your dick. Or something."

The irony isn't lost on you. You won't let him put his mouth on you, but his cock will do. You're fairly certain that the quick exhale from behind you was her attempt to stifle a laugh. You turn your head away from his gaze. Too intense. Too much.

"Is that what you want?"

Your tongue is heavy and thick in your mouth, words failing you.

"I don't not want that."

He clicks his tongue. Admonishment, a quick flash of shame shooting up the column of your spine.

"Not good enough."

His hands withdraw from your skin, touch dragged away. You force your eyes back to him.

"Wait, no - I want it," you say quickly, stumbling over yourself to claw him back to you. "Please. I really want it."

The corner of his lip quirks. His eyes raise back to her, and suddenly you can breathe again. You knock your head back against her chest, rolling to settle against her tits. In your relief, you miss their silent exchange.

It doesn't take you long to piece together what's going on. She leans away, slides a drawer open, and passes Sylus a bottle of lube over your body.

“Is that necessary?”

Sylus snorts. "If you're not going to let me prepare you my way, then yes. It is."

Truly, you wish you could call his bluff, but you'd felt him against you mere minutes earlier.

He shakes the bottle in one hand, the other sliding to press against the inside of your knee. It's a suggestion for the moment, but you feel the strength behind his touch. You part your legs again after a moment's hesitation. Nerves flutter back into your chest.

He huffs. You think that might be the closest he gets to laughing.

"You'll need to be wider than that," he points out.

Her hands shift from their hold on your waist, sliding down your body and smoothing over the softness of your inner thighs. She presses you wider for him gradually.  Her mouth catches your earlobe, teeth scraping gently.

"You're going to feel so good," she promises. She could tell you anything in that voice and you would believe her, but this time it takes effort. "Can he use his fingers?"

You nod. Her teeth snag against your skin, and you inhale ragged.

"Can you tell him?" She says. If she asks it of you, then why not?

"You can- you can touch," you manage. She kisses beneath your ear, whispers for you to be more clear, to tell him how. "You can finger me."

The heat in your face is nothing compared to the pulse of your cunt. You twist to bury your face in her shoulder, embarrassed and certain that he can feel the heat fanning from you in waves.

His touch is slow, searing. His fingers stroke down your thigh. His touch hovers, and then he's palming your pussy. The heel of his hand grinds against your clit. You press back into her arms, head rolling. You mouth needily at her neck, desperate to keep your noises at bay.

Sylus drags his fingers through the mess of your cunt, slow, testing strokes. One long finger teases your entrance, lazy circles drawn against your sensitive skin.

His press is gentle. First knuckle, second knuckle – fuck, his fingers are thick. You'd admired his hands all night, spent time chasing away thoughts of sucking them, but now they're pressed inside you,

"Don't hold your breath," she instructs. Your exhale comes out in a needy, pitiful whine. She's grinning, you're sure of it, but Sylus withdraws his finger to add a second and that thought is quickly discarded for the thrill of this new stretch.

Slow and easy breaks to hard and driving the moment he pulls a shattered moan from you. You writhe as he hits the same spot again and again, callused fingers brushing and hooking against the perfect spot. Heat pools in your limbs, toes curling with every press of his fingers.

And then it’s gone. The heat dissipates, embers still burning in your veins. You clench around nothing, body struggling with the absence. Your chest heaves. You force your eyes open and you’re transfixed by the sight of Sylus stroking himself. It’s lube, you tell yourself, but god you wish that slick on his cock was you instead.

He drags his glistening tip through your folds, nudging your clit. You shift to meet him, struggling to find your timing in the haze of lost pleasure. Your knee presses against the back of the couch, desperate to welcome him back to you.

Sylus presses himself to your soaked entrance. He plants a hand by your hip, reaches past you with the other. Her hand tangles with his, their fingers intertwining against your stomach.

His fingers were nothing compared to his cock. The first thrust leaves you gasping against her shoulder, hand clawing at his back. The stretch fades to pleasure when his hips draw back and press deeper, his pace driving you back into her body.

Every time you think he’s bottomed out, he stretches you deeper. Those careful, slow thrusts with his fingers weren’t courtesy, they were reconnaissance. You choke on your moans. Her hand grips your jaw, directs you to kiss her, to pour your sounds into her while he pounds into your cunt. Her perfume mixes with his cologne, some heady concoction that will have you wet at the very trace of it in the future.

There’s no time to figure out how much of him you’ve taken, how much is left, how much could possibly fit. Their hands press against your stomach. You clench around him. Pleasure floods through you, pries free a cry that sharpens to a sob when she wedges her hand between you, two fingers rubbing your clit. He kisses you hard, teeth clacking against yours, his hips snapping. You can’t close your mouth and that’s perfect for him, his tongue delving past your lips, brushing pants yours. All you can do is moan into him.

Her fingers keep circling, circling, harder and harder, your clit throbbing, pleasure needling through your limbs. Your hands flex, toes curling - and then your knees snap closed, press hard against him, the dam breaking, your orgasm washing over you in waves. Your vision tears. Pleasure and sheer sensation sweep you away, leave you babbling and writhing.You’re pulsing around him, hands roving between her and him, unsure of who to cling to, who to claw at, who can catch you while you tumble. Sylus’ arm wraps firmly around your waist, drags up flush to his hips and keeps you pinned there. His teeth sink into your bottom lip, throaty groan rumbling from his chest. His thrusts are quick and deep, prolonging your pleasure until it verges on painful sensitivity.

His cock jerks. He presses himself deeply into you, fully seated when he cums. She surges forward to kiss him, to swallow all those pretty moans he had been panting into your skin, folding you to a new angle that makes you gasp and shudder.

Your body is a heartbeat. You’re boneless in their grip, at their mercy. Your eyes flutter shut when Sylus finally stills inside you, when his hips stop fucking his cum deeper. Her hand draws away from your over-sensitive clit, petting your sides gently. They talk, a quiet murmur over your body that you can’t be bothered to parse.

It’s not for you. Even with your brains liquefied, you have enough sense to know that.

Sylus draws himself from you, and it feels like a loss. You curl into her chest instead, movements heavy and sluggish. She strokes your hair back from your face, neatly arranges the mess they’ve made of you as she lays you back against the cushions.

Sleep would have taken you immediately if it weren’t for her probing touch.

Her fingers drift across your sensitive folds, two fingers parting your labia. Heat sears your skin, embarrassment a flash fire sparked from the dull embers of your orgasm. You’re too sensitive for her curiosity. The pad of her thumb drags against the sore hood of your clit and you turn your head the side, wounded noise locked obediently behind your teeth.

Sylus snares her wrist in a loose hold. His thumb traces her pulse point.

“Give her a rest, sweetie,” he says with all the admonishment of a parent telling his daughter to put away her toys.

Her gaze is stuck on you, watching his cum drip out of you. How can you feel equal parts adored and objectified? 

She sighs dreamily and rises to her knees. You give in, your eyes too heavy to keep open any longer. She leans over you, kisses your forehead and says, “did you have fun?”

You wake to the sound of a shower. You blink yourself to consciousness and find yourself staring at an unfamiliar ceiling. The lights are warm. The blanket over you is soft, the scent pressed into the weave familiar but not your own. It takes a moment for the recognition to set in, and when it does so does the ache in your muscles.

One deep breath expands your ribs, highlights the muscles in your back you'd pulled, the fingerprints against your ribs, the soreness in your breasts. Your lips are swollen and raw, kissed to the point of pain, and your mouth has run dry. Your hand slips from your stomach, fumbles around aimlessly for your phone. It's habit, not logic. Of course it isn't there. This isn't your home, and you didn't leave it on the table. It's probably still tucked away in your purse, dead or dying.

Trying to sit up is a mistake. You feel it in you core, in your hips. Were you out of shape, or had it just been a while?

Who were you kidding. Probably both.

You squint around the room, waiting for the bleariness in your eyes to clear. Your knees wobble when you trust your weight to them. You hunch over the plush couch, take a moment to right yourself.

"I thought you'd sleep much longer than that," Sylus says, sipping at a cup of coffee in the kitchen.

You jump, grumble a quiet 'shit' under your breath. He'd been there the whole time, surely. His hair is damp, water dripping off the ends and onto a soft towel wrapped around his shoulders.

You stall in the entryway, twisting this way and that, arms stretched high over your head, then down to your toes. You regret every movement, muscles screaming at you to give it a rest.

"I don't sleep well in new places," you admit.

"Neither do I," he notes. You believe it. He seems the paranoid sort.

You'd seen his type before, the kind that scanned every corner for threats. Usually, it was a show - jumpy men scared of shadows, masking their fear with proactive aggression. You weren't so sure about him. Same song, different key.

He doesn't look up from his reading. You assume he's done with you for the moment. Not the first time someone's treated you coldly after having their dick in you, but this time it stings. You pin it on the aches and pains again, brush it off, and fish your phone out of your pocket.

4:47 AM. 6% battery.

“Shit,” you murmur. You turn it off and press a knuckle between your eyes, massaging the tension out. You would ask her if you could borrow her charger once she was out of the shower. You could call a cab, or at least map out the walk home. You'd been so blinded by her the entire drive that you weren't even sure what part of the city you were in.

"Did you need a ride home?"

It's like he's a mind-reader. That's the generous interpretation of that statement, at least. The reality is he probably just wants you out of his girlfriend's apartment.

You smile tightly and shuffle your purse onto your shoulder.

"You don't have to do that. I can walk, or I'll get a ride."

He looks up, eyes dark under the ridge of his brow.

"I'll give you a ride."

That didn't sound like there was room for argument. You stuff it down, fidgeting from side to side.

"Okay. Sure."

Her shower is still running. You hesitate only for a moment. Sylus is paused at the door, keys in hand. Not the kind of man you keep waiting. You would call her tomorrow. Maybe then you could figure out what all of this was - if it was anything at all.

The ride home is nearly silent. You’re not sure what you expected. You’re not sure why you expected anything at all. You don’t take it to heart. It’s not your first awkward car ride home after getting your brains fucked out.

Sylus has the decency to wait for you to wobble to your door, unlock it, and get inside before he drives away. That’s nice, at least. You leave a trail of your belongings back to your bedroom, too tired to do much of anything other than flop down face first on your bed. The stickiness between your thighs demands attention, however, and you treat yourself to a five minute shower.

The night replays in your mind as you wash it off. Their hands on you, their mouths - their eyes looking past you, towards each other.

You shut the water off. No more of that. You’ve tortured yourself enough tonight. You stumble through the halls of your apartment. The beginnings of the sunrise glow through the dark of night. You draw your curtains closed.

When you lay back in your bed, body aching, blood pulsing through the marks they had left on your skin, you realize that you are still alone.

[perkypeony]

I'm feeling angsty but I don't wanna cry alone. So I'll make the whole fandom cry 😈

𝕋ℍ𝔼 𝕊𝕋ℝ𝕆ℕ𝔾𝔼𝕊𝕋'𝕊 𝕆ℙℙ𝕆𝕊𝕀𝕋𝔼

Gojo Satoru x little sister reader

The estate of the Gojo clan always seemed more like a prison to you. You were the prisoner, the tortured disgrace, a cruel joke of fate that was never meant to see the light of day.

Your parents ensured your existence was kept a secret, telling the world that you had died shortly after birth due to a severe health condition. In reality, you were very much alive, though barely, and kept breathing by your cursed energy. The doctors called it a miracle. Your parents saw it as a curse.

You were the opposite of your perfect older brother, Satoru. You didn't inherit any Gojo clan cursed techniques. And worse, you could produce cursed spirits whenever you felt bad emotions just like the non-sorcerers.

From a young age, you were confined to the estate, hidden from visitors and locked away in the basement whenever you couldn’t control your emotions. The basement was a place of darkness and fear, where cursed spirits born of your anguish tormented you until you passed out from exhaustion or terror.

The only light in your life was Satoru. Unaware of your suffering, he believes that you led a normal childhood despite your health condition. Every time he came back from Tokyo Jujutsu High, you felt genuine happiness, a rare and fleeting emotion.

"Satoru! You're back!" You would exclaim, the pain momentarily forgotten. He would spend his time with you, read you a book or listen to your rambling. One time he brought you out to get ice cream, that was the best day of your life. You sure get scolded after that but it definitely worth it. His presence was a reminder that maybe, just maybe, you were worth something.

