#forms of speech are not protected

[imminent-danger-came]

Protecting MK with a costlmk

[nexus-nebulae]

"why are you so worried abt random accidents, stuff like that rarely ever happens" well you see I'm too disabled to ever evacuate a situation on my own, so I'd rather be a safety advocate now than become a statistic later

[andromedasummer]

off to vote and fuck me running the amount of cookers weve got making parties is insane. at least theyre splitting the vote. theres also a fucking terf party running atm. what a fucking mess

[marvelsmostwanted]

There are people – some in my own Party – who think that if you just give Donald Trump everything he wants, he’ll make an exception and spare you some of the harm. I’ll ignore the moral abdication of that position for just a second to say — almost none of those people have the experience with this President that I do. I once swallowed my pride to offer him what he values most — public praise on the Sunday news shows — in return for ventilators and N95 masks during the worst of the pandemic. We made a deal. And it turns out his promises were as broken as the BIPAP machines he sent us instead of ventilators. Going along to get along does not work – just ask the Trump-fearing red state Governors who are dealing with the same cuts that we are. I won’t be fooled twice.

I’ve been reflecting, these past four weeks, on two important parts of my life: my work helping to build the Illinois Holocaust Museum and the two times I’ve had the privilege of reciting the oath of office for Illinois Governor.

As some of you know, Skokie, Illinois once had one of the largest populations of Holocaust survivors anywhere in the world. In 1978, Nazis decided they wanted to march there.

The leaders of that march knew that the images of Swastika clad young men goose stepping down a peaceful suburban street would terrorize the local Jewish population – so many of whom had never recovered from their time in German concentration camps.

The prospect of that march sparked a legal fight that went all the way to the Supreme Court. It was a Jewish lawyer from the ACLU who argued the case for the Nazis – contending that even the most hateful of speech was protected under the first amendment.

As an American and a Jew, I find it difficult to resolve my feelings around that Supreme Court case – but I am grateful that the prospect of Nazis marching in their streets spurred the survivors and other Skokie residents to act. They joined together to form the Holocaust Memorial Foundation and built the first Illinois Holocaust Museum in a storefront in 1981 – a small but important forerunner to the one I helped build thirty years later.

I do not invoke the specter of Nazis lightly. But I know the history intimately — and have spent more time than probably anyone in this room with people who survived the Holocaust. Here’s what I’ve learned – the root that tears apart your house’s foundation begins as a seed – a seed of distrust and hate and blame.

The seed that grew into a dictatorship in Europe a lifetime ago didn’t arrive overnight. It started with everyday Germans mad about inflation and looking for someone to blame.

I’m watching with a foreboding dread what is happening in our country right now. A president who watches a plane go down in the Potomac – and suggests — without facts or findings — that a diversity hire is responsible for the crash. Or the Missouri Attorney General who just sued Starbucks – arguing that consumers pay higher prices for their coffee because the baristas are too “female” and “nonwhite.” The authoritarian playbook is laid bare here: They point to a group of people who don’t look like you and tell you to blame them for your problems.

I just have one question: What comes next? After we’ve discriminated against, deported or disparaged all the immigrants and the gay and lesbian and transgender people, the developmentally disabled, the women and the minorities – once we’ve ostracized our neighbors and betrayed our friends – After that, when the problems we started with are still there staring us in the face – what comes next.

All the atrocities of human history lurk in the answer to that question. And if we don’t want to repeat history – then for God’s sake in this moment we better be strong enough to learn from it.

I swore the following oath on Abraham Lincoln’s Bible: “I do solemnly swear that I will support the constitution of the United States, and the constitution of the state of Illinois, and that I will faithfully discharge the duties of the office of Governor .... according to the best of my ability.

My oath is to the Constitution of our state and of our country. We don’t have kings in America – and I don’t intend to bend the knee to one. I am not speaking up in service to my ambitions — but in deference to my obligations.

If you think I’m overreacting and sounding the alarm too soon, consider this:

It took the Nazis one month, three weeks, two days, eight hours and 40 minutes to dismantle a constitutional republic. All I’m saying is when the five-alarm fire starts to burn, every good person better be ready to man a post with a bucket of water if you want to stop it from raging out of control.

Those Illinois Nazis did end up holding their march in 1978 – just not in Skokie. After all the blowback from the case, they decided to march in Chicago instead. Only twenty of them showed up. But 2000 people came to counter protest. The Chicago Tribune reported that day that the “rally sputtered to an unspectacular end after ten minutes.” It was Illinoisans who smothered those embers before they could burn into a flame.

Tyranny requires your fear and your silence and your compliance. Democracy requires your courage. So gather your justice and humanity, Illinois, and do not let the “tragic spirit of despair” overcome us when our country needs us the most.

Sources:

• NBC Chicago & J.B. Pritzker, Democratic governor of Illinois, State of the State address 2025: Watch speech here | Full text

• Betches News on Instagram (screencaps)

[whereserpentswalk]

The nazis that you see in movies are as much a historical fantasy as vikings with horned helmets and samurai cutting people in half.

The nazis were not some vague evil that wanted to hurt people for the sake of hurting them. They had specific goals which furthered a far right agenda, and they wanted to do harm to very specific groups, (largely slavs, jews, Romani, queer people, communists/leftists, and disabled people.)

The nazis didn't use soldiers in creepy gas masks as their main imagery that they sold to the german people, they used blond haired blue eyed families. Nor did they stand up on podiums saying that would wage an endless and brutal war, they gave speeches about protecting white Christian society from degenerates just like how conservatives do today.

Nazis weren't atheists or pagans. They were deeply Christian and Christianity was part of their ideology just like it is for modern conservatives. They spoke at lengths about defending their Christian nation from godless leftism. The ones who hated the catholic church hated it for protestant reasons. Nazi occultism was fringe within the party and never expected to become mainstream, and those occultists were still Christian, none of them ever claimed to be Satanists or Asatru.

Nazis were also not queer or disabled. They killed those groups, before they had a chance to kill almost anyone else actually. Despite the amount of disabled nazis or queer/queer coded nazis you'll see in movies and on TV, in reality they were very cishet and very able bodied. There was one high ranking nazi early on who was gay and the other nazis killed him for that. Saying the nazis were gay or disabled makes about as much sense as saying they were Jewish.

The nazis weren't mentally ill. As previously mentioned they hated disabled people, and this unquestionably included anyone neurodivergent. When the surviving nazi war criminals were given psychological tests after the war, they were shown to be some of the most neurotypical people out there.

The nazis weren't socialists. Full stop. They hated socialists. They got elected on hating socialists. They killed socialists. Hating all forms of lefitsm was a big part of their ideology, and especially a big part of how they sold themselves.

The nazis were not the supervillians you see on screen, not because they didn't do horrible things in real life, they most certainly did, but because they weren't that vague apolitical evil that exists for white American action heros to fight. They did horrible things because they had a right wing authoritarian political ideology, an ideology that is fundamentally the same as what most of the modern right wing believes.

[pinkmoontaco]

Spotlight on Us || Lee Jihoon

Pairing: Idol Jihoon x Idol Reader Genre: Fluff, Idol romance Summary: Jihoon and Y/N are forced to sit together at an award show, causing endless cheers, teasing, and viral moments. From sneaky glances to Woozi protectively covering Y/N with his blazer, the night is full of heart-fluttering chaos. When Jihoon tears up during his speech and sees Y/N crying too, it becomes clear—no matter how much they pretend, everyone knows. Feel free to make requests || M.list

Jihoon knew this would happen. He saw it coming from a mile away.

Yet, here he was, forced to sit beside you at an award show, and the crowd was absolutely losing it.

Seungcheol had nearly fallen over laughing when Jihoon realized where he had to sit. Jeonghan had patted his shoulder like a proud parent.

And now? Now, he was trapped.

The moment the camera panned over to your table, the cheers hit like a tidal wave. The entire venue shook with the sound of fans screaming their lungs out, and Jihoon could already see the headlines forming in real-time.

"Woozi and Y/N: Power Couple of the Century?"

"Woozi's Reaction to Sitting Next to Y/N is Priceless!"

"Destiny? Fate? Coincidence? We Think Not!"

He sighed, rubbing his temple as Seungcheol cackled beside him. "Hyung, it's like a concert in here," Dino whispered, wide-eyed.

Jihoon glanced at you, only to find you smirking. "Did you plan this?" he accused.

You feigned innocence, sipping your drink. "Me? I would never."

Liar.

The second the camera landed on your table, the screaming was deafening. The venue, which had been relatively calm just moments ago, erupted.

Jihoon fought every urge to groan as he kept his expression neutral, while you—completely unbothered—smiled and gave a polite wave. You were enjoying this way too much.

"Look at you," you teased, voice barely audible over the noise. "Are you blushing?"

Jihoon scoffed. "It's hot in here."

"Uh-huh, sure," you mused, nudging his knee under the table.

And then, as if things weren’t bad enough, the host on stage decided to make things worse.

"So, I think we have to talk about one of the most beloved pairings in the industry right now," the MC said, grinning. "Our audience is going crazy for these two—Woozi and Y/N, everyone!"

The camera panned right back to you both, a split screen of your reactions broadcasting to millions.

Jihoon shut his eyes. "Kill me."

Meanwhile, you? You blew a kiss to the camera.

The screams reached another level.

The members of Seventeen lost it. Seungcheol clapped like a seal. DK was howling. Jeonghan actually got out of his seat to dramatically bow in your direction, like you had just won an Oscar.

"You're enjoying this," Jihoon muttered, side-eyeing you.

"Oh, absolutely," you replied, resting your chin on your hand as if you lived for this moment.

His phone vibrated. Another message from Jeonghan.

[Jeonghan]: Just kiss on camera. I dare you.

Jihoon choked on air. You glanced at his phone and laughed. "What's he saying?"

"Nothing," he snapped, locking it immediately.

And then, it got even worse.