But one day, Satoru came home unexpectedly after a mission, and the facade crumbled. Your father was dragging you towards the basement, your screams echoing through the halls.

"Please, don't! Not again!" you pleaded, your voice breaking with desperation.

He followed the sounds and found you struggling against your father's grip. "What are you doing to them?" he questioned, his voice cold and dangerous.

Your father froze, unable to meet his son's gaze. Satoru didn't wait for an explanation. He took you by the hand, and for the first time, you felt safe.

Satoru brought you to his house, determined to give you a chance at real life. You met Megumi first, who became your first friend. After that, you got to become a student at Tokyo Jujutsu High where Satoru's a teacher there. Slowly, you got to know Nobara and Yuji, and for a while, you experienced normal life.

But happiness was a fragile thing. The higher-ups soon learned of your existence and demanded to see you. If Satoru was there he would come with you, but unfortunately he was away on a mission.

"You are a disgrace to the sorcerer society," one of them sneered, and the dam of your emotions broke. A powerful cursed spirit finally erupted from you.

They ordered for you to be locked in a room where your cursed energy would be restrained. Without it, you began to weaken rapidly. The cursed energy that had kept you alive was now being siphoned away, leaving you on the brink of death.

You woke in the infirmary, your body frail and exhausted. Satoru sat beside you, his usual blindfold hiding his teary blue eyes, but his voice gave away his sorrow. "I'm here, " his voice cracking. "I'm sorry I wasn't there with you. "

You reached out and grasped his hand. "Satoru, I'm so tired," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "I've spent my whole life fighting just to exist. I think it's better if I just die."

His hand tightened around yours, his voice trembling. "Don't say that. Please, don't give up."

You gave him a sad smile. "Thanks for all the happiness you've given me, even if it just for a while. But, it's time for me to rest. Don't worry, I'll die without regret. I'm happy to get to know you better. "

Megumi, Nobara, and Yuji gathered around your bed, their faces etched with sorrow. Each goodbye was a dagger to your heart, but you managed to smile through the tears.

"Thank you," you said, your voice weak. "For being my friends. For giving me a taste of what life could be."

They left one by one, and finally, it was just you and Satoru. He held you close, his tears falling freely.

"I love you," he whispered. "I'm sorry I couldn't protect you better."

"You did your best," you murmured. "And that's all that matters."

With a final, shuddering breath, you let go. The darkness enveloped you, but this time, it was a gentle embrace. You felt no fear, no pain. Only peace.

[rems-writing]

Doberman cafe but a Maltese owns it?

Pairing: barista!Yeosang x office worker!reader

Summary: This will be tied to the dilf YunGi fics I posted a while back but this time, the reader will have no connection to any of the characters. Just a heads up lol

Warning(s): Swearing, yelling, Yeosang being a total softie for the reader, reader is a certified simp for Yeosang (i mean who wouldn't be lol), mentions of a non-Ateez member

Genre: A shit ton of fluff lol

Nets: @mirohs-aurora-society

Originally, I was going to post a Hongjoong fic. However, in observance of the birth of the man named Kang Yeosang, I've decided to post this first before the Joong fic.

Thank you to @bunnliix for helping me decide the order of the remaining fics that I should write and post

The calming effect of the soft jazz music playing in the background of the Doberman Cafe provided much needed soothing effort for those that entered the small coffee shop. From college students to families that wanted a day out, the owner would always greet his customers with a smile.

Kang Yeosang was happy where he was at. After quitting his old job, he found it relaxing to grind coffee and mix in various ingredients to create caffeinated drinks varying from sweet to bitter. He also got some help from his best friend Jung Wooyoung, who was currently in the back baking various pastries. The two have been friends since diapers and they vowed to never abandon the other.

Yeosang has heard tales of Wooyoung's other best friend getting together with Jeong Yunho and the widow of Doh Kyungsoo dating Song Mingi.

When would it be his turn?

Business was slow as usual for today. After all, it was Friday so most of his usual customers weren't coming in which was fine. It gave the man time to relax and rest his hands from making coffee. The bell attached above the front door chimed and Yeosang looked up. He was getting ready to greet the customer with a kind smile when he heard the argument that came through.

"LISTEN, JONES! I DON'T FUCKING CARE IF HE ACTS LIKE A DAMN CHILD THROWING A TANTRUM! HE SHOULD'VE THOUGHT TWICE BEFORE FUCKING CHEATING ON ME!"

Oh dear. This person sounded angry. Wooyoung must've noticed Yeosang's confusion and slight fear since he poked his head out of the back and heard the unintentionally loud conversation this person had with this Jones person.

"HE HAD THE AUDACITY TO SAY THAT?! OH HELL NAH! I'M OVER HERE BUSTING MY ASS LEFT AND RIGHT 24/7 TO BRING FOOD ON THE TABLE AND PAY RENT WHILE HE SITS ON HIS ASS AND DOES ABSOLUTELY FUCKING NOTHING! AND YET HE HAS THE GALL TO SAY, 'yOu nEvER mAkE tiMe fOr me' STRAIGHT TO MY FACE?! AT LEAST I DIDN'T SLEEP WITH HIS BEST FRIEND!"

Oh. This just got interesting. As Yeosang saw the customer sit down, he couldn't help but to be smitten with them. Sure, they were angry as hell and very much stressed yet he couldn't help it. He tilted his head and eavesdropped some more. Unintentionally.

"Look, Jones! After gathering the divorce papers, make sure you also provide documents for a restraining order against my soon to be ex-husband. It may be too much, but I don't care. I'm so fucking tired! I'm just... done. Let me know when those papers are finished and fax them to me. My boss won't care. He knows of the shit that's happening to me right now. Hence, that strangely kind offer for me to take a trip down to the Bahamas. Anyways, I have to go. Tell your wife and kids I said hi."

You hung up after your attorney and former college roommate Jones bid you goodbye. You groaned quietly and laid your head on the table that you sat at. You felt someone sit across from you and you were about to tell them to kindly fuck off when you lifted your head and was immediately greeted with a statue staring down at you with big brown eyes that were full of curiosity and wonder.

'HOLY SHIT! I KNOW THAT A LOT OF PEOPLE SAY THAT THE OWNER WAS HANDSOME, BUT THEY CERTAINLY DIDN'T TELL ME HOW HANDSOME! AND HE'S SO CUTE TOO! LIKE A MALTESE!'

'Quit it, Y/N! He probably thinks you're a lunatic with the way he must've heard you scream over the phone.'

'Damn it! Ok I'll stop my simping...'

After you finished internally scolding yourself, you looked down to see him move a white teacup slowly in your direction, along with a slice of cake.

"Hey. I figured you'd need this. I didn't mean to, but I overheard you yelling at someone over a certain douchebag that's also a man-child. Hopefully, this cheers you up." He said in a rich honey-like deep voice.

In the cup was a freshly brewed batch of lavender green tea and on the plate was a slice of black cherry chiffon cake. You smiled sheepishly and thanked him shyly for the treats.

When you sipped the tea, all the stress over your cheating soon-to-be ex-husband washed away and you instantly relaxed. You then picked up your fork and took a piece of the cafe before eating it.

You were in heaven. You definitely needed this.

"Um... thank you." Your voice came out softer than usual and had a twinge of shyness to it. Yeosang smiled and beckoned for Wooyoung to come sit with you.

Wooyoung was extremely sexy, but not as sexy as the man sitting across from you.

"I hope you guys don't mind me coming in here at this ungodly hour. If you haven't heard, I'm... kind of going through a lot right now."

Wooyoung, who was usually loud as hell, softened his voice.

"It's no problem. Fridays are our slowest days and since Saturday is our day off, we usually stay in here until we decide to go home. You're welcome to stay as long as you like."

"Thank you. By the way, these are amazing."

"Thank you! I made the cake." Wooyoung proudly said with a smile.

"And I made the tea." Yeosang said. "Speaking of which, would you like to spill the tea on your oh-so shabby life?"

You found yourself smiling at that and Yeosang found his heart beating rapidly with excitement.

"Oof. Where do I start?"

From there, you spilled the tea on everything. From your recent tragic event to your life in general, you said it all. Yeosang and Wooyoung were sassy and savage and you found yourself giggling at their quick and witty responses. Finally, you felt yourself becoming sleepy and you yawned. Yeosang found the sound cute. Wooyoung cleared the dishes while Yeosang stood up and help you with your things.

"Would it be possible to walk you home? Not only do I enjoy your company but uh... the Namhae Strongman is still out there. You need to stay alive in order to sign those divorce papers and file that restraining order against that ex of yours."

You shivered at the thought of the killer coming after you. Even though you were angry at your ex, you wished him well enough to pray for his safety.

The Namhae Strongman is not someone you'd want to mess with.

"Of course, Yeosang. I live down the block from here so it'll be a short walk."

Yeosang grinned excitedly and your heart ached in adoration for the human personification of a Maltese. After Wooyoung locked up the shop, you three headed to your apartment. You talked some more and kept an eye out for any suspicious activity or sign of the killer. Finally, you reached your apartment.

"Thanks for the walk home. Oh and for the tea & cake as well. How much do I owe you by the way?"

"It's on the house."

"No no, Yeosang. It's ok. I seriously need to repay you-"

"Repay me by giving me your number. So you can send updates."

Wow. He was smooth.

You blushed lightly and nodded before exchanging numbers with him. After that, you bid him goodbye and entered your apartment. You sighed dreamily as you closed the door behind you and locked it. You set your keys on the counter and made your way to the kitchen, where your roommate was still awake.

"So... you got a new man now?" He teased you and smirked at your reaction.

"Shut up, Jongho!"

---------------------------------------------------

A couple of days later, you found yourself in Doberman Cafe again. Insomnia was being a bitch to you so you woke up way earlier than Jongho. Sighing to yourself, you threw on a hoodie and walked to the coffee shop before looking for the one person you were majorly simping for.

He just so happened to be standing in front of you with a grin on his face.

"Good morning, lovely."

The pet name gave you butterflies.

Yeosang led you to your seat from Friday night and sat down across from you.

"What will it be today?"

"I'll get a caffe mocha with a soymilk substitute and if possible, a slice of that black cherry cake?"

"Ahh. Now with that cake, it only pairs with tea since it's sweet. Unless you have a giant sweet tooth, I'd recommend some of our breakfast sandwiches. Specifically, a roast beef sandwich with a fried egg all on ciabatta bread that's toasted to perfection."

"Ooh! In this case, I'll have that then. And maybe later, when I leave, can I get an iced americano to go?"

"Sure thing, lovely. It'll be $10 by the way. For your order and that iced americano."

You pulled out a $10 bill and gave it to Yeosang before seeing him walk away and do his magic. While you waited, you received a text from Jones.

Jones: Hey. I'd thought I'd stop by and give you the papers myself. Are you home?

You: No. I'm at the Doberman Cafe. I couldn't sleep anymore so I'd figure I'd stop by here and wake myself up.

Jones: Oh? Ok bet. I heard from my wife that the owner is handsome. Maybe I'll see for myself. ;)

You: And I oop -

You: Don't go simping for the barista now, Jones. You're married and he's actually mine fyi

Jones: Can't a man appreciate another man's good looks?

You: Of course you can. Just don't go full on simp mode. XD

Jones: Like you? XD

You: Fuck you <3

Jones: Ew. No thanks <3

You: Hurry with the fuck ass papers, you dickhead.

Jones: Ok ok! XD

"Is that Jones?" Yeosang asked curiously. You would expect the Maltese to be jealous, but since he overheard your conversation two nights away, he wasn't too worried.

"Yeah. He's coming by here to drop off the divorce papers and the necessary documents to file a restraining order." You clarified to him. "I know I said that he'd fax them to me, but I didn't think he would get them that fast. Hence, why he's coming over to drop them off himself."

Yeosang nodded and set your coffee and meal down before sitting next to you. You thanked him and began to eat. You two made small talk and even introduced Yeosang to Jones when Jones came walking in to deliver the papers. Yeosang grabbed a pen and you happily retrieved it from him before signing the papers. After that, Jones put all of those papers away and bid you goodbye before buying a coffee from Yeosang and going home.