A special segment played—a montage of all the best collaborations of the year. And right there, in full HD, was a clip of you and Jihoon from a previous music show, standing way too close, exchanging small smiles.

It ended with a close-up of Jihoon watching you perform, eyes soft in a way that was damning.

The camera cut back to you both just in time to catch Jihoon covering his face with both hands.

Absolute pandemonium.

Even you were giggling now. "Wow, you really don’t help your case."

"I hate this," Jihoon grumbled into his hands.

You leaned in slightly. "Hate it enough to run away?"

Jihoon peeked at you through his fingers.

You smiled. The same smile that made his heart stutter every single time. The same smile that made him—despite all his complaining—stay exactly where he was.

Every time the camera even slightly panned in your direction, the audience roared in approval. At one point, the big screen accidentally caught Jihoon sneaking glances at you when you weren’t looking, and the fans lost it.

He knew the fancams would be everywhere by the time he got back to the dorms.

And then—disaster struck.

During a short intermission, you shifted slightly in your seat, adjusting your dress, when you realized—it was shorter than you thought.

The realization hit at the worst possible moment because, just as you moved, the camera cut back to your table.

You froze.

Jihoon noticed immediately. His sharp eyes flickered to you, then to the screen, and without thinking, he reached for something—his blazer.

With swift, natural movements, he leaned in and draped it over your lap, completely casual, like he had done it a million times before.

The camera caught everything.

A split screen showed Jihoon placing his blazer over you while you whispered a flustered, “Jihoon, what are you doing?”

"Just wear it," he muttered, pretending to focus on the stage.

Fans erupted.

Jeonghan burst into laughter, clapping his hands as if Woozi had just confessed on national television. Seungkwan gasped so dramatically that DK had to hold him back, and Mingyu was already on his phone, probably tweeting about it.

The big screen replayed the moment in slow motion, zooming in on Jihoon's effortlessly protective gesture.

Jihoon stiffened when he saw it. "You have got to be kidding me."

His phone blew up.

[Jeonghan]: ROMANTIC LEAD ENERGY!!!

[Mingyu]: Jihoon, OUR SWEETHEART???

[Hoshi]: THIS IS CRAZYYYYY

[Seungkwan]: GOODBYE, WORLD. THIS IS THE CUTEST THING I’VE EVER SEEN.

The captions wrote themselves.

"Lee Jihoon, the definition of boyfriend material."

"Woozi naturally protecting Y/N?? We are living in a fanfiction."

"When will my boyfriend be like this?"

Meanwhile, you were trying so hard to hold back your laughter. "Did you have to be so smooth about it?"

Jihoon cleared his throat. "It wasn’t smooth."

"You literally just gave me your blazer without blinking."

"Because you needed it," he huffed, crossing his arms.

You peeked up at him, a teasing glint in your eyes. "…Thanks, Jihoon."

He looked away immediately, ears turning red. "Shut up."

Jihoon should have known the night wasn’t over yet.

After all the teasing, the chaotic fan reactions, and the never-ending camera zoom-ins, the moment had finally arrived—Seventeen’s category was being announced.

The entire group sat up straighter, hands clasped together, nervous energy crackling in the air. You could feel it from your seat beside Jihoon, his usually steady hands slightly curled into fists on his lap.

“And the winner is…”

The pause was agonizing.

"SEVENTEEN!"

The entire venue exploded.

Seventeen shot up from their seats, hugging each other tightly, overwhelmed with joy. Fans screamed, members cheered, and Jihoon—despite his usual composure—looked stunned.

You watched as Seungcheol pulled Jihoon into a tight hug, and that’s when you saw it—his eyes, glossy with tears.

The camera captured the moment perfectly. Jihoon, the man who poured his heart and soul into every note, every lyric, standing there, wiping at his eyes as the weight of everything hit him all at once.

And suddenly, your own eyes burned.

You covered your mouth with your hands, trying to hold back the emotions bubbling up inside you. You had seen Jihoon work himself to the bone, staying in the studio until dawn, striving for perfection in everything he did.

He deserved this. They all did.

Jihoon stood on stage, microphone in hand, staring out at the sea of fans and glowing lightsticks. The award sat heavy in his grasp, but not as heavy as the emotions swelling in his chest.

The cheers had barely died down when Seungcheol, ever the leader, began their speech—thanking the fans, the staff, the families, and everyone who had supported them.

But when the mic was passed to Jihoon, the crowd fell into an expectant hush.

Jihoon took a deep breath. “Um…” He let out a small chuckle, voice already wavering. “I told myself I wasn’t going to cry.”

The audience cheered, as if encouraging him to let it out.

Jihoon swallowed hard, gripping the microphone tighter. “This… this award means a lot. More than I can put into words. We’ve worked so hard, and to be standing here, receiving this, it still feels unreal.” He exhaled shakily, blinking rapidly, but the tears still escaped, rolling down his cheeks.

Seventeen members immediately reached for him—Jeonghan placing a hand on his back, Seungkwan nodding at him reassuringly. The crowd cooed, some fans already tearing up themselves.

The camera panned across the group, capturing their emotions, before shifting—straight to you.

Sitting at your table, eyes glassy with unshed tears, you watched Jihoon with nothing but pure admiration and pride. You hadn’t even realized you were crying until the camera lingered on you, your lips pressed together to keep from outright sobbing.

And just like that, the entire venue reacted.

Fans screamed.

The members on stage noticed, and before Jihoon could even process what was happening, Jeonghan grabbed his shoulders and spun him around to face the screen.

There, clear as day, was you, wiping at your cheeks, eyes fixed on him like he was the most important person in the world.

Jihoon's face turned red instantly. He quickly turned back, covering his face with his sleeve, but it was too late.

Mingyu burst out laughing, Joshua clapped his hands like an excited kid, and even Seungcheol cracked up, patting Jihoon's back.

“Looks like we’re not the only ones crying,” Seungkwan teased into the mic, making the crowd go wild.

Jihoon groaned into his hands, but despite his embarrassment, he peeked up at the camera again—at you.

And in that moment, as he saw you smiling softly through your tears, he couldn’t even be mad.

Because no matter how much he pretended to ignore it, no matter how much he groaned when the cameras caught you both—deep down, he knew.

There was no one he’d rather share the spotlight with.

[kissbyoon]

“obsessive romantic lover!” ₍ y.jh ₎

───── ABOUT seeing the love of your life after one month, it was only fair for you to allow yourself to cry again

⋆ 𝒘𝒄: 1.1k ⋆ 𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆: fluff, est. rs, humour, self-indulged ⋆ 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: fiancé!jeonghan x f!reader ⋆ 𝒄𝒘: skinship, crying (that's jst me *SIGH* ), petnames (lmk if more!!)

A/N: this is so self indulged because I def did not keep my promise of 'im not gonna cry when there's another update' (⁠╯⁠︵⁠╰⁠,⁠) | @hanniescookie 🤍

The camera in your hands clicked, capturing yet another beautiful sight of your fiancé, Jeonghan.

You lean away, admiring the picture before lifting your gaze to look at him with a satisfied smile. Jeonghan’s head turned to your direction in the slightest way, the desperation to leave this ceremony and run to you noticable in his expression—scrunched nose, droopy eyes and a tired, but disciplined posture.

A soft laugh escaped your lips. As his eyes turned completely to catch a glimpse of you, you took the opportunity to tease him even more.

With a fond, yet teasing smile, you wink flirtatiously. His eyes go wide ever so slightly before he snaps his head to look ahead, his neck and ear turning red as he bites his lower lip to prevent a smile.

You laugh heartily, lifting your camera to capture the lovely sight.

All of a sudden, he is too focused on the senior officer’s speech with his posture straightened. He refused to look at you after that again.

After an hour or two, the ceremony had finally come to an end as everyone began to leave the ground and enter their cabins. Some of them were leaving to meet their visitors. You were requested to wait for Jeonghan on the other side of the ground, and you gladly listened because it was starting to become crowded.

While waiting, you took out your camera and admired each and every photo you have taken of him with a giddy smile.

Damn, you might’ve been a photographer in your past life.

“Oh wow, your fiancé is one of a kind.”

You flinched at the sudden voice behind you, ready to fight the menace who decided it would be a good idea to leave you startled. Only to realise that it was your menace—purposely making his voice deeper to sound like a middle aged man.

Closing your eyes tightly and pressing your lips in a thin line, you take a deep breath. Jeonghan giggled, craning his neck to look at your face, a tender smile on his lips.

You wanted to glare at him with the intention to tease, but the moment your eyes caught his, you paused.

As if your mind had stopped forming your next words, as if your eyes had stolen a glimpse of a rare star—your whole body froze.

For the first time after an entire month, the love of your life was before your eyes, just one touch away. It felt like a dream—to be able to stare and drown in his deep brown eyes again, to be able to have him so close to you again.

Before you could realise, your vision gradually blurred and tears began to roll down your cheeks uncontrollably. You covered your mouth, turning away from him, overwhelmed by your emotions.

“Hey, hey,” His tone shifted to his usual soft, full of affection, and he reached out urgently to turn you to face him. Without a second thought, his arms wrapped around your body in a gentle but protective manner, pulling you against his chest.

“Love, angel, you promised you wouldn't cry,” he whispered, cradling your head with one hand and patting your lower waist with another. Your cries weren't loud, but soft and tinted with yearning and love.

Yes, you did promise him that you wouldn't shed a single tear when you saw him. Yes, you did break it just a few hours ago as you arrived to watch his graduation ceremony. And a million times yes, your love for him runs so deep, so completely, that your heart finds its truest strength not in stoicism, but in vulnerability before him, allowing you to also embrace all of him—his perfections and imperfections.

“You’re gonna make me weep too now,” he playfully teased, hoping to earn a chuckle from you (which he did).

After a few good minutes of embracing his warmth, you gained control over your emotions and leaned back.

“I broke my promise,” you sniff, wiping your tears away. You kept your gaze on the ground, unable to find the courage to look at him again.