A weight lifted off your shoulders and you felt at ease. Yeosang was feeling the same way, especially since he found you attractive.

Little did he know that you felt the same way.

"Now that it has been done, want to turn this little encounter into a date?"

Yeosang was shocked by your boldness but he eventually nodded eagerly.

"I would love nothing more than that."

[texasobserver]

From “‘Drag is so Healing’: Austin’s Queens Won’t Back Down” by Digital Editor Kit O'Connell, originally published in the September/October issue of Texas Observer magazine. Photography by Cindy Elizabeth:

In an orange prison jumpsuit and chains, a tall, lean drag queen writhed to a cover of “War Pigs” by Brass Against, which sounds like someone swapped Black Sabbath’s lead singer for a woman and added a highly caffeinated marching band. As she lip-synced, Hermajestie the Hung completed a dramatic strip tease down to an army fatigue jacket and fishnets, all to riotous cheers and a rain of dollar bills. 

It’s April at the Swan Dive on Red River in Austin’s club district, where “Tuesgayz” night LGBTQ+ gatherings—which include “Queereoke” sing-along sessions—are a tradition. For over a year, the Black-led drag troupe Vanguard, with an informal membership of about a dozen performers that includes both drag kings and queens, has opened each show with the same invocation:

“On our stage we proudly proclaim that Black lives matter, trans rights are human rights, no human is illegal, all bodies are beautiful, and my body, my choice.” 

Hermajestie—who described herself as a “postbinary, polyamorous, pansexual pot-smoking parent” and goes by “any pronouns but he/him”—explained later that she started each night the same way because she “realized that once I mention these things, the trash usually takes itself out.” 

(We are using performers’ stage names in this article to protect their privacy.)

Vanguard, she explained, serves as a “declaration and celebration of queer freedom, queer love, queer existence and queer solidarity.” The space she has created is often politically charged. Each night, she recounts the latest legislative attacks on queer rights, urging her audience to get involved. Tuesday’s routine culminated in her holding aloft the severed head of former President Donald Trump and hurling it into the audience (a similar stunt that earned comedian Kathy Griffin public censure shortly after Trump’s election). 

The members of Vanguard represent an evolution in drag. While elder performers were often cisgender, gay men, many of today’s queens are transgender or nonbinary and explore their identity through the art form.

Austin’s drag scene is thriving: From the heart of downtown to the Hill Country, patrons can attend events every day of the week, including late-night revues and brunches on weekends. One monthly show highlights new, amateur queens, another the elders of the community. Drag has made inroads in non-LGBTQ+ spaces as well—queens frequently perform at birthday parties, fundraisers, and, last year, at a new student orientation at the University of Texas at Austin. 

At the same time, drag is under attack. Senate Bill 12, scheduled to go into effect September 1, will levy fines against venues that host performances appealing to an ill-defined “prurient interest in sex” where minors are present; performers could also face up to a year in jail. The legislative affront goes hand-in-hand with protests and harassment from right-wing activists outside of nightclubs and on social media, where drag performers are frequently doxxed. While most performers remain defiant in the face of oppression, the growing pressure leaves them concerned for their future. 

(Editor’s Note: As of September 18, 2023, SB 12 is under a temporary restraining order while a judge rules on a lawsuit led by the ACLU of Texas.)

Read more at the Texas Observer.

[jaycrr]

Blog Post Due 9/19

What is intersectionality and what is the result of multiple forms of inequality 

Intersectionality is referred to as a “prism”, it is not a thinking theory and it's a way to understand problems in the world. Forms of inequality create problems such as race and gender, these disadvantages create challenges that most people would not  understand because they are not “conventional ways” of thinking and living. In the video by Dr Kimberly Crenshaw it is mentioned that intersectionality takes part in schools, racial and gender stereotypes against students, even faculty. Independent schools have to allow equal opportunity to all of their students no matter where the community they come from, social class etc. 

What is the importance of a name, does it have any other meaning in society?

Just like we were talking about in class this week, names are social codes and we use names to make racialized, gendered, assumptions about people.Names such as Moses or Malcolm X are integrated with meanings through history and hardship, They were not previous names. Another piece of information is that in an old study, people trying to find jobs with white sounding names received 50% more of a chance to be contacted back then people with black sounding names. Something found by a psychologist was that an algorithm associated these white sounding names with words that are more pleasant than black sounding names will get matched up with 

What does the new Jim code refer to? 

Using new technology to reflect existing immoralities that are perceived as more objective than previous discriminatory systems.  Normal names have the ability to trigger stories that tell what kind of person they are, either talking about their personality, how far they can go and where they come from. The new Jim Code has a range of “discriminatory practices” such as the ignorance of social divisions and another example would be to fix racial bias but usually leads to the doing of the opposite.

What is the CaiGang database and how is it implemented? 

In Los Angeles the youth and communities are filled with gang databases and even injunctions. Tracked and Trapped is a research project that focuses on these impacts, Since it's been 25 years since the LA County Sheriffs established a gang database there has never been any release of data to the public regarding gang policies and suppression. Gang Junctions targets a group of people, works kind of like a restraining order and it allows officers safe zones based on geography around the city that determines the people they can arrest even for non criminal activity. Just as we mentioned in class, In Los Angeles County specifically they have a computerized database for alleged gang members known as gang reporting, evaluation and tracking system and it allows officers to store collect and analyze any information.

Crenshaw, K. (2016). The urgency of intersectionality | Kimberlé Crenshaw | TED. YouTube. https://youtu.be/akOe5-UsQ2o?feature=shared

Crenshaw, K. (2018). Kimberlé Crenshaw: What is Intersectionality?. YouTube. https://youtu.be/ViDtnfQ9FHc?feature=shared

Benjamin, R (2019). Race After Technology

Muniza, Ana & Kim McGill. (2012). Tracked and Trapped: Youth of Color, Gang Database and Gang Injunctions

[lunarscaled]

okay lyrics revised signature spell under the read more

"The shadow of your arrogance, the shadow of your ignorance, the shadow you cast: Glacial Kingdom!"

Lyric's signature spell. Defensive, Area of Effect. Duration unknown. Blot accumulation high.

Glacial Kingdom is an area-of-effect spell which begins turning up to the surrounding 100 meters around Lyric into an ice-laden wasteland, from which black crystal human figures begin to rise and spread outward, slowly expanding the radius of the "kingdom". The figures bare resemblance to normal men, women and children who may have once lived on Lyric's island, but these facsimiles have no expressive facial features of any kind such as eyes or mouths; despite this, if called upon directly by Lyric, they will act and move similar to human beings.

All ice-constructs have very low combat ability and slow reaction time but are numerous, and they will restrain individuals (including animals and non-human constructs) who attempt to harm or come into contact with Lyric during the spell. They will not intentionally cause injury to others, and they cannot be ordered to do anything other than defend and expand the radius of the ice-creating magic. When an unknown number of villagers is reached, the spell may begin producing ice-copies of NRA students Lyric has come into contact with. ( ex. visually similar to this, but far less facial features and movement )

The most dangerous aspect of Lyric's signature spell is not their "subjects" but the deadly ice magic that they surround themselves and others with that creates their playing field. Cold enough to cause frostbite to any unsuspecting individual, the ice forms massive glacial shelfs and spires, starting at Lyric and moving outward. Its shape vaguely resembles the silhouette of a "castle", in which is Lyric hidden. The ice is thick and the terrain dangerous; getting to Lyric and stopping the spread of their magic is much harder than defeating them. (ex. 1, 2, 3, )

so this is an integration of insp from The Tales from Earthsea series and some facets from Frozen but like if the story ended really badly and also had a dragon. The cycle of life and death, specifically accepting tragedy and grief ( or refusing to ) and how it can overshadow everything about you. The "shadow" Lyric refers here could be both a pursuer and themselves---since it was Lyric's child naivety that resulted in the death of their entire island, their spell is both a physical isolation from real people while surrounding themselves with memories and shapes of false ones.

Although Lyric doesn't really have any kind of prince/princess motif, Lyric is technically the rightful heir to everything Zargincerinth has hoarded in his life, including the island, in what could be considered an absolute monarchy ( though they have no subjects. ) Lyric is the to-be ruler of The Cold North, which by definition is a kingdom, and the state of lands under rule is often considered an extension of the theoretical well-being or state of its ruler ( thus, being in the shadow of something. ) No matter how far Lyric's "reach", ie spell, extends, their kingdom is only filled with memories of subjects, and they are existing alone in isolation at its center.

Unsurprisingly, Lyric's Signature Spell takes massive magic pools to cast. Lyric's magic alone is not strong enough to do so---it is the connection they share to Zargincerinth that allows them to cast magic far beyond their own means, though this is at the cost of rapid, excessive blot accumulation. It's actually very likely that Lyric would have or has overblotted in isolation but was struck down by their Dragon forefather and unable to harm anyone, being alone ( though it likely has caused lasting damage to Lyric themselves, both psychologically and physically. ) Lyric has had time to somewhat unconventionally grapple their signature spell, though by no means master it, but has used it almost exclusively as an expression of self-protection and comfort.

theoretically yeah this spell could turn people into ice sculptures in real Narnia / White Witch fashion but since NRC uniforms have temperature-regulating magic in them, that's unlikely.

[seemabhatnagar]

Hijaab Row

India is known in the world as a Secular Country but see day by day the Secular fabric is tearing off. You belong to a particular faith so you are free to profess your religion, practices and faith but you can't compel people belonging to other faith to profess your religious practices. This is what done in the present case which recently came before Hon'ble Jabalpur High Court where in the Ganga Jamuna Higher Secondary School Urdu is being taught as compulsory subject and students are compelled to recite prayers belonging to muslim faith in school.

On the other hand students belonging to Hindu or Jain Sect are restrained to wear Kalawa or to put Tilak on their forehead but are forced to wear Hijaab and salwar kurti.

Background

This is a case of #HijabRow where  #Non-Muslim students studying in Ganga Jamuna Higher Secondary School, Futera Ward, Damoh, Jabalpur Madhya Pradesh were #forced to wear salwar kurti, head scarf (#Hijaab) and dupatta (#scarf) right from Nursery to Class XII and forcefully #restrained from putting #tilak on the forehead or# tying sacred thread (#kalawa) on their wrist and if #someone #wears the sacred thread (kalawa) or put tilak, she is being #forcibly #prevented, by the teachers.

Fact

A #complaint in this regard was received. Matter was inquired & Investigation was conducted & head Scarves were seized. Statement of the girl students were recorded and #FIR was #KotwaliDamoh of Damoh District for the offences punishable under Sections 295A, 506 and 120B of the IPC, Section 75 and 87 of Juvenile Justice Act (Care and Protection of Children) Act, 2015 and Section 3/5(1) of the Madhya Pradesh Freedom of Religion Act, 2021.

FIR was registered against the #Principal Asfa Sheikh, #teacher Anas Athar and Peon Rustom Ali and management of the school for commission of the aforesaid offences. They were #arrested and are in detention since 11.06.2023.

Submission of the Counsel of the Applicant

1.     It was contended by the Counsel of the detenues that they are innocent and are falsely implicated.

2.     The counsel also submitted a copy of the resolution accordingly it is the #SchoolManagement and #Director of the #School Mohd, Idris who had #prescribed #dresscode for all girl students and made it compulsory to wear scarf.

3.     The detenues were #acting as per the #instructions of the #SchoolManagement. The counsel prayed for the release as in the matter after investigation, charge sheet was submitted.

Submission of the Counsel of the State

1.     The counsel of the #State #opposed the #bail application as the statements of the girl students demonstrated that they were compelled to wear head scarf (Hijaab).

2.     whereas minority institutions cannot compel the students belonging to other religion to wear head scarf (Hijaab)

3.     and it also cannot prevent students of other religion from wearing sacred thread (kalawa) and putting tilak on the forehead.

4.     It also cannot compel them to read Urdu language necessarily and to recite the prayers belonging to Islam faith.

Observation of the Court

1.     Charge sheet has been filed against the applicants who are principal, teachers and peon.

2.     The main allegations are against management of the school.

3.     Trial of the case will take considerable time.

4.     Therefore, without expressing any opinion on the merits of the case, but having taken into consideration all the facts and circumstances of the case, I am of the view that it is a case in which applicants may be released on bail.

Order

Bail application is allowed subject to the conditions:

1.     Applicants shall not repeat commission of offence.

2.     They shall not prevent students of other religion from wearing the essentials of their own religion.

3.     They shall not compel the students of other religion to read/study any material or language which has not been prescribed or approved by the Madhya Pradesh Education Board.

4.     They shall not provide any religious education or material belonging to Islam faith to the students of other religion and shall impart only modern education as contained in Section 53(1)(iii) of the Juvenile Justice (Care and Protection of Children) Act, 2015.

5.     Girl students of other religion i.e. Hindu and Jain etc. shall not be compelled to wear head scarf anywhere in the school premises or in the class rooms.

6.     Further applicants - Asfa Sheikh, Anas Athar and Rustom Ali be released on bail on their furnishing a personal bond incorporating the aforesaid conditions, in the sum of Rs.50,000/- each with one solvent surety each in the like amount to the satisfaction of the trial Court, for their regular appearance before the trial Court during trial with a condition that they shall appear before the concerned Court on all the dates fixed by it during trial.

7.     The order is effective till the end of the trial and in case of breach of any of the conditions the order shall become ineffective.

Seema Bhatnagar

[webprotildo]

The Importance of Personal Background Checks: Ensuring Trust and Safety

In a world characterized by increasing interactions and transactions, the significance of personal background checks cannot be overstated. Whether you're considering hiring a new employee, renting out property, entering a business partnership, or even embarking on a new romantic relationship, conducting a thorough personal background check can provide invaluable insights into an individual's history, character, and credibility. In this blog, we delve into the importance of personal background checks and how they contribute to trust and safety.

1. Building Trust in Professional Relationships:

For businesses, organizations, and employers, hiring the right candidate is a critical decision. A comprehensive background check helps verify the accuracy of information provided by candidates and ensures that their qualifications match the job requirements. It also reveals any potential red flags, such as discrepancies in work history, educational qualifications, or criminal records. By making informed hiring decisions, companies can build trust within their teams and foster a productive work environment.

2. Ensuring Safety in Rental Transactions:

Landlords and property owners often conduct background checks on prospective tenants to ensure the safety and security of their property. This process verifies an applicant's rental history, financial stability, and criminal background. This not only protects the property but also safeguards the interests of other tenants in the vicinity.

3. Mitigating Financial and Legal Risks:

In financial transactions and partnerships, background checks play a crucial role in assessing an individual's financial stability and integrity. These checks help in evaluating credit history, bankruptcies, and outstanding debts. By understanding an individual's financial situation, businesses and lenders can make informed decisions, minimizing the risk of non-payment or default.

4. Preventing Fraud and Deception:

Fraudulent activities are a significant concern in various domains, including business, finance, and personal relationships. Background Verification & Screening Company can uncover instances of fraud, forgery, and other deceptive practices. By verifying identities and examining past behavior, individuals and organizations can avoid falling victim to scams and deceit.

5. Enhancing Personal Safety:

For individuals seeking personal relationships, such as dating or friendships, personal background checks provide a layer of safety. These checks can uncover criminal records, restraining orders, or other relevant information that may impact the individual's safety and well-being.

6. Making Informed Personal Decisions:

Beyond professional and financial considerations, personal background checks empower individuals to make informed decisions about the people they interact with. Whether choosing a roommate, hiring a babysitter, or even meeting someone new, having access to relevant background information contributes to better decision-making.

7. Compliance with Regulations:

In certain industries and professions, regulatory requirements mandate background checks. For instance, industries dealing with vulnerable populations, such as healthcare and education, are often required to conduct background checks on employees to ensure the safety and well-being of patients, students, and clients.

8. Balancing Privacy and Transparency:

While employee background verification are essential for safety and trust-building, it's crucial to balance them with respect for individual privacy. Employers and individuals conducting background checks should adhere to legal and ethical guidelines to protect sensitive information and avoid discrimination based on personal history.

In conclusion, personal background checks serve as a vital tool for enhancing trust, safety, and informed decision-making across various aspects of life. Whether in professional relationships, financial transactions, or personal interactions, the ability to access accurate and relevant information enables individuals and organizations to navigate a complex world with confidence. As technology continues to evolve, conducting responsible and ethical background checks becomes even more critical, contributing to a safer and more trustworthy environment for all.

[lawyerserving456]

Legal Assist Ontario Chatham Family Law Service Centre

Students at the BLG Venture Clinic can draft memos on subjects similar to early round financing, the professionals and cons of various business buildings, employment issues, intellectual property and potential sources of legal responsibility. If your matter just isn't resolved via Legal Services RCAS, then you can contact us to use for a lawyer. NS Legal Aid will provide you with info or recommendation, or if you qualify, a lawyer in your case. Some degree of help is on the market to all Nova Scotians in these 3 areas of law.

Protect your legal rights earlier than and after separation by speaking with attorneys who can provide legal advice particular to your state of affairs. We’ve compiled numerous articles, forms and links that are essential to lawyers offering family law limited scope services in the province of Ontario. You can even add your name, contact information and follow details to our on-line directory. More legal professionals are educating themselves on how to ethically and effectively aid shoppers to manage their very own legal points with slightly legal help, by providing “unbundled” legal services and “flat fee” service packages. That enables clients to put a brake on their legal expenses, and often to move toward resolution on the pace and price-point that most intently fits their wants.

Where the issues aren't sophisticated, they are able to assist with some sorts of hearings. A Certificate is a voucher that ensures the lawyer will get paid by Legal Aid for representing you for a certain number of hours. The number of hours relies on the kind of legal help you need and is marked on the certificate . Sometimes, Legal Aid Ontario provides you with a Certificate if you agree to pay them again.

You can trust that our family law experts will lead you to resolution and that you will really feel supported at every step alongside the method in which. In instances of family violence, we will work to obtain protection orders for you or your child. We can even allow you to acquire pressing orders restraining access to or disposition of property. We will be there to give you assist and recommendation throughout this troublesome time. We are a non-profit group legal clinic funded by Legal Aid Ontario. We provide entry to justice for people with low incomes living in North Etobicoke.

Your family lawyer can take care of all the necessary documentation and be sure that it's legally enforceable so that there aren't any surprises or disappointments in a while. Let’s contemplate the areas where a family law lawyer could help you and your family to get again on a fair keel. However, many families in Calgary do not search legal assistance until a situation has deteriorated to the point where the matter needs court docket intervention and so they don’t know what to do. Cohabitation, marriage & separation agreements that focus on each events. Where income poses a barrier to legal services, The Edmonton Community Legal Centre is a non-profit company that provides free legal services to those in Edmonton and Northern Alberta.

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[mac-kd8]

If this post gets 50 likes, I will write a Balam x reader story

Name: Millieanne Clover

-But she likes to go by Annie

Height: 5’4

Gender: Female

Birthday: April 13

Occupation: Retired Wildlife Explorer

 Teacher (geography)

Rank: Khet (8)

Likes and Hobbies: sweets, canned coffee, flute, baking, and board games

Skills: Chain Magic, stealth, speed, charisma, great intelligence despite making stupid choices

Bloodline Magic: Lock up 

Her bloodline magic allows her to remove any living organisms’ magic powers.

Weakness - Her bloodline magic wouldn’t work if her target is either non-living or have the magic power of a YODH (10). 

History

Millieanne use to be classmates and best friends with Kalego and Balam.  She meets the duo by planning a secret ambush attack against  Kalego. By using the element of surprise, it was easy for  Millieanne to restrain Kalego with Chain magic and use her bloodline magic to remove his magical abilities. The reason why Millieanne attacked Kalego was that a gang of 5 boys tricked her into believing that Kalego take secret pictures of girls in the locker room.

But they are just using the clueless girl in order to beat up Kalego while he is in a weakened state.

  At the time,  Millieanne didn’t know that Kalego was innocent, so Balam stepped in and completely shatter Millieanne ’s arm.  Before a fight between Balam and  Millieanne could break out, multiple arousing pictures of female students which included Millieanne , fell out of one of Kalego’s attacker’s pockets.  Knowing who the true guilty party was,  Millieanne teamed up with Balam and Kalego in order to give the gang of liars and perverts true hell.   In the end, both Balam and Kalego became friends with  Millieanne when she asked them to sign her cast.  Within the first month of school, the 3 of them became best friends,

Balam grew a massive crush on Millieanne , having a lot of common interests in animals and humans.   Balam was going to confess his feelings to Millieanne   on graduation day but chickened out at the last minute.

After Kalego, Balam, and Millieanne from Bablys, Millieanne becomes a well-known explorer in the Netherworld.  When she was given the opportunity to become a teacher at her old school,  Millieanne retired from the life of an explorer and joined the teaching staff of Babyls Demon School a year before Iruma enrolls.   After Balam became friends with Iruma, that gave him the courage to finally confess his long terms feelings for Millieanne.  Now they are happily married and had started a family together. 

FyI- I got lots of pictures of my oc and Balam being cute together, I’ll post them in the future

[mr-laveau]

"You are a breath of fresh air in my life just by virtue of being unapologetically yourself."

-Lasko Moore

"Oh I can be very pleasant, just not usually with you."

-Aaron

Allow me to be that bitch, and share with the class ANOTHER totally-not-a-self-indulgent poly Lasko/Aaron listener OC, Carter Wilde, a.k.a [Casanova], the bratty telepath.

*Just pretend I actually knew how to spell Casanova above when I first made this.

The Deets:

Carter (he/him) is a human born telepath and currently, a professor* at D.A.M.N for Advanced Telepathy Studies, Fire Elemental Magic 101, Intro to Warding, Electro Magic II and Basics of Illusory Magic.

*he used to be a part-time sub and worked with Aaron before he changed career paths and started working full-time for the academy

Carter is Afro-American/desi and grew up in Chicago before moving to Dahlia for work while getting his teaching license. Was working with Aaron before he got a full position at DAMN but as far as Aaron knew then, Carter's teaching some accounting/management classes at a college.

Very much the professor with a fun but unorthodox way of teaching*–he once made his class write up and direct a short film to teach them how to consider different variables in manipulating their illusions properly with magic like they did when making their films. His time with Aaron taught him to be more relaxed about his students.

*Damien "strongly disliked" his ass for a while because he didn't like his methods, and Carter fed into it to mess with him before he arranged a separate syllabus plan for Damien to tackle while the class did their thing. They get along now but Carter will sometimes subtly remind Damien about the MANY "nicknames" he overheard Damien calling him during class.

Did not handle inversion well, his magic was a bitch to maintain inside the ward and everyone's thoughts didn't make the situation any better. Had to tell Aaron about his magical status a little bit after since keeping it all in didn't make things better and it was the only way to really explain what happened then after he initially told Aaron he'd been handling a trip out of the city. The conversation pretty sad but they made it and wrangler Lasko after his Aftershock vid w FL for a group care session. They're all in therapy :)

"Could you tell this was the first cutie design?"*.

*This isn't a lie, this was the first Cutie design and Carter was initially going to be a journalist who worked with Sama and dared Geordi, however I scrapped it and moved onto another design I liked. This was also the first Smartass design but as Lexi can attest, I found something else I liked.

Met Lasko when he first started subbing for Intro to Warding (very early in the timeline). Their dynamic fits the non-canon listener dynamic he seems to have with them in BAs/HBWs/HBSs. Carter loves to tease him just to poke a reaction out of him but is entirely sweet about taking care of Lasko otherwise since he doesn't often do it for himself. Will often drop in before Lasko's classes to give him sweets/gum/mints.

Very much the personification of "crackhead" energy outside of work. Aaron keeps him on a leash but will act on the first devious-not-so-devious thought that crosses his mind. To his benefit, Carter does know how to restrain himself for the sake of not pushing buttons, but more often than not will poke at people just for fun.

Will sometimes read Aaron's thoughts just to peek at what annoys him that day in order to turn it around and get him to laugh. It works despite how much Aaron thinks it doesn't.

Aaron and Lasko are also dating each other in addition to dating Carter. Aaron was initially rough around the edges when it came to interacting with Lasko and getting to know him but with a good conversation, they both managed to work things out between them. Now they both take turns making sure Carter doesn't burn something down on a whim.

That's all folks!🧡

[padfoot-and-prongsie]

Sneaking Around || Fred Weasley

Character: Fred Weasley

Word Count: 4.3k

Requested: No, but feel free to send some in!