“It’s okay. Just look at me, love,” he urged softly, taking a step forward as one of his hands held yours and the other cupped your cheek. “You know I hate to be the reason for your tears.”

Your heart melted at his words, and you lifted your gaze to meet his eyes.

“It’s not that,” you mumbled, trying to cover yourself up from the embarrassment.

“I know it's because this is the first time in a while that you've seen my handsome face again.” Jeonghan grinned at the way your lips twitched to smile.

“Nevermind, I wasted my tears for you.” You pretend to sulk, turning away. He is quick to wrap his arms around your waist from behind, leaving a soft kiss on your neck. You felt goosebumps under his gentle touch, and closed your eyes tightly to stop the tears from flowing again.

“I missed you.” He confessed, a deep sigh leaving his lips as if he had been waiting forever to say that.

“Y’know, I saw you in my dreams everyday and it kinda freaked me out because I thought something was wrong with me,” he added with a smile, earning a giggle from you. “But then I realised it was just because I missed you so much.”

“You sound like an obsessive ex.” You chuckled. But deep down, you absolutely adored how he worded his feelings. You were special to him. Really, really special.

“You mean an obsessive fiancé,” he craned his neck and pecked your cheek.

“I think I'm more obsessive,” you sighed, fidgeting with the engagement ring on his ring finger.

“Hm? That can't be—”

“I hug jjongtoram thinking it's you. I sprayed your cologne on it a little and that kinda freaked me out because I felt like an obsessive stalker,” you giggled, mimicking his earlier words. “But then I realised it's just my heart that misses you so much.”

You didn't have to turn around to know that Jeonghan was smiling, almost shyly.

“That's kinda scary, baby, but it's okay since we're about to get married.” He joked to cover up the way he was blushing by your words, tightening his grip around you.

“Hey! That's romantic.” You defended.

Jeonghan’s gaze dropped to the camera in your hands, and he remembered that you had taken pictures earlier. (99.9% are all his)

“Okay my romantic lover, may you show me the pictures you took earlier please?” He asked playfully, placing both of his hands on top of yours.

“That's not a cool way to call your future wife,” you argued, pouting. He tilted his head, confused.

“Why not? Isn't it cute?”

“I prefer ‘my obsessive romantic lover' more.” You declare proudly, causing Jeonghan to break into laughter.

Obviously, it became your default pet name whenever you’d do something that made him blush. He has to find a way out of getting teased for being so down bad, right?

© KISSBYOON 2025. all rights reserved.

[robboyblunder]

As promised I went ahead and continued my "ghoul guide" with a part 2 (part one linked in replies)! This one covers stuff specifically with a made up lore guide of in-world ghoul stuff as if they were a sort of unique magic entity.

This one wound up way longer and had to be split so expect a third final one eventually lmao. for now though... I'm gonna take a break and yell. Bonus extra info plus the transcript under the cut!

ID in ALT text!

Bonus note: While not portrayed in the guide, it’s important to know a detail about ghouls’ origin called “memory echoes”. While ghouls are formed from humans past who lose all memory of their previous self while maintaining an assumed personality from before, at times certain instances of events, actions, items, and otherwise can trigger these “echoes”. Echoes are very rare, but a valued treasure to ghouls; they make them feel more connected to their past and more “human”. Upon triggering an echo, a ghoul will become completely listless, unable to respond or react until the echo has completed, usually within seconds.

“Memory echoes” are described as blurry faded memories that often show featureless shapes and colors, but a very strong “feeling” of a Deja-vu of the moment. They feel viscerally real and can have a mix of the senses i.e. touch and smell, but produce no recognizable faces or imagery of the self. No ghoul has ever reported fully remembering one, nor any semblance of their true past beyond the haunting leftovers.

Begin Transcript:

A Compendium of Hell’s Derivates

While there are many theories on the demonic nature of ghouls,

The true source is surprisingly Human.

Souls cannot be recreated; rather, they’re Recycled and Reborn

The cycle of ghoul creation started for unknown reasons…

But one thing is Certain:

Natural forces do not change easily.

Raw elements collide with the fuel of life itself until one connects

by His command

A violent injection of pure elemental magic

Rewrites and erases all memory and one’s past, drastically altering the soul…

These new powers lend to the powerful allies of the ministry,

However….

… new powers are a dangerous toy.

While coined as “Feral”, new ghouls would better be designated “Raw”, “Unbound”, and “Lawlessly Dangerous”

First formed, they are still elements;

Torrential, Aimless,

Incapable of coherent thought or rules

-but with time, coherence returns to the individual

Who grows much like a life cycle’s stages without necessarily aging.

The overall cycle is the same per ghoul, yet varied enough each rises differently…

First form: “Raw” – Second form (1): “Feral” – Second form (2) – Third form: “Stabilized”

Catalyst, violent, poor formation – Unaware, wild, chaotic – Conscious; can act like oneself; less raw – fully formed and recognizable

The first form, “Raw”, is notably so violent the devil himself does not release them until stage two.

The second form in stage one of a “Feral” ghoul is much like the forces of nature; free willed and wild, understanding minimal speech.

Take caution: they can be mischievous and cause decent damage.

In the second stage of a “Feral” ghoul, they behave like typical people; however, they’re still very free and may choose to never fully stabilize.

Note: you can tell they’ve reached this stage by presence of a tail and civil habits.

If desired, a ghoul reaches the final form: “Stabilized”. They’re transformed into a stable humanoid body, a form less powerful but safer.

Note: Talented ghouls can change form at will in this stage between secondary Feral and Stable.

When it comes to location, each form is most likely to be found:

Raw: Hell, contained

Feral (Stage 1): wilds/natural areas

Feral (Stage 2): wilds and civil areas

Stabilized: anywhere people go

Seeing feral ghouls is not uncommon, and can even be considered lucky!

They tend to provide free protection to keep their home

Ghouls can only stabilize via ministry ritual;

One can assume they’re ministry members if stable, even off duty.

Ghouls are uncommon, but found most places if looked for;

This seems especially true near ministry placements.

Ghouls only form from adults and don’t “age” traditionally, yet they’re still mortal

Deceased ghouls do not seem to return or recycle.

Summoning intentionally pulls only second stage feral ghouls or stable ghouls from anywhere,

They don’t always like this however (see other guide).

The cycle of ghouls serves a main purpose – as forces for the Dark One, in return for rebirth

However, there are two channels through which they serve.

1) Natural defense against corrupted holy magic

Non-stable ghouls defend at will naturally where they live

2) training to fight, protect, and uphold the ministry’s efforts in the name of the Devil.

Contrary to belief, summonings cannot grab from “nothing”;

Like the creation of a ghoul,

Their element, once developed, is what becomes pulled by nature

The force of such pull is incredible,

A disorientating test of will so great…

…it can render even the most sound minds rather violent.

This is why while some choose to stabilize, others may not;

But should a mind change, they can be freed or re-summoned.

Alternative to wild summoning, one can summon from trained ghouls over feral;

Many ghouls are trained for ministry positions all over, but any can be summoned if unassigned.

Though stabilized, unassigned ghouls are not contractually bound to anyone until assigned.

They’re great for extra work hands and being able to know what kind of team mates you’ll get without leaving it to chance.

Summoning any ghoul however reverts them to feral form, and the challenge to tame them remains the same.

Just because you know a ghoul does not mean an easy summon.

Finally, be warned: forcing unwanted breaking or upholding of a summoning contract

Will have dire consequences.

Aside from rarity of an element, there are “power classes” within each element.

Tiers:

Rarity of an element does not equal strength.

The break down is as follows:

Rare – extreme and dangerous power. These ghouls earn a specialized title.

Quite strong, stand out in their class and very sought after.

Most common tier; average and decent powers that are expectable.

Weak powers, but some uses are applicable.

Uncommon – ghouls who possess little to no powers. Ghouls in this tier may at times suddenly change power tier without warning to any other category.

S-Tier ghouls are quite rare and a sight to behold- truly, they embody nature’s power.

End transcript.

[greater-than-the-sword]

Not to get too into the weeds here but the stipulation about sexual intent was likely to protect breastfeeding mothers, obviously not whatever this is.

Freedom of speech does not, nor as it ever, protected obscenity.

[dmitriene]

Maybe something with poor birdie having an anorgasmia (unable to cum or it taking a long time) and price (or whoever you want to write for) trying to fix it

i apologize it took me so long to finally write, but i do hope you'll see this and enjoy!

cw: anorgasmia, some stress and mentions of unhealthy relationships, john doesn't cures reader but they find a way to work, sex and comfort, strangers to lovers or something similar, my knowledge of the disorder comes from internet.

any disorder can make a person feel different, broken, wrong — not like everyone else, not as expected, and even if it is a trifle that can be cured, worked out, or just needs more effort, it will still make many people treat you with a kind of hostility, consider you as if you were an object of study under a microscope, and you are no exception.

anorgasmia shouldn't have been the problem that it really turned out to be, because there's nothing unusual or really terrible about having difficulty having an orgasm, you need a little more time, a little more attention, understanding, because the pleasure of sex doesn't go away, it's just that your body's reaction is slightly different.

or so you thought, but all your relationships collapsed like sand towers, washed away by the tide as soon as you failed to give your partner the expected reaction, sobbing moans, rolling, wet eyes and shaking from the spasms of a strong orgasm thighs, no, with most of them it either did not exist, or it was not so expectedly grandiose, a small splash, a little trembling all over the body, then silence and a dissatisfied grimace on the face, looming over you in anticipation.

dysfunctional, they spat bile and animalistic hisses, as if it was kind of an insult to them, although you never threw it on them, you know it's just your problem, let them know, looking at the sparkling eyes and proudly puffing chest — when they said that you slept with the wrong people, that they will definitely be able to make you drown in your climax and unearthly pleasure, but in the end, everything is the same.

you didn't let it parasitize your mental health, but you stopped looking for sex and turned away any attempts to start a relationship, preferring to therapy and numerous consultations, learning different techniques of self stimulation, erotic media and countless sex toys, and little by little, it became easier, but still, you were different, your pleasure more imperceptible, easy flowing, a short flicker, until you met john at another boredom night.

johathan price, as he introduced himself, is a charming man — a type that is found in romcoms, easy going, charming, a man big and strong, adorned with his age in the form of gray hair the color of cigarette ashes, neat beard and a mustache, deep wrinkles in the corners of his purest blue eyes, softness in the once steel strong muscles, which are now protected by a small weight, smoky laughter, scars on his arms and body that speak of the years spent on the battlefield, and yet he lost neither his beauty nor his sanity.

a natural, he communicates with a special ease that attracts the attention of everyone around him, as if a charm has been unleashed in the room, tactile, and his physical contact most likely confused more than one innocent young lamb, and you are no exception, not in front of him, not when he has already managed to see all your innermost secrets, seep through locked doors and rusty keyholes, undressing you layer by layer, sweet speech, warm drinks, a heavy and warm hand on your knee until you give in.

you promised, but john's kisses are as tart as whiskey and cigars, sweeter than honey and candies that burn the palate, his touches are deep, digging nails and fingers into the softness of the flesh, and at the same time stroking along all the curves, softening, he smells of something woody sea, tickling the nose and neck, where his beard scratches sensitively, chasing the kisses and bites, blossoming flowers of hickeys left behind, making you arch towards him pliantly, cling to his broad shoulders and strong forearms.

john lays you out in front of him more easily than poker cards, puts you back together easier than tetris, looks at a naked, vulnerable body with an undisguised, smoldering desire and a clear plan, not allowing himself a drop of pleasure until he satisfies you in the first place, no matter how hurting his cock looks, swollen and blazing rudy, beading pearls of leaking precum, heavy between his hairy legs, bracketing yours, as if to cage.

even when you pull at his hair, sighing languidly and moaning softly — telling him that it will take too long, it's not worth it, his growl shuts you up with a shudder of your spine, his calloused fingers running through the sopping mess of your cunt, stroking the folds, slippery and wet, fluttering at the touch along with the clench of your hole, needy and pulsating, eager for his hands and mouth as he get's to his work.

slick smeared all the way up to your labia, glistening all over your flesh, your thighs, as john's thumb runs up your sex in wonder, assessing, staining sticky and salty, savoring your tiny reactions, little twitches, shudders, sensitive keens from above, relaxing you to the point where you slip along the edges of your bubble, hazy and malleable, and only then he gives your cunt his mouth.

licking hungrily up the seam of your cunt, the savory taste coating his tongue right away, pulling a thundering groan, as he laves over, sucking at the hardened little nub he bumps into, slurping in his hot, drooling mouth, as your slick starts matting his messed beard, while you throb beneath his swelling lips, making him alternate between sucking and lapping up what slick gushes from you in shining rivulets, your body brimming with need, pleasure rolling in, arousal so sudden and strong your blood feels thick with it.

it's comes harder, this time, maybe because you denied yourself a person's sexual contact for too long, but this time, you cum with your legs clamping tight from being unable to fight this electricity, zapping through your whole body as you flood john's mouth with your slick, your back bowing, crumpling the sheets below as you almost hit your head against the headboard, his warm palm settling over the top, shielding, as you hiccup a chorus of moans, under the rasping coo of his voice, no note of being full of himself, cocky, just sweet encouragement of you.

only then, when sure that you've been at the throes of your pleasure, john acknowledges the bobbing weight of his painfully engorged, hard cock, wrapping a calloused palm around the length, slicked from the amount of pre his skin is coated in, jerking once, twice, thumbing against his slit with a huffed grunt of pleasure, before lining towards your gaping hole, the messy curls of his pubic hair brushing against your tingling, now sensitive skin, as you stretch around the girth of him, feeded gently till he's bottoming out.

mind still sluggish with lust, you push your his hips down, trying to take more, to make the deliciously slow thrusts turn into something more, rougher, as your blood sings for it, so john pulls back, lifts your hips, grip more bruising, and blessedly pumps you deep, crowding, cocooning you with his big, brawny body, snapping his broad hips harder and harder, the force echoing as a slaps of skin on skin, the wet squelches, the once again growing pressure inside your stomach is immaculate, heavy.

bodies flush together, john rocks gently into your tight heat, trying to prolong this pleasure, feeling, how you get closer again, so much quicker than any usual, the feeling of it overwhelming you, making your body trash, head hitting the pillows beneath, but he's heavy over your body, and it's comforts you, in a way, as chapped lips kiss your shoulder, and then he nuzzles against your temple.

breathing you in, smearing away your sweat, as you tremble with the need to cum, gasping for it, rocking, clenching with a shuddering twitch of your hips, sensitive and primed for another orgasm, and when your head rolls back with an arch of your kiss bitten neck, white hot pleasure blurring your vision, your every muscle tenses and then you come again, erupting in what feels like a torrent, and john whispers only lulling comfort and proud syllables, groaning deep as he cums himself, shuddering with you.

you're left feeling spent, muscles going lax, sagging into the mattress and crumpled bedding below, it's like your mind gotten into submission, too knocked out by onslaught of all the feelings that your system shut down, and you won't even move to rise up, john's breath coming up close, hard and puffing, as he kisses the marks over your throat as you recover, white spots still dotting the vision, legs unresponsive, so you just curl, and he drags his mouth over your warm skin, each kiss as a reward.

he won't say too much, wouldn't even bring what happened during sex, he has no permission to, no control over your body, it's only your merit that you trusted, relaxed, let the pleasure slip through your fingertips and climb higher, even if slowly, john just happened to be there at the right time, and he won't oblige you to anything, as you slowly fall asleep in his arms — but if you'll linger in the morning instead of disappearing away, he won't mind cooking you breakfast.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[qiu-yan]

once again, instead of being a bitch on someone else's post, i'll keep my thoughts on my own blog.

i've seen people contrast yunmeng shuangjie by arguing that, while wei wuxian comes across as a rebel and jiang cheng comes across as highly mindful of social norms, in reality their social abilities are the opposite: that, in reality, it is wei wuxian who is socially apt and jiang cheng who is socially incapable.

for some fans, this then translates into political ability. these fans argue that it is wei wuxian and not jiang cheng who is capable of making connections.

come on now. this makes no sense. in fact, i'd go as far as to say that the story of MDZS as it is written is only possible if jiang cheng is actually better at making long-term connections - political connections - than wei wuxian.

certainly, wei wuxian is more personable and fun to interact with than jiang cheng; certainly, if everyone was a kid on a school playground, then most of the other kids would probably prefer to play with wei wuxian over jiang cheng. and yet, the world of MDZS is a bit more complicated than a school playground. wei wuxian might be more friendly and social than jiang cheng, but in no way does this translate to actual political ability.

it is true that wei wuxian most likely made a large number of friends at the cloud recesses lectures (such as one nie huaisang), before he was expelled for punching jin zixuan. one might then want to call these friendships future political connections. based on this, one might then expect that, after leaving yunmeng jiang to protect the wen remnants, wei wuxian would have some connections to cash in on.

and yet, this did not happen. where were these supposed "connections" when wei wuxian left yunmeng jiang to defend the wen remnants? where were these "connections" when wei wuxian was living in the burial mounds with no one but a bunch of escaped POWs, all for the sake of what was just? and where were these supposed "connections" when the entire cultivation world showed up on wei wuxian's doorstep, calling for his head?

the whole point of the first chronological half of the story is that wei wuxian stood alone. when wei wuxian chose to do what was right over what was easy, he stood alone. when wei wuxian chose to protect the innocent, he did so alone. and when wei wuxian refused to give up on the wen remnants, severing his single strongest political tie in the process - he ended up standing alone against the rest of the cultivation world. no one came to save him. no one even came to stand by him. none of the connections he made before his downfall as the yiling patriarch - save for one, which only stepped up after he died once - actually ended up lasting.

therefore, one can only conclude that, for all his friendliness and inherent likability, wei wuxian actually isn't all that great at forming and maintaining useful political connections. no matter how much people might like him at first, for almost everyone, he's ultimately too politically inconvenient to stand up for.

(funnily enough, the fact that almost all of wei wuxian's connections save a handful were fair-weather friends is highlighted by wei wuxian himself, in the following exchange during the second siege:

One of the cultivators standing at the forefront of the formation said, with bitter grief, “Wei Ying, you truly disappoint me. To think I used to admire and look up to you! I even said that, if nothing else, you were a founder, someone who established the first generation of your own sect. It’s almost nauseating, in retrospect. From now on, you and I stand in opposition!” Wei Wuxian was taken aback by this speech at first but then burst into hysterical laughter. “Ha ha ha ha….” He laughed so hard he could barely breathe. “You admired me? You say that, but why did I never see you, back when you admired me? And when everyone began to bay for my blood, you popped up waving your little flag to cheer in support!”

MDZS Seven Seas translation, Book 4, Chapter 18: Night Flight)

meanwhile, the plot of MDZS is fully impossible if jiang cheng is bad at making political connections. first, consider what happened right after the massacre of lotus pier: the golden core transfer happened, wei wuxian was thrown into the burial mounds, and then three months later jiang cheng and lan wangji found him again. by that point, jiang cheng had already called enough new disciples to his banner that yunmeng jiang was considered a contributor to the sunshot campaign. given that jiang cheng had literally no one by his side after the fall of lotus pier save jiang yanli, it is highly unlikely that jiang cheng would have been able to recruit this many new disciples if he had no interpersonal skills.