Summary: Your Slytherin friends would never approve of your boyfriend, but then again, who said they had to know?

Warnings: Fluff, swearing, Umbridge, Slytherins being bullies, sexual innuendos

Disclaimer: I did not make this gif, credit to the lovely person who did

A/N: School has certainly kept me busy, but this is finally up! This fic was written for @theweasleysredhair 9k writing contest with the trope “secretly dating” and the prompt “I could kiss you write now”. I hope ya’ll like it <3

PLEASE DO NOT COPY OR STEAL MY WORK. REBLOGS ARE JUST FINE :)

The throng of students going back to the school was filled with loud chatter over the results of the Quidditch match, but you weren’t joining in. No, instead you were frantically scanning the crowds the moment you stepped out of the locker room, hoping you could catch a glimpse of red hair.

Montague was beside you, a sickly grin on his face despite the loss. In his and Malfoy’s opinions, the match had been a success, as last they saw George Weasley and Harry Potter they had all but been dragged off the pitch by McGonagall.

“Try to aim a little better next time, L/N,” Montague said. “With Weasley defending the goal it shouldn’t be that difficult to score points.”

“Well tell Goyle to get a bit more accurate,” you snapped back. “I can’t do anything with fucking Spinnet on me the whole time.”

Though it hurt to spit that out, Montague didn’t notice. None of them ever did. You really would deserve an award for the incredible acting you had done over the past year.

Montague made a face. “There’s only so much I can do with that oaf. Just step it up, L/N.”

You mock saluted him as he walked away, before quickly restarting your search for the all to familiar Weasley.

But once more you were stopped short when Malfoy caught up to you on the grass path back to the school.

He was quietly humming Weasley is Our King under his breath, an action that made you desperately want to punch him in the face. He already had a wad of cotton shoved up his nose from the last person who did that, and you could see some light bruises beginning to form on his arms. If he was in pain, he didn’t show it, though you had a feeling he would have the act ready for dinner that night.

“I’m looking to add some new verses to the song, any ideas?” he asked, falling into step beside you.

You shrugged hoping your shoulders weren’t as tense as they felt. If he had asked you last year you would have had a long string of words to call the Weasley family, but now you could hardly bring yourself to even hum the tune.

“I don’t know,” you finally answered, hoping he would get off your back.

Draco didn’t take the hint. “I need some rhymes for ugly and loser,” he said, a sadistic smirk on his face as he brought up the words that had sent Potter and George over the edge.

“How about you’re a real loser so talking to you is quite a snoozer,” you muttered, “and I know you’re already to begin with quite ugly, but you need to upgrade your fangirls, they’re a little to fugly,” you finished, eyeing Parkinson a few yards away who was bouncing up and down on her toes as she waited for Draco.

“Fuck you,” Draco said, rolling his eyes. “You're terrible help, you know that right?”

You ignored him, not even bothering to look back as he stepped off towards where Parkinson, Crabbe, and Goyle were waiting. Merlin you hated Draco Malfoy and tried to make that plenty obvious when he was around, but for some reason he kept coming back. At least you managed to take a few jabs at his ego. You were rather pleased with your little poem, if you did say so yourself.

You were all the way up to the castle when a small paper bird fluttered over to you, it’s delicate wings flapping wildly as it battled the wind. It landed gracefully on your palm, neatly unfolding itself to reveal the scrawled out message inside.

7th floor, back corridor, behind the tapestry of the One Eyed Witch

8 o'clock

It wasn’t signed but by now you were well familiar with the messy handwriting and a smile lit your face as you thought of the Weasley you had been looking for earlier. Glancing quickly over your shoulder to make sure Draco and his goons were far enough away, you hastily shoved the parchment in your pocket and continued on your way.

By now you were well used to the odd meeting choices, the cramped alcoves under the stairs and the dusty long forgotten classrooms. Yet as unpleasant as they could be sometimes, the exhilaration of sneaking around, the thrill of not getting caught, left your heart racing.

You could hardly focus during dinner that night, trying your best not to send too many glances over to the Gryffindor table. The red and gold were all in different stages of gloom, their eyes dull and smiles non-existent ever since they heard the recent news about the state of some of their best quidditch players. Potter, George, and Fred had both been banned for life on Umbridge’s orders, which had led to a buzz of glee around the Slytherin table as they gossiped excitedly over the news.

You did your best to sound just as thrilled, laughing over the Gryffindor’s bad fortune, pitying Malfoy when he dramatically limped over to the table, and snickering with the rest of them as Pansy and Draco worked on more verses to their song. But anyone who looked close enough could see the white of your knuckles as you gripped your glass of pumpkin juice, they way you had to restrain yourself from crushing the glass as they laughed at the expense of the Weasley family.

By 8 o’clock you were so fed up with the Slytherins that you were more than happy to flee from the common room, pounding up the many flights of stairs to reach the seventh floor.

You followed the instructions you had been given, navigating your way through the halls until you found the large tapestry that had been mentioned.

You slowly pulled it aside and immediately got hit by the strong stench of dust and mold. But you didn’t care about the smell, for almost instantly a strong pair of arms were wrapped around you and let out a giggle as you were spun around, before pressing a kiss to Fred’s lips.

Fred Weasley was grinning back at you, the light in his eyes that had been lost at dinner back as he took in your smiling face.

He kissed you again hard, pouring all his frustration and stress that had built up in the last week into it as his mouth moved roughly against yours.

When you pulled back for air, you were finally able to take him in. His cheeks were flushed red, and his hair had already taken on a tousled appearance from your fingers running through it. Fred’s eyes were bright with happiness as he looked back at you, his lips quirked up in the Fred Weasley smile you loved so much. But as you glanced down, you could make out the subtle hue of bruises forming on his arms from where Angelina, Alicia, and Katie had been gripping on to him for dear life to prevent him from attacking Draco just hours earlier.

Fred followed your gaze. “I got banned you know,” he finally said, the sadness creeping back into his eyes.

“Yeah, I heard,” you replied downheartedly.

“I didn’t even do anything to that prat,” Fred continued. “If I knew that hag would ban me anyway I would have punched every inch of Malfoy’s fucking body.”

You could see the anger spike in his eyes and you quickly placed a hand on his chest.

“Calm down, Freddie,” you said softly, waiting for his heart rate to return to normal. “I should have made them stop,” you whispered, “all I did was sit there and watch, I feel horrible.”

“Don’t apologize love, there’s nothing you could have done without anyone getting suspicious.” Fred said, absently running his hand through your hair.

“Suspicious of us?” you laughed. “I think we do a rather good job if I do say so myself.”

Fred’s smile returned. “Yes we are pretty secretive,” his lips quirk into a smirk and he pressed his mouth against yours. “Abandoned classrooms, ducking into alcoves,” he whispered against your lips. “There’s something sexy-” at that word his hands slipped lower, giving your bottom a squeeze “- about sneaking around.”

“Are you groping my ass?” you asked, humor dancing in your eyes.

Fred’s smirk widened and he placed another kiss on your lips. “What would you do if I was?”

“I’d tell you to stop wasting your time talking when you could have me up against that wall,” you whispered, biting your lip.

Fred’s eyes darkened in lust. “You really are little Slytherin, so coy at getting what you want.”

You smirked. “What can I say? That Sorting Hat picked right.”

“It sure did,” Fred agreed huskily, walking you back towards the wall.

As your body pressed against the stone you jumped, wrapping your legs around his waist and dragging his mouth down to meet yours.

Needless to say, you and Fred snuck out forty five minutes later, well passed curfew and both looking rather disheveled.

“Don’t get caught going back,” Fred whispered, glancing both ways down the hall.

“I won’t,” you assured him. “Besides, if I do Umbridge will probably get me out of it, she seems to have taken a liking in me.” 

You gave him a pointed look. “It’s you I’m worried about, one bad step and she’ll expel you.”

Fred shrugged. “I’ve stopped worrying about that ever since she came to town.”

You sighed. “Just don’t do anything stupid yet, okay?”

“Okay okay,” Fred agreed grinning. “Just for you I won't.”

“Thanks,” you smiled, standing up on your tiptoes to kiss him. “I’ll see you later.”

Fred pulled you in to kiss you once more, then let you go, being sure you were well down the corridor before he himself snuck off in the other direction.

You managed to make it back to the Slytherin common room undetected, only running into Mrs. Norris, who you stunned, then slipped by before she came to. The Slytherin common room was still bright with life at 9 oclock on a Saturday night, but no one questioned you when you walked in. Most students had snuck out past curfew their fare share of times, so they wrote you off as being no different then themselves

Doing your best to hide the grin on your face that usually came after being with Fred, you slipped upstairs to the girl’s dorms. Only one of your roommates was there, sorting through her trunk, but after exchanging pleasantries she left to go downstairs.

Falling onto your bed, you let out a sigh, the smile finally getting to appear on your face. Merlin this boy was going to be the death of you.

You had met Fred at the beginning last year after you both landed yourselves a week's worth of detention with McGonagall. At the time you had thought the redhead was the biggest prick you knew, and in turn, he saw you as a stuck up brat. Somehow though, amidst trophy cleaning, quiz grading, and classroom organizing, you had taken a liking to him. There was something about that easy smile and stupid sense of humor that got to you, and in turn, your quick wit and dry sarcasm had left him smitten.

It had been over a week after your time together in detention when you had seen Fred again, this time when he had come up behind you during passing time and, with a firm grip on your wrist, proceeded to pull you behind a statue in one of the more quiet corridors of Hogwarts.

“What the hell are you doing Weasley!” you had hissed, frantically looking around to make sure no one was near.

Instead of answering, Fred had gently placed his hands on either side of your face, fixing you with an intense gaze that left your heart racing.

“What are you doing?” you had whispered again softly, unconsciously stepping closer to him.

“For some idiotic reason, I can’t stop thinking about you,” Fred had said.

“Really?” you’d breathed, your heart starting to pound more fiercely.

“And for some even more idiotic reason,” Fred had continued. “I really want to know what it’s like to kiss you.”

The speed of your racing heart increased and you unconsciously found yourself glancing at his lips

Fred noticed, a smirk spreading across his mouth. In one flourish of motion you were pressed against his chest with his lips only inches from yours.

“But our houses,” you had whispered, looking up at his dark eyes.

A smirk had slowly spread across Fred’s face. “Who says anyone has to know?”

And then he had kissed you, hard, and from that moment forward you had completely and utterly fallen for Fred Weasley.

~

“Professor Umbridge wants to see you in her office,” a voice behind you said, causing you to jump violently, dropping the book you had been reading.

Turning in annoyance, you glared at Draco, who was behind you snickering.

“Prick,” you muttered under your breath, reaching down to pick up your book with the intention of continuing it.

“She really does want to see you,” Draco said.

Instantly you froze, your mind drifting to Fred.

“Why?” you managed to squeak out.

Draco gave you a suspicious look. “I don’t know,” he finally said. “She wanted me to round up a good lot of us. Your name was on the list.”

You let out a sigh of relief.

“Okay then,” you said, getting up from the couch, your demeanor returning to normal again. “Her office?”

Draco nodded. “I have to go tell Zabini and Montague, but I’ll meet you up there.”

“Sounds good,” you responded, stepping past him to leave the common room.

When you reached the office of Professor Umbridge, you were rather surprised to find its door ajar. Tentatively pushing it open, you were greeted by an extremely pink room and at least fifteen other Slytherins looking just as confused as you were.

“Ahh, Ms. L/N, thank you for coming,” said a high pitched voice that made your blood boil.

“Of course Professor. Thank you for inviting me,” you replied, a fake smile on your face.

She let out a little giggle. “Oh do I have a treat for you.”

She quickly ushered you over to stand with the rest of the group, then, once Draco showed up with the rest of the recruits, quickly clapped her hands for attention.

“I have received some shocking news,” she started, a grave look on her face. “It seems Harry Potter has formed a club. A club which wasn’t approved by me, and a club to teach others illegal and dangerous magic.” She paused dramatically.

For effect, you raised your eyebrows in surprise, though inside you were suddenly filled with a deep sense of dread. Anything Potter was involved with had a high chance Fred would be there too.