(one could potentially make the case that jiang yanli recruited the new disciples, but i find this difficult to believe. people in this time period would assess the strength of a political organization - one asking them to do something as dangerous as go to war for them - by the quality of that organization's leader. not by the quality of the leader's sister who would have inevitably married out of the organization. sucks to suck but that was how things worked back then.)

furthermore, jiang cheng rebuilt lotus pier. jiang cheng rebuilt lotus pier from literally nothing. some jc antis like to argue that wei wuxian contributed more to the rebuilding of lotus pier than jiang cheng, but this is absurd: wei wuxian was only around during the postwar period for 1-2 years at most before he left for the wen remnants, and a few years after that he was dead. after wei wuxian's defection, and then in the 13-year time period between wei wuxian's death and his resurrection, who was left in lotus pier? was in charge of lotus pier? who was running lotus pier so efficiently that, by the time of wei wuxian's resurrection, yunmeng jiang had gone from what wang lingjiao called a joke to one of the strongest sects in the jianghu?

of course - none other than jiang cheng.

this level of political rebuilding, for an organization that was literally decimated less than 20 years ago, is only possible if the leader of said organization is highly politically capable. during the 13 year timeskip, jiang cheng as yunmeng jiang's leader would have had to deal with rival sect leaders, make alliances with other sects, strike deals with other sects, and keep a constant awareness of the political landscape. all of this is only possible if jiang cheng is capable of making useful political connections. frankly, i think fans are putting too much emphasis on jiang cheng's surface-level mannerisms (which he also is only showing because wei wuxian is around, lbr), and too little focus on simple logic. if jiang cheng did not have the ability to make political connections, then yunmeng jiang would have collapsed.

it's easy to read MDZS and conclude, based on a surface-level analysis, that wei wuxian is better at making connections than jiang cheng. yet this take is at best shallow and at worst actively misses all the main points of the novel. for all his charisma, sociability, and wittiness, wei wuxian is actually not that socially apt - if he were, he and the wen remnants would not have died. and - for all of his snappishness, grumpiness, and irritability - jiang cheng is actually not a social klutz - if he were, yunmeng jiang would not have survived to see wei wuxian's resurrection.

the socially-apt underdog you're thinking of is jin guangyao.

(also, as an aside: nie huaisang did not mastermind wei wuxian's resurrection because he was, secretly all along, wei wuxian's ~great friend~ who was just so sad and disappointed about what happened to poor wei-xiong. it's a nice bit of fanon, but that's not what happened. nie huaisang masterminded wei wuxian's resurrection - 13 years after wei wuxian's death, i might add - because of wei wuxian's expertise. he needed someone with wei wuxian's specific expertise to both solve the nie mingjue dismembered corpse problem and to get revenge for him on jin guangyao. i don't know where bleeding heart huaisang came from, but it certainly wasn't canon.)

[a-very-tired-jew]

The Columbia University Taskforce on Antisemitism 2nd Report is out. And it's a doozy. https://president.columbia.edu/sites/default/files/content/Announcements/Report-2-Task-Force-on-Antisemitism.pdf

Before I get into the nitty gritty of it let me pretty much summarize and paraphrase the Taskforce's position: "Holy shit the antisemitism on campus is so much worse than we thought, and it's repeatedly done by people saying they're 'just anti-Zionists'".

Let's start with the Taskforce's working definition of antisemitism.

Fig. 1. Columbia Taskforce on Antisemitism definition of antisemitism

This is a pretty good definition as it includes such things as Holocaust Denial, perceived ties to Israel, double standards, and all the usual things. It pretty much encompasses everything we have witnessed and experienced since Oct 7th. However, the Taskforce then follows it up with this bit.

Fig. 2. Columbia Taskforce on Antisemitism says their definition should not be used outside of training and education.

By saying that their working definition of antisemitism should not be used outside of training and education purposes the Taskforce is pretty much admitting upfront that the antisemitism they are reporting on falls well within their definition and breaks Columbia University code of conduct to the point where the perpetrators would and should receive various punishments ranging from suspensions to expulsions to revocations.

This is an example of the double standards that Jews experience. If this was a taskforce working to find evidence and address any other form of bigotry and racism then there would be recommendations made using the working definition. The irony is that they talk about double standards right in their definition. Now, of course the whole argument comes down to First Amendment Rights. But speech that induces and instigates violence against individuals and/or ethnic/racial groups is not protected. Considering that the Taskforce found calls to violence against Jews then this is not covered. Furthermore, while supporting terrorism is covered by the First Amendment, material support includes distributing terrorist approved and produced materials, of which many students and groups like CUAD are on record doing (even on their own social media) is not.

The report then does what we always, always, always see when it comes to anything with antisemitism. It recommends training on antisemitism AND islamophobia. Now, I am for this personally. A lot of others might be like "Why link the two?! It's always like this!" but I think training on both serves a purpose.

Explicit training and education on what is antisemitism and what is islamophobia. Such things as criticism of the Israeli government's actions, Hamas's actions and rhetoric, the Nakba and the Farhud, the Arab League, and so on being the things that come to mind as examples of not antisemitism or islamophobia. Then getting into the things like stereotypes and conspiracies and how criticism can easily fall into these, how people often seed in "innocuous" conspiracies that are actually the gateway to more serious hateful ones and how to recognize that ploy.

By having courses and training on what is and what isn't either of the two you start to address that leftover guilt since the 9/11 era that has prevented any and all criticism of Islam, Islamic groups, and Islamic regimes for fear of being labeled "Islamophobic". We have seen since Oct 7th the projection of "Jews are weaponizing antisemitism to prevent criticism of Israel" from groups that defend the use of Hadiths that call for the death of Jews under the guise of "you're being Islamophobic" as a means to prevent criticism.

Now, will such education and training actually address these issues? Of course not. They'll likely be opposed and never implemented.

Let's move on, shall we? The report then gets into it's introduction and tells us that they heard from nearly 500 students ranging from undergrads to post-docs about their antisemitic experiences. These testimonies come from Zionists, anti-Zionists, non-Zionists, and those the Taskforce couldn't exactly label. Furthermore, those that did not attend the listening sessions did what we've seen all antisemite do since 10/7; they denied the experience of these students and the Taskforce acknowledges this.

That's huge.

Acknowledging that the greater Columbia University community is denying the antisemitic experiences of these students whom are across the political spectrum and academic experience is signaling to the antisemites that the victims will not be drowned out by the mob with pitchforks.

They then follow it up with this.

Fig. 3. Acknowledgement that the antisemitism students are experiencing does lead to physical violence and has historical precedent.

The Taskforce is admitting and acknowledging that Columbia University has failed in fulfilling part of its mandate in protecting students and addressing acts of bigotry, hate, and violence towards students and students of a particular group. By also acknowledging that antisemitic rhetoric has a historical precedent of leading to physical violence they are also admitting that they know how bad it is and it needs to be addressed.

They then recommend that the university change its policies because of the utter failure to address these incidents. Further elaborating that some of the incidents actually violate state and federal law and that the university is culpable in such cases and the university itself is, once again, adhering to double standards for its Jewish and Israeli students.

The report then goes into the incidents students experienced starting with section 1B. Student Experiences in Day-to-Day Encounters. I will not go over that here in detail, but it contains multiple testimonies and excerpts from testimonies about the antisemitism the Jewish students experienced since 10/7. What is important to note is that the Taskforce acknowledges the "slippage" of anti-Zionism into antisemitism in the majority of these incidents, that the perpetrators don't think they're doing so, but to everyone else it is very clearly happening.

Fig. 4. Taskforce stating that anti-Zionist activities have fallen into classic antisemitic tropes and canards on Columbia's campus(es).

Furthermore, the Taskforce acknowledges that Jewish and Israeli students purposefully had their words misinterpreted to villainize them. Any attempt at facilitating discussion or understanding was dismissed with heavy prejudice.

The Taskforce also talks about how social media has played a role in the harassment of Jewish and Israeli students.

Fig. 5. Student testimony and screenshotting of antisemitism online from Columbia students and orgs.

Moving on to section C. Student Experiences in Clubs, we find one of the most heinous incidents.

Fig. 6. Founder of an LGBTQIA+ group defends their antisemitism then acknowledges it and brags that they got away with it.

This incident highlights one of the issues we have seen since 10/7 where people place Jews as "white oppressors" to validate their antisemitism. They engage in open antisemitic conspiracy and defend it through the use of progressive language that makes it difficult, if not impossible, to address their bigotry. Why? Because a person like this will fall back to being a minority themselves to say that they can't be a bigot. This type of defense is hypocritical and is solely used to silence any attempt to address their hate, to which this student fully acknowledges as she bragged that she got away with it.

This is why Columbia University apologizing to Khymani James after expelling them for their comments about "Zionists don't deserve to live" and that we were "lucky" they weren't out there killing them right now is so abhorrent. Across the internet we saw accusations of white supremacy and silencing BIPOC and queer voices because of Khymani's sexual identity and ethnicity. Is this not the kind of weaponization that antisemites accuse Jews of? This is projection and the testimony above and the Khymani incident highlight this type of behavior. You don't get to be a hateful bigot simply because you're a minority, but the double standard for Jews is a consistent issue.

As the report continues we then find out that the CUAD is not just one group, but actually a coalition that has multiple student clubs and organizations underneath it. CUAD demands that its member clubs and orgs adhere to its mission and rhetoric. According to the report, any student in a club or org that didn't express outright (((anti-Israel))) sentiment was silenced and eventually ousted and/or removed. In almost all incidents, any group signing on or joining the CUAD coalition did not abide by their own rules and excluded any and all Jewish and Israeli students from the process. If they spoke up they were told their opinions did not matter and were removed.

This coalition is further expanded upon in section E (I'm skipping D as it is about curriculum issues and is much shorter). Testimony points out that CUAD is a coalition made of over a hundred student organizations and that they are also bringing in outsiders to the campus. So the claims of "outside agitators" are moot because it was CUAD who brought them there in the first place. The intent was also never to be a peaceful protest or encampment as multiple testimonies talk about the violent language and actions within the encampments and across the campus(es). Specifically the language being used during "vigils" was not about peace or in memorium, but celebrating death and highlighting violence. The issues that the Taskforce learned are, I think, best encapsulated by this paragraph from page 36 in section G.

Fig. 7. Paragraph highlighting how Columbia is now seen as an antisemitic university.

I can attest to Columbia now being seen as the antisemitic university. Its reputation is entirely tarnished by the administrations refusal to act on the very real and violent antisemitism that has been present on its campus since the days after 10/7. I know professors who have turned down jobs, grad students that have withdrawn applications, and donors that have stopped giving.

This report by Columbia University's own personnel provides evidence that contradicts the narrative we have been told by members of the CUAD encampment(s) as well as people across social media; that the antisemitism is fake and made up to prevent criticism of Israel. The Taskforce admits that they were astonished by how bad it actually was and that the university refused to do anything. This should be telling to anyone who has witnessed these claims by people trying to dismiss concerns regarding antisemitism in the pro-Palestine movement. We've seen this across social media and this site where antisemites accuse Jews of being Nazis while they themselves spew antisemitic rhetoric straight out of the Protocols and the Third Reich.

Antisemites will always try and paint Jews as the actual perpetrators of hate, violence, and villainy while they themselves commit those very same acts (that is not to say that no Jew has every committed a crime or any such act themselves, but the projection that we have seen by antisemites is massive). This Taskforce report has multiple testimonies of Jewish students just trying to exist and go about their lives to only be harassed and assaulted for the crime of living while Jewish.

I am going to end this post here as the next section after the testimonies and incidents of antisemitism goes into recommendations for the university and actions to be taken. That is a separate post that will be couched in this one later on.

[after-witch]

A Snowy Interlude [Yandere Illumi x Reader]

Title: A Snowy Interlude [Yandere Illumi x Reader]

Synopsis: You play in the snow--a rare treat.

Word count: 1418

notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, mentions of past abuse

“Are… you… sure this is… allowed?”

Even if it weren’t cold, your words would have come out slow and almost stuttered. But the cold air doesn’t do anything to help the eloquence of your speech, which comes out haltingly, words carefully chosen and accompanied by puffs of your whitened breath. 

Illumi’s face remains, as almost always, impassive.

“What do you mean, allowed?” He asks, finally, watching as you take each piece of winter clothing from the standing butler and slip them on. Gloves, a scarf, a hat, all fitted perfectly to your form. 

It would have been nicer to put them on before stepping out into the winter air, but you hadn’t been outside in months, and you weren’t going to complain about a thing. He did have you step into winter boots first, at least, and a winter coat. 

“I just mean,” you reply, watching as the butler gestures for you to step into a pair of thick, puffy snow pants–the kind you used to wear as a kid, “I haven’t been outside in… a while.” 

Your voice warbles as you hold onto the butler’s arm support and step into the puffy pants; butlers were the only other people you were allowed to touch, besides Illumi. Even then, they knew to never touch first; you could touch them like furniture, like a useful thing. 

Illumi hums. “No, you haven’t. I felt it inappropriate for you to be outside.” 

You don’t comment–you don’t want him to elaborate and change his mind. Or worse, decide that it is inappropriate for a newly-minted Zoldyck wife to step outside the mansion looking like an oversized marshmallow.

Once you’re dressed, the butler stands aside, and you let your gaze wander across the garden. 

It had really been snowing. Illumi had let you sit at the window watching as the flakes fell, thin and almost rain-like at first, but then gradually getting thicker and fluffier as the day went on. It snowed for almost three days straight and now the entire estate looked like something out of a pretty winter story–the roofs all covered in white, the same pretty sparkling white that covered the ground and went up past your knees.

It was all waiting, just beyond the cobblestone path leading back inside the estate. It had been neatly shoveled out and you tried to picture the butlers shoveling it bit by bit, as your neighbors were no doubt doing back home. Well. What had been home, before all this. 

Illumi doesn’t make to move, and you give him an awkward look. 

“Um. So. Can I… go out there?” It’s a silly question, you realize. Why get you all dressed up for being outside if you were just going to stand on the shoveled path? Oh. Well. Actually. Maybe it's not so silly, and Illumi was just being irritatingly over-protective about the cold.

And perhaps you’re right to question it, because Illumi’s eyebrows furrow. Just a little. Just enough to notice.

“Oh,” he says, as if he hadn’t considered it. He pauses, and you wonder if this is it, your time outside will just be spent standing at staring. “... Yes. I suppose that’s all right.”

Something like happiness prickles your chest and you step away from the shoveled cobblestones, boots sinking into the deep snow. The sound of each step is so familiar, so nostalgic; the swish of your snow pants with every movement, the soft crunching of the snow, the way it yields underneath your boots.

Your smile grows without you realizing it as you make your way into the garden, arms out at your sides for balance. How long is it since you’ve been in the snow like this? Even before Illumi took you, it wasn’t like you had the time for it. 

You were a kid, surely. Maybe 12 or 13, the last time it was still considered cool to dress in bulky outerwear and trudge your sled up to the neighborhood sledding hill. 

A sense of wonder overtakes you, and it feels like the past few months are left behind you, standing alongside Illumi and the butler–the training, the pain, the burns, the bruises, the broken arm and fingers. The instructions and etiquette and rules, rules, rules. 

How could they come with you, as you begin to trudge–happy then happier–through the snow? 

It’s so thick you feel like if you fell down, you’d be lost in it. Maybe you’ll sink to the ground. Maybe you could make a snow angel–or a cave. The urge to fall overtakes you as it so often did in childhood and you simply plop backward in the snow. The thump hides the sound of Illumi rushing forward, though perhaps he would have known how to run through the snow silently anyway.

When you look up, you see Illumi, of course. But beyond that is what you’re interested in: the sky above you, all blue and lovely. There’s whiteness, too, the sparkling prettiness of the snow all around you. Some of the cold has seeped underneath your coat and scarf, burning your ears. But you don’t mind.

Of course, you’re eventually forced to acknowledge him, and you finally let your gaze focus on Illumi. He’s leaning down, his hair almost becoming a black curtain.

“Why did you fall?” He looks–almost concerned, you think. “Are you having a heart attack?” It’s funny, really, the way he phrases his so calmly. If you weren’t becoming somewhat decent at reading him, you might think he was joking. 

He’s not. So–

You blink up at him.

Then you move your arms and legs up and down, up and down, making a snow angel underneath you.

Illumi blinks back.

“Perhaps you’ve had a stroke.”

You grin, then, and clutch a handful of snow underneath your gloves. 

“I didn’t, to both. Haven’t you ever made a snow angel?” You ask, curling the snow together, beginning to form a ball and idly wondering if you’re brave enough to do it.

Illumi straightens his back, and looks at the impressions of snow you’ve left behind your arms and legs. He doesn’t seem impressed.

“No. I haven’t.”

Something pangs inside you, and a question floats up: what kind of childhood did Illumi have, anyway? Maybe he never played in the snow. Never made a snow angel, never spent hours digging out a snow cave with friends. Never slid down a hill and bashed into a tree and it hurt but it was fun all the same.

It must have been hard. 

Your fingers curl around your newly made snowball and instead of chucking it as his face, you sit up, and start pulling in more snow to make it bigger.

“What are you doing?”

You don’t answer. Instead you keep going, scooping, gathering, and rolling until you’ve got the makings of a fantastic snowman butt.

“Are you going to answer me?” There’s enough of a sharp pin in his tone and you hoist yourself up, using the round snowman butt as leverage.

“I’m making a snowman,” you answer. “But all I’ve got is the butt.” You gesture to your creation, stalling for the time needed to create the words, to ask the question. Surprising, how hard it is to ask Illumi to do something like this.

“If you want, you could… get some gloves and join me?” 

Illumi looks around you, at the disheveled mess you’ve made of the pristine fallen snow, at the clumps of snow clinging to your snow pants, your gloves, your hat. At the large round ball you’re proclaiming is a snowman butt.

At your face, beaming, carefree, in a way he’s never seen you look since before he took you.

“I don’t mind the cold,” is all he says, before he leans down and begins to mimic the way you scooped snow together. 

It doesn’t hold. He’s awful at it. And you do something you’ve never done before, at least, not on your own initiative–you place your gloved hands over his and curl your fingers in the right way, so that the snow gets packed together properly.

Illumi goes still, and you pretend not to notice, because you think he’d rather you didn’t. 

Instead, you keep on making your snowman, as Illumi slowly but surely gets the hang of it.

“I’m glad it snowed so much,” you say, quietly, cheerily, wondering if a butler could run inside to get carrots and something for the snowman to wear.

Illumi, in response, hums.

It’s as close as you’ll get to agreement. 

[adersonherra]

Naples Pride Festival in Florida amid political struggles

Naples Pridein Florida get a permit to hold its annual festival in Cambier Park this coming June.The council voted 5-2 in favor of a permit for Pride Fest on Saturday, June 7.The council action makes it clear that the indoors drag show will be open only to people who are 18 years and older. No minors will be allowed in the center during any drag show.

This year the group asked for outdoors drag shows, even if minors were present in Cambier Park. The drag events have been indoors at Norris the past two years.

Jan 15, 2025，over 50 people spoke during public comment.Those against the event expressed concerns about drag shows and the presence of children, while supporters described Naples Pride Fest as a celebration of love, acceptance, inclusion, and unity."The grooming of children, minors, for the gratification of adults, no matter the orientation, even heterosexuals, is a crime and always has been," Priscilla Gray said during a public comment period."I wish our elected officials would focus on addressing the real needs from their constituents, instead of framing it as a way to protect children," Cori Craciun said. "All while they put the entire community at risk."

Another speaker highlighted the event’s purpose: “Naples Pride Day is a day for the LGBTQ+ community to celebrate achievements, promote visibility, pursue equality and honor those who fought for LGBTQ+ rights.”

Naples Pride has filed a federal lawsuit against the City of Naples and its entities for denying the non-profit organization a special events permit to host a family-friendly drag performance in one of the city’s public parks as part of its annual Pridefest celebration.The lawsuit, filed in the U.S. District Court for the Middle District of Florida, argues the First Amendment forbids the City of Naples from burdening the protected speech of Naples Pride—and the ability of its willing audience to receive that speech—because some members of the Naples community disapprove of its message.