“Now, from a source we have learned where these meetings are being held, and it turns out there is one tonight. You all have been chosen by me to come stop this atrocity and give proper punishment to those involved.” Professor Umbridge's sickly smile widened. “Your services will be greatly rewarded by the minister himself.”

Around you, you could feel the Slytherins buzz in excitement, their smiles widening at a chance to get the Gryffindor's into trouble. Your smile was equally wide, but inside your nerves were piling up.

“They’re on the seventh floor, in the left corridor, across the painting of Barnabas the Barmy,” she said, jumping up and down on her stubby legs, a look of glee in her eyes. “Go catch them.”

There was a flourish of movement as everyone made for the door, pushing up the stairs and trying to be the first to catch the wrongdoers. You too were pushing to the front, but not because you wanted recognition from the ministry, but because you desperately wanted to be the one to catch Fred in hopes that you could find a way to get him out unscathed.

As you reached the seventh floor, it seemed the Gryffindors had been given a heads up, as swarms of people were running out of a doorway you had never seen before. Upon closer observation, you realized that there were far more than a few Gryffindors, as Umbridge had suggested, but in fact there were more than fifty people from a wide range of houses sprinting down the hall.

“Get them!” Umbridge shrieked from behind you, and you instantly took off, shoving your way through the chaos.

Fred and George ran from the Room of Requirement, for once not joking about their predicament. Behind them, Harry was quickly running around, trying to usher everyone out as a mob of Slytherins filled the corridor.

Together with George, Fred ducked down one of the side corridors, hoping he could make it to the boys bathroom that was only another turn away.

But before he knew it, his legs locked together and he tumbled to the floor, quickly shouting at George to run as he tried to squirm away from his captor.

Fred felt a hand grip tightly to his shoulder, pulling him up from the floor as another jinx whizzed by him towards his brother. George managed to duck it, but from behind Fred, Montague came running by, his wand in hand as he chased the other redheaded twin.

Fred reached for his wand to hex the Slytherin, but someone behind him got to it first, shooting a jinx that caused Montague to stiffen up, before falling face first on the floor.

The grip on Fred tightened, and he felt the spell on his legs release as he was suddenly able to walk as his captor pulled him down the other hallway.

Fred, sensing an opportunity, kicked his left leg back, trying to throw the Slytherin off balance, but they easily dodged it, dancing out of the way of his weak attempt at escaping.

“Merlin Freddie, that’s the thanks I get?” they asked, and Fred quickly turned in surprise to see you looking at him in amusement, a smirk playing at your lips.

“Love?” he asked, his eyebrows shooting up. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to save your arse,” you replied, a slight grin on your face.

Fred looked at you as if he were seeing you for the first time. “Damn that was so hot,” he breathed, “I could kiss you right now.”

Your heart gave a little flutter, but you tried to keep your expression neutral. “Let’s put a pause on that for right now,” you said, as Ernie McMillan ran by with Theodore Nott hot on his heels.

“I’ll hold you to it,” Fred grinned.

You rolled your eyes, then glanced around the hallway, but amidst all the chaos you hoped nobody had noticed your quick exchange.

“Just do me a favor and look pissed off and try to put up a bit of a fight,” you instructed. “I know a place where we can hide.”

Fred didn’t respond, instead quickly reverting his expression to one of anger as he pretended to pull away from your hold, though making sure he didn’t do so hard enough that you couldn’t drag him down the corridor.

Once you were out of sight of the madness of the main hall, you pulled Fred in after you into one of the secret passageways he had shown you last year. It was cramped and not well lit, but the tunnel was suited well enough for the two of you to stay in until the corridors cleared.

“Were you the one who hexed me back there?” Fred asked the instant the passage was sealed.

You shrugged. “I had to make it look convincing.”

“But why? Couldn’t you have just let us run off?” Fred pressed.

“Crabbe and Goyle had circled around to block that end, I couldn’t risk you going that way,” you replied.

“George went that way though,” Fred said, his eyes filled with concern for his brother.

You sighed. “There wasn’t much I could do in the moment,” you admitted, “I was more focused on you. I did jinx Montague for him, so hopefully that gave him enough of a head start,” you added with a laugh.

Fred grinned. “That was a rather good one.”

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to do that,” you said, amusement dancing in your eyes. “It’s probably the highlight of my year.”

Fred put on a face of mock hurt. “You mean I’m not the highlight of your year?” he asked dramatically.

You rolled your eyes. “You make a close second,” you teased.

A smirk creeped across Fred’s face and he suddenly pulled you up against his chest, his lips brushing against yours. 

“Let’s see if I can get myself into first,” he said cockily.

~

It wasn’t until after the Easter holidays when you saw Fred again, and this time, due to a new Educational Degree (number twenty nine if you were being exact) you had a silver I hooked to your robes and about the same amount of power as the teachers.

“How’s that Inquisitorial Squad going for you?” Fred asked, the moment you stepped into your latest meeting space.

“It’s so stupid,” you complained rolling your eyes. “It just inflates Malfoy’s head more than it already is and gives Slytherins a chance to pick on everyone.”

Fred wore an amused smile on his face. “It seems you’re taking advantage of this new found power too,” he commented lazily.

“Zacharias Smith is a twat and everyone knows it, so I don’t particularly care how many points I dock him,” you stated bluntly.

Fred snorted at your response. “Bloody hell I love that about you.”

You raised your eyebrows. “Love what?”

Fred laughed, pulling you towards him so he could kiss you once on the lips.

“How when somebody pisses you off you are so determined about getting back at them,” he finally said.

“Most people say it’s one of my worst traits,” you managed to get out as Fred’s lips began attacking your neck.

“It’s actually rather adorable,” Fred hummed against your skin.

“Fred?” you asked quietly, a thought suddenly popping into your head.

“Yes love?”

“Was there something you needed to talk to me about?”

Fred detached himself from your neck to properly look at you.

“It’s just that you said you wanted to see me and we only just got back two hours ago,” you stuttered quickly, suddenly feeling you had gotten the wrong idea. “Not that of course this isn’t a good reason,” you motioned between the two of you.

A slight smile spread across Fred’s lips. “Your two observant for your own good,” he said jokingly.

“What is it then, what’s wrong?” you asked, every possible reason filling your mind.

“Nothings wrong,” Fred quickly reassured you. “But you told be not to do anything stupid yet at the beginning of the year,” he paused, “that ‘yet’ has finally come.”

Your eyes widened. “What are you going to do?”

“Harry needs some help, so George and I offered ours, though I doubt we’ll get through this without being expelled,” he said, pausing to gage your reaction.

Your eyebrows had shot up and your jaw dropped. “What?! Why would you do that?”

“Because love, George and I don’t see the need to continue our education-”

“But what about-” you tried to interrupt.

Fred held up his index finger. “Just give me a minute to explain.”

“Okay,” you agreed, though your face still held a look of concern.

“We bought a shop,” Fred continued, “Harry gave us his Triwizard winnings so we bought one in Diagon Alley. You’re the first person that knows, and well, we were going to wait until after this school year but now with Dumbledore gone and that hag taking over the school, you’re the only reason left for me to stay.”

Fred looked you in the eyes. “That’s why I had to ask, can I do one last stupid thing? I am so in love with you Y/N, and you know that and if you want me to stay I will, and I promise nothing will change. I’ll be happy either way because I have you. I just knew I could never leave you here without first asking if you would be okay.”

A swell of love for the boy sitting across from you filled your chest and the concern had left your face. In its place, a single tear rolled down your cheek as you looked at the boy who had just told you he would leave all his dreams behind for you.

“Of course you can go Fred, I could never hold you back from that,” you said, letting him pull you against his chest. “But what about-” you looked up at him “-what about us?”

Fred grinned, kissing you once on the lips. “We’ll get to finally be together,” he answered softly. “There’s a flat above the shop, George has his space, we’ll have ours.”

“But George doesn’t know about us,” you protested. “What if he doesn’t-”

Fred cut you off by placing another kiss on your mouth. “If I have to marry you with only the two of us and the official at the service, then that would be enough. I don’t care about what he thinks about you and me.”

“Marrying me?” you whispered.

Fred interlaced his hand with yours. “The moment you graduate if you want love. Then we’ll never have to be apart for more than a second.”

You looped your arms around his neck, kissing him hard. “I love you so much Fred Weasley,” you whispered against his lips.

“And I love you a thousand times more,” he replied, his mouth barely leaving yours.

Fred tugged your thighs and you jumped up, wrapping your legs tightly around his waist.

“Now,” Fred said, and you could feel his smirk against your lips. “Why don’t we make this a night to remember.”

~

Taglist: Ask to be added! @missmulti @girl-next-door-writes @28cnn @thedarlinghufflepuff @rocket-svt

[lilyrachelcassidy]

Moonlight

Draco x Reader One-Shot

Summary: This is based off the song ‘Moonlight’ by Ariana Grande. During the bad times of War, not everything has to be so black-and-white. Both Y/N and Draco know it just too well.

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: language 

tags: @drawlfoy @eltanin-malfoy

Composing yourself had been more than a hard thing to ask for lately.

The Death Eater had finally taken Hogwarts under their control; famous Harry Potter, who was allegedly supposed to play a hero, disappeared in the depth of the unknown; the plan of escaping the school turned out to be an utter failure since the Dementors encircled and blocked every passage of absconding, escalating the disappointment over students.

Yet you hadn't thought of the plan B as an alternative solution, but you were sure, even if you managed to find one, it might take a few more months to figure things out. And you had to admit that increasing anxiety about your parents made you cry yourself to sleep at night. Despite your insistent pleads of the letters to contact you, you hadn't received any response or other sign of life ever since over two months of a constant worry.

And yet, it wasn't the worst part.

The Carrows, who unwarrantedly preferred to call themselves professors Carrows from now on, had decided to introduce their new methods of teaching everyone. And punishing for any triviality.

Once, for example, in Charms class -- which was the worst nightmare of a week -- you had been asked to stand up in front of the class and demonstrate a Crucio curse on the First Year who happened to accidentally bump into Alecto in the corridor. Obviously, you hadn't obeyed an imposed task to which Carrows only reacted with unrestrained rage. Instead of punishing the eleven-year-old boy, the lesson had turned out to be your disciplining session of torture for not being submissive enough. Although the feat had brought you more renown later on, which served to make Carrows more flustered, you still couldn't get out of the Hospital Wing for whole three days.

All of that also led your Occulumency to suffer, which was doubling the struggle. There was for sure no doubt it was an important skill to have, not only to create a mental barrier protecting yourself from uninvited intruders; but also preventing others' thoughts from leaking into your head. It was already enough of bearing the non-stopping suspense in the air. So, the idea of accumulating more emotions on your account would probably navigate to an outburst.  

One thing, however, surprised you. You had found out that people who outwardly seemed to have quite a reputation of cruel tossers were actually more decent and human than you could think. In particular, certain Draco Malfoy, who had been selected as a Head Boy in terms of this year.

Wandering around the school and doing the night patrols, he had happened to find you sitting hunched over, face buried in your knees, and sobbing brokenly at the fate the Wizarding World was faced to deal with. He had flumped next to you, without question, silently accompanying and comforting you in moments of solitude.

Two other times of your encounter had been in the library: spotting you among the crowd of students, he would come over and take a nearby place. You didn't know whether it was a matter of pride or disposition, but he had never spoken up, which you, in fact, didn't mind. At first, you had been a little bit dubious about his sudden influx of approachability. However, as to mute your suspicions down, you tried not pondering about it too much.

Funny, how the real nature of the boy who you had known for a nonchalant sneer and teasing remarks, could suddenly become so interesting and mysterious.

It was on a Thursday late that you were strolling up to The Astronomy Tower to see the Thestrals soaring in the air. Normally, it was around the time when you would be putting yourself to the bed, but too many thoughts were buzzing in your mind, and you knew it wouldn't give you much space to sleep anyways. The only optimum, instead of staring aimlessly at the ceiling and flipping from one to the other side of the mattress, was busying yourself with something else. The lack of sleep was due to nothing else than today's lesson with Carrows. They had thought up an idea of having some practice with a Confrigo spell which, rather unfortunately, was presented on a living phantom. As always, a whole hour of torments was disastrous, to say at least, and even after classes, you couldn't shake off the echo of troubled screams and beggings, which carried over the petrified room of students. That's why you were thinking you could swallow your emotions down, quietly and undisturbedly, in the only place you could wish for some private space. Besides, it was the only spot resembling the old Hogwarts you had known from the previous years, showing the calming extent of green grounds.