“Before the City, emboldened by anti-LGBTQ+ sentiment, imposed unconstitutional burdens on Pridefest, Naples Pride was able to feature its family-friendly drag performance without issue for years,” said Samantha Past, LGBTQ+ Rights Staff Attorney at the ACLU of Florida. “The First Amendment ensures that viewpoint and content-based discrimination cannot infringe on freedom of speech and expression. Drag is an art form that holds great significance to the LGBTQ+ community both as a form of social commentary and celebration. Drag is constitutionally protected, even if someone doesn’t like it.”

In May 2023, Florida lawmakers enacted a law targeting drag performances, authorizing the State to revoke or suspend the operating and liquor licenses of any establishment that knowingly admits a minor, despite parental consent, to a drag performance. On June 23, 2023, a federal judge blocked Florida’s anti-drag law, finding that it likely violated the First Amendment, and it remains blocked until today. Here, the City imposed several additional restrictions beyond those required by the blocked state law.

On May 12, a federal judge ruled that Naples' restrictions on activity violated part of the First Amendment.District Judge John Steele ordered a partial preliminary injunction in Naples Pride’s ongoing lawsuit against the city, allowing the annual Pride Month drag performance to take place this year on the main stage of Naples’ Cambier Park, with all ages allowed to attend.

The annual Pridefest is the largest fundraiser for the LGBTQ+ social services nonprofit.Callhan Soldavini is a board member of and attorney for Naples Pride. She says that the ruling makes clear that city governments can’t silence free speech in the name of public safety.

The Naples city government said in a statement:“Notwithstanding the Court’s decisions yesterday, the City believes it has legal authority to grant special event permits on its property with reasonable conditions to ensure public safety. The City is currently evaluating the orders rendered yesterday and will determine its next steps.”

[connorsui]

In your tender gaze

Genre/warning: domestic fluff, Slice of Life, nanami looking at u like u are the only woman in his life, warnings? ..nah ..we don't divorce around here

Synopsis: Amidst the tranquility of their home, Nanami Kento cherishes the quiet moments with his wife, finding solace and profound love in their simple, tender interactions that offer a reprieve from the demands of his chaotic life.

Note: The great Gatsby love quotes got me writing nanami

w.c: 1,400

Nanami Kento had always carried a weight behind his calm exterior. He wasn’t a man of grand gestures or loud proclamations, and yet, his love for you settled into the quiet spaces where words failed and touch spoke volumes.

He stood in the doorway, watching as you moved about the kitchen. The soft clinking of dishes filled the room, and the sun filtered through the curtains, casting a golden glow over your form. His hazel eyes softened as they traced your figure—every motion, every breath you took was deliberate, as if you were made for this moment, for this quiet togetherness that he cherished more than anything.

"He looked at her the way all women want to be looked at by a man.”

Kento’s gaze held a tenderness that was almost imperceptible to the outside world. His colleagues saw him as stoic, a man who kept his emotions locked beneath a calm surface. But here, in the stillness of your shared home, there was no need for pretense. His eyes spoke of devotion, of a quiet longing to hold onto this peace, this fragile life you had built together.

It wasn’t just admiration that stirred in his chest—it was gratitude, a deep-rooted sense that he had found something too precious, too rare for someone like him. There was comfort in your presence, like the first sip of warm tea after a long, grueling day. You were his solace in a world that demanded too much, pulling him into chaos far too often.

And yet, there was something more in the way he watched you. A need, buried beneath layers of composure. It flickered in the depths of his eyes, an unspoken desire for more time—more days like this where the world could stay far away, where he could watch you move through your life, through his life, as though you had always belonged there.

You looked up, meeting his gaze, and the smallest of smiles tugged at your lips. His heart clenched, tightening under the weight of all the things he couldn’t say. There were no grand speeches, no declarations of love spilling from his lips. Instead, he walked toward you, his footsteps measured and calm. His hand reached out, fingers brushing against yours as you handed him a plate.

He didn’t need to say it. You could feel it in the way his touch lingered, in the way he stood just a fraction too close, needing the reassurance of your warmth to ground him.

You smiled at him, that soft, knowing smile, and his chest ached in a way that was both painful and sweet. You had always understood him in a way no one else could, reading the emotions that never reached the surface.

“Kento,” you murmured, your voice gentle, teasing.

“You’re staring.”

His lips twitched, the barest hint of a smile gracing his otherwise stoic face. “Am I?”

“Yes,”you replied, leaning into him, your shoulder brushing his. “But I don’t mind.”

He let out a low hum, his arm slipping around your waist to pull you closer. In moments like this, the world felt small, manageable. There were no cursed spirits, no dangers lurking just beyond the horizon—only you and the life you had built together.

He pressed his lips to the top of your head, inhaling the faint scent of your shampoo. It grounded him, anchored him in the here and now. You leaned into him, and for a moment, he let himself believe that this could last forever. That he could protect this, protect you.

“I don’t deserve this,” he murmured against your hair, his voice carrying a rare vulnerability.

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him. Your hand reached up to cup his cheek, your thumb brushing over his skin in a soothing gesture. “You deserve this, Kento. You deserve every bit of happiness.”

His eyes softened, and for a moment, he let himself believe you. In your eyes, he wasn’t the man who walked through life weighed down by responsibility and duty. He was just Kento—your Kento. The man who loved you with a quiet, steady devotion that went beyond words.

He looked at you again, the way all women want to be looked at by a man—with awe, with reverence, with a kind of love that felt too big for the small moments yet fit perfectly in the spaces between.

As the sun began to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, you found yourselves settling into the living room. The evening was still, the kind of calm that was rare and precious in the midst of his often chaotic days.

Kento had taken up his favorite armchair, a book resting in his lap. But tonight, he seemed more inclined to simply watch you, his gaze following every movement with a gentle, unspoken appreciation. You were curled up on the sofa, a soft blanket draped over your shoulders, lost in the pages of a novel.

The soft rustling of the blanket, the occasional sip of tea from your mug—it all created a soothing rhythm that filled the room with warmth. The light from the lamp beside you cast a soft glow, illuminating your face in a way that made every feature seem even more cherished.

Kento closed his book, his eyes lingering on you with the same depth of feeling he had shown earlier in the kitchen. He set the book aside, a rare moment of relaxation in the midst of his demanding life. Rising from his chair, he moved quietly to your side, kneeling beside you on the floor.

His hand reached out, gently brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. You looked up, meeting his gaze, and he saw the love reflected back at him in your eyes. There was no need for words, no need for elaborate gestures. Just the simple act of being close, of sharing this quiet space, was enough.

He settled next to you on the sofa, his arm slipping around your shoulders. The two of you sat together, the silence a comfortable companion. His hand traced gentle patterns on your arm, a silent affirmation of his presence and his affection.

The clock on the wall ticked steadily, a reassuring backdrop to your shared tranquility. As you flipped through the pages of your book, Kento took the opportunity to study the peaceful lines of your face, the way your eyes crinkled at the corners when you read something particularly touching.

“I love this moment,” he murmured softly, almost to himself. “These quiet evenings with you.”

You looked up at him, your eyes warm and understanding. “I love them too. They’re perfect.”

Kento nodded, his gaze dropping to your lips, which curled into a contented smile. He gently cupped your cheek, his thumb tracing a gentle arc against your skin. The simple touch was full of unspoken promises of nights spent in each other’s company, finding peace in the little things.

As the stars began to twinkle outside, Kento’s thoughts wandered to the future. He imagined many more evenings like this—quiet, content, and filled with the kind of love that was built on simple moments. The world outside might be tumultuous, but in this small, serene space, he found everything he needed.

You tilted your head against his shoulder, a content sigh escaping your lips. Kento looked down at you, his heart full. The love he felt was not just a fleeting emotion but a deep, abiding certainty that, with you by his side, he could face whatever the world threw at him.

The clock struck softly in the background, signaling the close of another day. The room seemed to hold its breath, the tranquil atmosphere a testament to the comfort and stability of your life together. Kento’s hand rested against your back, his fingers lightly stroking in a steady, soothing rhythm.

In the quiet, under the soft glow of the lamp, with your warmth pressed against him, Kento knew that despite the chaos of life, he had found his peace in the gentle constancy of your love. The world outside might be unpredictable, but here, with you, he felt anchored, complete. Each moment of stillness, each shared glance, and each quiet touch was a promise of a future filled with the kind of enduring love that only deepens with time.

I blame the great Gatsby for these nanami thoughts

[oceanicfishies]

Smile wide for the camera!

— featuring: zayne x mc

— premise: what would happen if Zayne's [Spring and Flowers] was not full of fluff? and zayne wanted to explore his cameraman skills?

— tags/cws: +18, handjob, no-use of protection, use of phone to record, very explicit, enthusiastic consent, but overall filthy smut

The day had been pretty moved, first you attempted to attend a ceremony in which you would win a reward of Linkon’s City Hunter of the Year? Month? Week? Who knows. Zayne was pretty hyped even when he did not explicitly state it. Then there was a wanderer attack and of course, you had to go full beat mode to beat the crap out of the monster and then, you had to receive the award via live recording.

Zayne held the phone with a smile as small wrinkles formed in his eyes, that stared at you over the phone. 

“(...) It’s a matter of discipline and compromise, no race, ethnicity, sexuality or biological factor can define if you become an amazing hunter: keep working and it’ll arrive. Thank you for your support, I’ll keep fighting to make our city a better place to live”. I could hear as the crowd went to clap me, and my cheesy speech that I had to give while sweat dripped down my neck, and I tried to pretend I was not tired at all after chasing that monster.

As soon as the video call ended I stared at Zayne, that had his phone still recording my face.

“What is there to record?” I said with a tired smile as he approached me with the camera, capturing every detail of my skin. 