However to your surprise, when you pushed the door to The Astronomy Tower, noiselessly, you could notice a silhouette of a man already standing at the barrier, which made you momentarily flabbergasted suddenly considering an option of running upon a teacher. To save yourself from much too unwanted detention, you decided to change your track, rushing straight into your dormitory. But almost as you succeeded doing so, in the last moment, a person shifted in their place and spoke up before you had room to move.

"Pretty late for a casual stroll, huh?" At once, a feeling of dread ebbed away, and you exhaled deeply air you didn't know you were holding as you recognized none other than Draco with his back turned towards you. His tone was as usually taunting, but something in a timbre of sadness was hitched to it as well. "Shouldn't be sneaking out of the room on the patroling hours, you know? I'm the least of who you could come upon today."

Your dignity told you to say something in order to defend your harmless saunter to calm down your nerves, which benefited only your mental account. However, he made a point -- you could have been caught not only by some random teacher but Currows themselves who, you were inexorably aware, wouldn't let a chance of dehumanizing others slip away. And besides, you were a little too dumbstruck to speak, realizing it must be the first time Draco fucking prince Malfoy had uttered more than a word to you. What was a coincidence of meeting up with him just on the same day as you had been wondering about your atypical relationship formed within this school year?

Before your contemplation ended, Draco's voice carried on with a conversation, echoing off the walls. "Care to join? Seeing as you're already here."

Frowning to yourself at how surreal the situation can become, you stepped off the stairs with no more hesitation. You truly wouldn't have suspected the things would turn out that way -- embracing his Head Boy position, you thought he would send you off back to the Hufflepuff Tower with his dismissive attitude as it usually was. Inviting you over to company him was a top cherry you hadn't even considered. Truthfully, it made you feel a little thrilled to accept this offer.

As you walked over to him, his facial features became much sharper than from afar. Now, as you looked at him closely, you could define the contours of his face were even more angelic yet still masculine than in daily light. The platonic hair glinted accordingly to the moon above; his blue eyes were focused on a black void in the sky, clearly pondering more than concentrating on a particular object; a mouth pursed into a line, not a mocking expression he was usually carrying himself with. Eyeing him like that and still not being capable of deciphering him suggested he must be someone between a completely unemotional git or an excellent master of Occulumency. You preferred to presume the second one.

Quickly, realizing you were staring, you turned your head to behold a collection of vivid stars hovering above your head. You knew it was only in the Wizarding World that sky flickered so brightly -- your father was a muggle, and a whole family dwelled among a non-magical society, which you didn't mind at all. And that's why you were able to recognize... differences existing between those two worlds.

"Why are you here?" you asked curiously, not quite capable of restraining yourself from doing so. You were standing close enough to him to smell his sandalwood cologne.

He gave you a perfunctory smile, and although it was a three-second gesture, it somehow made you lighter on the chest to know he was convenient with a conversation. "Needed someplace to think," he explained, not darting his eyes away from where he was looking. He took a pause there. "You?"

"The same reason," you answered simply, shrugging. "My roommates can be too loud sometimes, and I needed some silence to sort out...stuff."

Draco nodded in understanding, not interfering any further into the topic. Brushing your hair habitually with fingers, you scolded yourself for coming up here in the first place. How could you act so irresponsibly to think you could smoothly break a regulations' rule and without anyone finding out? Although you were desperate to hide it, the presence of Draco made you inexplicably nervous, and even though you tried to gulp it down, your stomach was churning when he was around. Time proved his intentions weren't bad after all, and you confronted with the truth ever since he first happened to find you at the moment of your meltdown in the corridor, clutching to him as if he was your sanity. But that didn't dispel your doubts about him becoming a fully active Death Eater, who praised with a Dark Mark on the left forearm like with a reward for some kind of acrobatic stunt.

Your gaze swept briefly over the rolled-up sleeves of his snow-white shirt only to assure yourself the mark didn't disappear off his arm with some help of the power of your imagination. Yet it was still there -- as always, tinted coal-black, scary and blood-curdling every time you looked at it.

That evidently didn't escape Draco's notice who, as though reading your mind, started. "You know, I didn't want this." He didn't have to show what he meant by saying so because you instantly figured it out. You looked up at him, and almost invisibly, his skin pale as it already was, changed even to the whiter shade. "He has bait on me. All of this: assassinating Dumbledore; obeying his will -- it's not because I want that."

The sudden shock welled up at these words, and you gawked at him stupidly, not quite able to process what he had just told you. Swallowing with some difficulty, you coerced yourself to a mutter. "Why... why are you telling me this?"

For the first time this night, his steely stare landed at you, scanning your face to detect signs of emotion. You attempted to conceal it, but he could see you were thunderstruck by his unexpected confession. Without preamble, he smiled slightly at you. "I thought you ought to know."

Ignoring the clenching in your chest, you did your best to not break eye contact with Draco when his eyes were intently locked on yours now. You could swear, something on the verge of interest and sympathy flickered in them for a second. "Why?"

"Because you're the only person who doesn't freak out when I'm around," he explained carefully. "Every time I go to the library or appear in any other public place, you're the only one who doesn't glare."

He closed his eyes, clearly relived with the fact he could confide the worries he had been carrying for a long time. Breathing out through the nose and his lips flinching a little, his head spun again to the blank of the sky.

It was a depressing sight to see him in such dejection, and the images of him being cast aside by his former group of friends with who he had been laughing merely a year ago rolled into your head, try as might to suppress it. You could only imagine what it must feel like to be rejected by everyone around; to play the main role in something you never wished to participate in.

For a moment, you thought he was going to continue because he grunted enigmatically, but the silence remained. Unable to restrain the urge to offer physical comfort, you affectionately grabbed his palm, squeezing it in the reassurance that you were there for him. He didn't attempt to break himself out of the grip, which presumably was a good indication.

"I believe you," you stated, for some reason, satisfied with the fact you're the one to comfort him. "You are a good person, Draco."

This time, it was he who clasped your hand, and he glimpsed at you once more, towering over you with his long legs. "No. In the past, things happened, and to say, I'm not proud of them. Jeering, mocking, insulting -- that wasn't fa-."

"Past is a past, Draco," you cut him off, knowing where it all was leading, and you wanted to bring it to an abrupt end. It was the least adequate moment for apologies. "You can't fix it. Good that you understand your mistakes by now."

He hummed in comprehension, smiling, and his grasp tightened around your palm as if you were about to run off from him, which he couldn't be more wrong about. Admitting to yourself, you loved his smile -- though it was seldom, it much differed from a smirk you were accustomed to at that point -- and you secretly hoped he could do it more often. You also loved that even if he didn't talk much, he was very successful in lifting you up.

Therefore, there you were: standing arm-to-arm with your ex-bully who you had happened to run across; observing the moon in its full exposure; holding hands in reassurance. Both of you clearly enjoyed this gratifying moment and were lingering towards it not to end.

"Thank you," Draco finally choked out. "Thank you for...everything."

Ultimately, smashing the wall of uncertainty down, he wrapped his arms around your neck, hunching a little to adjust to your height, and buried his face in the crook of your neck. At first, your body stiffened at the sudden touch and a skip of the boundary, but as not to agitate him, you adapted yourself soon enough by reciprocating the hug. You started to rub the slow, steady circles on his back, and little by little, he began stroking your hair, softly grazing your scalp.

How long you stood clinging to each other like this, you didn't know. Hearing Draco sigh quietly, feel the rise and fall of it against your hands. Your heart sunk when you heard him breathe out, and you prepared yourself for him to mix out of the embrace because of sudden consciousness he was cuddling with a half-blood Hufflepuff he had been mocking for half of a decade ('I should get going'; 'I didn't mean what I said earlier; 'leave me be, Y/S'). But none of this happened, and he was only murmuring into your ear.

"I presume I should escort you to the dormitory. I could tell you were the whole time with me so no one would get any suspicion if we run into...anyone," he offered, yet you felt him almost grimacing at the thought of ending a moment you were two having.

"Mhm..." you agreed with no more opposition. "But let's give it one more minute."

____________

A/N: This is so typical of me to do something other than what's necessary lmao ;) The second chapter of Summer Nights is almost up if anyone interested. As I think of it now, this one-shot gives me such a vibe of Loud Places/Turn. However, I hope you enjoyed it :) Oh, and I'm explaining the sudden change of schedule with posting: 1. I'm very irresposible; 2. I got the super inspo to scribble this one-shot. Hah, sorry...

[pagingevilspawn]

how's your heart after breaking mine?

ts x jolex week 21

day one: fearless - mr. perfectly fine (taylor's verion) (from the vault)

wc: 2.5k

pairing: Jo Wilson/Alex Karev. Alex Karev/Izzie Steven (mentioned)

summary: years after they last saw each other, jo and alex reunite at a conference, and while she is still struggling from her heartache, he seems to be mr. perfectly fine.

rating: general audiences

category: angst.

warnings: angst, no happy ending, alcohol consumption.

A/N: guess who finished this just now? me. that's who. I was actually working on this one long before the announcement for this event came out, but it gave me the motivation to continue this! Alex is unintentionally an ass in this and for that, i’m sorry. Anyways… hope you enjoy! (first part's pretty crappy, but after that it gets better.)

(this was also proofread, like...once, so of there are a plethora of errors i apologize)

____

The absolute last thing Jo wanted right now was to attend a medical conference in Salt Lake City, Utah. There were multiple reasons why she should’ve said no. One; she had just started her second year of her OB GYN residency a few weeks prior, and there were a very limited number of lectures on her new line of study where she was headed. Two; she now held an absolute hatred for the Seattle Tacoma International Airport, since it was the place where her ex-husband stood before her, placed a soft kiss on her lips and promised to see her in a couple of weeks, lying to her face about seeing his mother in Iowa, when in reality he was going to see his ex-wife and kids, never really planning on returning home.

It was ironic really; how not even two years ago, she was standing in front of gate 48, saying goodbye to him, and now she stood in the same spot, in front of the exact same gate, with him nowhere near her side as she glared up at the same exact entrance she last saw him at.

(She also now hated the number forty-eight)

But, since Meredith had been hounding her non-stop about attending this event, she gave in. Because how was she supposed to say no to the woman who had barely survived the pandemic? Along with a plethora of other things she was too lazy to memorize. (The answer was that she couldn’t. She felt guilty for leaving Meredith behind for OB, so she now did whatever her former mentor wanted, even if more than two years had passed) If Meredith Grey asked for something, Meredith Grey got it. She was turning back into the intern who cried fake tears and would do anything to earn her approval, and Jo was not a fan.

“It’ll be good for you Wilson. You need to leave that loft of your’s and go somewhere Wilson, blah blah blah,” she mutters to herself as she shows the attendant her ticket, not even bothering to return the smile, settling on brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear instead. The messy bun on the top of her head bounced in place, and she felt like a college student after a night of studying, but rather than books tucked under her arm it was a neck pillow and a carry-on.

She shuffles into her seat, thankful that it was an aisle one before letting her eyes shut, trying to catch a wink of sleep in an attempt to make up for the less than few hours she had gotten the night before. It proves to be unsuccessful, because the businessman sitting next to her ate his chips so loud she had to restrain herself from coiling into herself every time a chip crunched beneath his teeth, and the toddler behind her continuously managed to kick her seat, no matter how many times his mother told him to stop.

After three hours of loud chewing, seat kicking, and crying babies, she lands in Salt Lake, taking in a deep breath when she finally escapes the crowded airport and is met with humid air. She picks up her rental car, and arrives at her hotel not long after, immediately tossing her bags into the corner and sprawling onto the bed. Eventually, she moves to unpack her clothes and other necessities, casting a glance at the clock which read 10:37.

Taking a look around the room, she decided that nothing more needs to be done; all of her makeup is laid out for the morning, and what she chose to wear is already hanging up in the closet, freshly ironed and wrinkle-free. She yawns, crawling under the covers and flicking off the light, sleep coming easily.

When she wakes up the next morning to her alarm clock going off, she’s freshly rested and in a better mood than she normally was when she had to wake up before nine. The early morning sun beats down onto her face, and she knows that if she wanted to get to the first lecture on time, she needed to start getting ready sooner rather than later.

With a sigh, she begrudgingly gets out of bed, hopping in a quick shower and changing into her clothes. She adds some soft waves to her hair, in the hopes that it made her look more put together than she felt. It didn’t seem that just because she got hours of sleep made up for the fact that she would rather be curled up in the soft sheets of her bed at home than the stiff ones the hotel provided.

It doesn’t take long until she’s arrived in the lobby, where doctors all around her were dressed in firmly pressed suits and skirts. Tables advertising different events throughout the day were lined up and down the hallways, fellow surgeons and mentees passing out little pamphlets with information about their courses littering the pages.

Jo passes by a few stands displaying lectures on the OBGYN field, mentally making a list of the ones she would like to attend.

A quick glance to her watch tells her that the first item on her list was starting soon, and with that she dumps the now-empty coffee cup she had ordered a few minutes prior as a pick-me-up, and shuffles into the seat of the auditorium, the chairs around her filling up quicker than she expects.

It’s only a few minutes later Dr. Maria Cavanaugh steps out onto the stage, silencing the crowd after a round of applause. Jo leans back into her seat, feeling grateful that Meredith had pushed her to go to this conference.

If her whole weekend is spent listening to experts talk and teach about her new specialty, she thinks she’s going to enjoy it.

____

It’s hours and a multitude of lectures later when she exits another grand room, fellow surgeons beside her chatting about the new information they’d acquired. She feels a small smile grace her lips as she realizes that the excited squeals could only come from the med school students that had been invited from the nearby college.

She pulls out her phone, seeing a text from Link and Meredith, both along the lines of that they hoped she arrived safely and that she enjoyed her time away from home. She responds, pocketing her phone and making her way to the hotel bar, settling into one of the few empty seats and ordering a whiskey sour, thanking the bartender when it's placed in front of her not even a minute later.

She sips the drink slowly, feeling some leftover tenseness from sitting all day leave her body as the alcohol starts to flow through her veins. She was far from drunk, but even saying tipsy felt like too much of a stretch.

Pleasantly buzzed, she decides on, taking another sip of her drink, making a brief second of eye contact with a man on the other end of the bar. He raises her glass with a slight nod of his head, and she does the same. She’s tempted to continue; take use of the way the man’s making subtle glances to the seat next to him when her ears pick up another conversion from a few feet away, freezing her in place, glass nearly dropping to the floor.

“Do you want anything?”

“Just a water’s fine. I’m gonna go talk to Dr. Conwell about some of the research her and her team were talking about.”

She turns in her seat, against her better judgment. She watches as he kisses her cheek before leaning against the bar’s counter a few feet away.

She feels as if ice had just been dropped down her back —frozen in place, unable to move as she watches Alex drum his fingers on the dark wood, head nodding along to the soft tune playing through the speakers. He grabs his drinks from the bartender; two waters, one with ice and one without, about to walk towards the woman he was with earlier when he spots her.

“Jo?” he questions, blinking multiple times as if to see if it was really her, and not a trick of the light.

She wants to run when he makes his way over to her. She wants to run, and scream, and throw her drink in his face. But instead, she places a tight, thin smile on her lips and acts as if nothing was wrong.

“Alex, hi!” She turns to face him, her voice too high for her enthusiasm to be true, but if he knows it he doesn’t make any move to show it.

He runs a hand through his hair —it's longer than the last time she saw it, a bit of grey speckled in so lightly that it wouldn’t be noticeable to someone who wasn’t looking.”I uh, I didn't know you’d be here.”

She wants to roll her eyes, but refrains. “Well,” she spins her drink with the straw, watching as the ice cubes clink against the glass “The feeling’s mutual.”

“How are you?” He asks after a few beats of silence, and she wants nothing more than to yell at him that he couldn’t talk to her like this —like they were old friends who had lost contact after a while, and were due for a catch up. Because they weren’t old friends. They were so far from friends that someone could build a bridge with the amount of space they had between them.

“Fine,” she lies through her teeth, her heart nearly beating out of her chest in nervousness. She was worried that she was going to break down at any second, spew the words that she had said to Carly in anger at him if he looked at her any longer as if things were okay between them.

“You?” she questions, not interested in the answer, sipping her drink similarly to how she had the night of Bailey’s wedding, the unwelcome memory of the start of their relationship blossoming to the front of her mind.

He sips his water, “Good. I’ve been good.”

With his hand clasped around the glass she catches sight of the pristine, shiny gold ring that sits on his fourth finger, and she has to fight back the growing lump in her throat that threatens to escape.

“Congrats,” she says instead, eyebrows pinched together as she nods towards the ring, a tell that always told whether or not her words rang true.

He seems to have forgotten that, and takes her words as a compliment. He gives her a small smile, “Thanks.”

Jo wants to laugh, because this was so far from the Alex Karev she had known, the man in front of her unfamiliar and so, so different from the one she married years ago. The Alex she knew would’ve never ordered a water instead of a beer, or act as if everything was okay between them when it was so far from it.

He’d changed, and she couldn’t say that she liked it.

“How are the kids?” she asks, and she can tell that she’s surprised him. He looks taken aback for a moment, before smiling gently and reaching into his pocket for his phone. “They’re great,” he says, pulling up a photo of them, the twins smiling brightly into the camera.

“That was at their birthday party last week,” he explains, and she notices the large 7 balloons that are floating in the background.

“He looks like you,” she comments about the boy. He grins, and she wants nothing more than to slap him for not being able to see that she’s so obviously hurting, that her heart is breaking inside of her chest. That she selfishly wants him to say that he made a mistake, that he was in love with her, not Izzie. But her life wasn’t a trashy romance novel, and even if it was, Alex was never one to admit to his faults, his pride and ego too large to have it bruised in such a way.

She had always wondered what he had been up to after he had left. If he was okay. She’d imagined different futures for him, some including Izzie and the kids, some of them not. She’s even naively envisioned ones with her and the children they had always talked about having one day.

Somedays, when she was feeling worse for wear, she had wished that he was miserable —that he and Izzie weren’t together and as far as they went communication-wise was a phone call to see who had the kids that week; that he was as alone and bitter as she was.

But instead, here he was, Mr. Perfectly Fine. The man who had looked her in the eyes and told her he would never go away.

Here he was, Mr. Perfectly Fine. Married to the woman he had left her for, a shiny gold ring on his finger instead of neat, polished wood.

For the past two years she’d been picking up the pieces of herself that he had shattered and left behind, only just starting to put herself back together, and here he was, Mr. Perfectly Fine. While she was piecing together her shattered heart, he was picking up her, the woman he had left her for.

She had thought that he was different from the rest; different from everyone who had ever left her. But he wasn’t —the man she had thought was so different was so exactly the same as everyone else.

“I’m sorry, Jo.” he says, and she has the urge to laugh —laugh because he wasn’t sorry, she could tell. He was sorry that he left her and caused her pain, sure. But he wasn’t sorry that he had done it, that he had married Izzie again and lived with her and his kids on a farm in the middle of Kansas. He wasn’t sorry about that at all.

Mr. Insincere Apology so he didn’t look like the bad guy.

She acts as if she believes him, giving him another tight smile, and lies through her teeth once more. “It’s fine Alex. It’s in the past.”

Jo checks phone, making a face when she ‘realizes’ the time, eager to get out of there as soon as she could. “I need to go, early morning,” she fibs, and she internally rolls her eyes at how he believes her. While he seemed to have forgotten everything about her, she still remembers every detail about him.

“It was nice seeing you again Jo,” he’s playing with the sleeves of his jacket and his eyes meet hers, and for less than a second it’s almost enough to break her resolve.

Another tight smile graces her lips, and she begins to walk away when her body fights her mind and she finds herself leaning down, her lips against his ear.

“I’m glad it was worth it, Alex.”

Her voice is harsh and bitter, yet broken, and she doesn’t need to look at him to know that his face has fallen, and he’s realized that everything she’d told him that night was a lie. She turns and lets the tears fall silently, making her way back up to her room with a head full of thoughts about her ex-husband, about Alex Karev.

About Mr. Perfectly Fine.

____

@thejolexgroupchat #tsjolexweek21

[greektravelblog]

Day 1

This says day 1 but it was more like 30 hours of non-stop going. Despite my complaints, travel, airports, and screaming adults are necessary evils that everyone faces when traveling. Starting out at IAD, I flew to Newark. Everything was normal, albeit slightly annoying, and then my plane got stuck on the tarmac for two hours due to weather. Listen I am all for safety but towards the end I really just wanted to say "screw it" and have the pilot send us up. Finally, he did. I sat next to this young boy (probably 4 years old) and his father. Now, even though this wasn't ideal, and the kid did thrash in his sleep, both him and his father were very sweet. I played a quick round of tic-tac-toe with the kid until he got bored and switched to a movie. Due to turbulence, when we were finally up in the air, we weren't served dinner until around 10pm. The last thing I had eaten was a crappy sub I had gotten from a glorified fridge in the Newark airport. But finally, I had food in my stomach and I downed a dramamine in order to get some sleep, so that's what I did.

What I didn't plan on, however, was the fact that this kid really did thrash in his sleep. His poor father was up just as much as me, trying to restrain him so he didn't bother me during the night. As much as the action touched me, it was a bit pointless as the seats were too close to make any difference to a fully stretched out 4 year old who was dreaming about fighting mummies. (The Egyptian kind, not the British mothers.) So eventually I woke up with only three and a half hours of sleep under my belt as we flew into Greek airspace. The first thing I noticed was the mountains. They really didn't look all that different from Appalachia from the sky. The second was the fact that I could literally see the bottom of the ocean towards land. Yes, the water is in fact that clear.

Finally off of the plane, I found the pick up station for the college, and waited another 2 hours for other students' flights to get in. Once together, we made our way to the college and were checked into our rooms. I was worried I'd get a crappy dorm living space with a communal bathroom like I got last year at WVU. Instead, I was faced with a gorgeous apartment that is larger than my own at home with three balconies and a large kitchen. There are six of us in the apartment, two to each room, but it doesn't feel crowded at all. There are two bathrooms total, so they're a bit cramped, but they're still larger than any apartment bathroom I've seen. The balconies are massive with beautiful sliding glass doors and surrounding foliage. Also the closet space they gave us is insane?! Literally an entire wall in my room is just cupboards and drawers.

After unpacking, my roommate (M), and suite-mate (A) decided to run to a little market down the street in order to get some necessities and food. The Bazaar Discount Market could best be described as a CVS on steroids (in a good way). The Bazaar has everything we need from sunscreen (thank god) to fresh cheeses and meats. The only issue I ran into was trying to translate the products. I couldn't really tell what was laundry detergent and what was fabric softener. So, I approached this lady who was restocking ice-cream and asked.

She knew no English.

So after five minutes of miming out washing my clothes and repeating "detergent" and "washing machine" with her responding with pointing to different products and miming different actions. I discovered that what I was first looking at was a spot cleaner, not regular detergent, and I walked out with the right product. She was a sweetheart and I very much enjoyed trying to communicate in a way I never had before. You never realize just how easy it is to understand one another until your common language is stripped away.

Next to the Bazaar was a cute little fruit stand. I spent only 2 euros on a bunch of cherries and a cucumber. The man who checked me out, and I assume owns the place, did the whole thing while talking on the phone and smoking a cigarette. He reminds me of what I remember of my grandfather. (Pretty sure Grandpa Losch was a Greek at heart, mom.)

Finally, all of us made our way to a welcoming dinner hosted by the college. The food was fantastic, the people sweet, and I met a few stray friends along the way. Also saw a bunch of wild orange trees lining the streets.

The things I have taken away from today:

Greek plumbing is horrid, so you have to throw all paper products into the trash. (and I mean all.)

You've never had a real Kiwi unless you've had Greek Kiwi.

Most strays WILL run up to you if you coo at them.

Everyone lied when they say you don't need to know Greek. Sure you can survive but you can't read products for crap.

90 degrees here is cooler than 79 degrees in West Virginia.

Sorry mom, Greek meatloaf is the only meatloaf I'll ever let touch my taste buds.

Time to go crash and sleep for as long as possible.

More later.