“You, clearly” He said seriously as he smiled over me as I tried to move the camera away from my face until he finally stopped recording and placed his phone on his jacket’s pocket. Then, he opened his arms to embrace me with a smile, “congratulations, love” he murmured as I hid my face on his chest. 

“Thanks Zayne, I’m sorry you could not attend the official ceremony” I said with a giggle. He didn’t let go of me immediately. His hand made slow, deliberate circles on my lower back, and I could feel his breath against the crown of my head, steady and warm.

“Let’s get out of here before someone makes you give another speech,” he whispered, brushing his lips just above my ear.

The ride back was quiet. Not awkward—just the kind of quiet that settles between two people who know each other too well to fill the silence with meaningless talk. Zayne had one hand on the wheel, the other resting loosely on my thigh. His fingers tapped a lazy rhythm, and I didn’t stop him. Outside, the neon streaks of Linkon’s skyline passed like falling stars, and I let myself relax for the first time all day.

By the time we reached the apartment, I was half-asleep with my head leaning against the window.

He nudged me gently. “ Don’t pass out yet, champion.”

I groaned, dragging myself out of the car like a corpse revived. “I swear if one more person calls me that, I’m changing my name and moving to the mountains.”

Zayne chuckled as he unlocked the door. “Duly noted.”

The moment the door shut behind us, I peeled off the jacket clinging to my shoulders, tossing it somewhere near the coat rack. Zayne didn’t even pretend to act casual, he watched me with that mischievous glint in his eye, like he was already ten steps ahead in whatever fantasy his brain was cooking.

“Something wrong?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Not at all,” he said, stepping closer. “Just thinking... you look really good when you're sweaty and half pissed off.”

I rolled my eyes. “Romantic.”

“I try.” He was grinning now, stepping behind me to help pull the rest of my gear off. His fingers brushed skin, lingering longer than necessary. I let out a soft hum as he pressed a kiss to the back of my neck.

We moved into the living room, and I collapsed onto the couch while he grabbed two water bottles from the fridge. He tossed me one before taking a long sip from his.

Then, leaning against the wall with that smug little look that always spelled trouble, he said, “You know… I do still have my phone.”

I blinked at him, wary. “Okay?”

“And I am a pretty decent cameraman. Emmy-nominated, if you count my high school film class.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Zayne…”

“What?” He raised his hands in mock innocence. “I’m just saying—it’s a shame we never use my skills around here. The lighting’s good, you’re radiant... could be educational content.”

I threw a pillow at him.

He caught it, laughing. “Come on, imagine it: ‘Hunter of the Year—Behind the Scenes.’ We’d break the internet.”

I tried to act unimpressed, but the flush rising in my cheeks betrayed me. “You're insufferable.”

“And yet, you love me.”

His phone was already out of his pocket.

I watched him as he waved the phone a little, eyebrows raised in challenge. His smirk said he was half-joking. His eyes? They were dead serious. Focused. Curious. Wanting.

“You’re unbelievable,” I muttered, but didn’t look away.

“Mmhm. And you're blushing,” he said, stepping closer, slow like a hunter who knew the prey wouldn’t run. “So… that’s not a ‘no,’ is it?”

I leaned back against the couch cushions, stretching out my legs, letting my muscles relax in that post-battle haze. The warmth in my body wasn’t just from exhaustion anymore—it was from the way his gaze trailed down my arms, my collarbone, the slow rise and fall of my chest.

“You’re really not joking, are you?” I asked softly.

Zayne crouched in front of me, placing the phone gently on the coffee table, still untouched. “Only if you want me to be. We don’t have to, love. Not unless you're actually into the idea.”

I met his gaze. Open. Honest. Patient.

That was Zayne. Under all the swagger and snark, he always made room for me to say no, to set the rhythm.

“I mean…” I started, suddenly aware of the heat creeping down my neck, “you did miss the ceremony.”

“I did.”

“And you do have, allegedly, stellar cameraman instincts.”

“Legendary,” he confirmed, grinning.

I reached out and brushed a finger under his jaw. “And you’re asking?”

“I’m asking,” he said, voice softer now. “I want to record us. Just us. You and me. Only if you say yes. Only if you feel good about it. You can call the shots, review the footage, erase it any time. Hell, I’ll hand you the phone while we do it if that makes you feel better.”

I studied him for a moment. Not just his eyes—his whole posture. There was no push. No pressure. Just the quiet thrill of a shared idea, waiting to bloom if I let it.

A breath caught in my throat, and I leaned forward until our foreheads touched.

“Yes,” I whispered. “I want to.”

Zayne let out a small breath of relief, a smile breaking wide across his face. He tilted my chin up with two fingers and kissed me, slow and reverent, the kind of kiss that says thank you for trusting me.

Then he murmured against my lips, “I’ll set the angle just right. You deserve cinematic lighting, after all.”

“Oh, you’re so extra,” I laughed breathlessly, pulling him in as the kiss deepened.

Zayne’s hands slid under my thighs as he lifted me effortlessly, his lips still locked on mine, tasting like want and patience finally unspooled. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, giggling against his mouth as he carried me down the hallway.

“Where..”

“Bedroom,” he murmured. “Tripod’s in the closet. I knew one day it’d have its moment.”

I let my head fall back in a groan. “God, you’re such a menace.”

“You love it,” he replied, kicking the door open with his foot.

He set me down on the bed and moved across the room like he had a blueprint in his mind. He pulled open the closet, found the tripod, and then set his phone into the mount with a casual expertise that was borderline ridiculous. He adjusted the angle, then turned back to me with a spark in his eye.

“I’ll only hit record when you say,” he said, pausing with his finger over the screen.

I sat up on the edge of the bed, watching him. My pulse was a steady thrum in my throat now, but I wasn’t nervous. I felt seen. Wanted. Powerful, even, like the adrenaline from the fight earlier had twisted into something heavier, slower, warmer.

I pulled my shirt up over my head in one fluid motion and tossed it to the floor. Zayne’s breath caught.

“I’m saying,” I told him, voice low.

He didn’t move for a second. Just stared at me—my chest rising and falling, the sheen of sweat still clinging to my collarbones, the confidence in my voice that only existed because I knew he’d earned it.

Then he hit record.

The phone’s red light blinked to life.

Zayne came to me slowly, shedding his jacket and shirt along the way. He crawled onto the bed, positioning himself behind me, lips tracing the base of my neck while his hands explored—fingers dragging over scars and muscle like he was mapping a holy text.

“You’re incredible, you know that?” he murmured, brushing my hair away to kiss behind my ear.

“You have footage to prove it now,” I teased, letting my back arch against him.

“I’m filming you,” he whispered, one hand sliding down my side, “but I’m watching you. Every breath. Every twitch. Every sound.”

I moaned softly as his hands moved with intent, tugging at the waistband of my pants. I lifted my hips for him without being asked, and he slid them down, slow and reverent.

I felt as his hand slid over my underwear, in a teasing circle motion as he explored my clit as if he didn’t know it by memory. I could feel his gaze on my face even when I had my eyes closed. 

“Zayne-” I whimpered “this is very cinematic but do not tease me” i said as i tried to grind my hips against his hand.

He looked up at me with that devil-smile, his hand just barely brushing the inside of my thigh as I tried to grind down against him, desperate for more friction, more anything. His other hand steadied me at the hip.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he said, voice dripping with mock thoughtfulness. “The lighting’s perfect, the framing’s tight... Seems like I’m building some narrative tension.”

“Zayne,” I warned, breath catching as he pressed one finger just where I needed him, not moving, only resting there like a promise.

He leaned forward, his lips brushing the inside of my knee, trailing kisses up, up, closer. “Say please.”

I narrowed my eyes—but there was heat pooling low in my stomach, tightening with every second he made me wait. I bucked my hips again, and he held me firmer this time, still teasing, still watching me unravel.

The red recording light blinks steadily beside us.

“Please,” I whispered.

That was all he needed.

His fingers moved, slow and deliberate at first: rubbing gentle, lazy circles that made me gasp and arch into his touch. He watched me like he was watching the sky crack open: eyes wide, lips parted, ruined by the way I fell apart under him.

“There she is,” he murmured, pressing harder. “God, you’re so responsive. Look at you—fuck, you’re gorgeous like this.”

He proceeded to take off my jeans and underwear, still sitting behind me. He began playing with one of my nipples as the other hand he began tenting me with the idea of fingering.

“Would this be fine?” he whispered as he kissed my neck.

“Guess” I said annoyed as I closed my eyes shut and placed my head on his shoulder. He giggled and introduced two fingers with all the gentleness in the world. “Zayne, fuck you” I said annoyed with his unusual sweetness. 

He laughed as if I had said the best joke in the world to then begin thrusting his fingers inside my pussy with no mercy. 

“M-much better,” I moaned, breath hitching as his fingers curled just right inside me.

Zayne’s chest rumbled with another laugh, and he pressed his mouth to the spot just beneath my ear, kissing slow and wet while his fingers picked up a punishing rhythm.

“Thought you liked when I’m sweet,” he teased, voice low and warm, still pumping his fingers in and out of me with obscene slick sounds. “You were getting all cuddly on me two seconds ago.”

“I like when you fuck me properly,” I snapped, grinding down onto his hand, chasing every pulse of pleasure that sparked through my spine.

“God, you’re insatiable,” he groaned, biting down gently on my neck as his palm ground against my clit with every thrust. My head rolled back onto his shoulder again, surrendering completely to the feeling of him playing me like he knew this body.

I barely noticed his free hand reaching toward the phone, adjusting the angle slightly.

“You wanna watch this later?” he whispered, eyes flicking toward the screen. “Wanna see yourself falling apart on my fingers?”

My answer came in the form of a moan.

Zayne's fingers sped up, and I could feel it coming—the tightening, the rush of heat from the base of my spine curling forward like a wave about to crest. He knew it too. He always knew.

“Let go, love,” he murmured, breath hot on my cheek. “C’mon, show the camera how fucking gorgeous you are when you come.”

And I did.

With a gasp, I came hard around his fingers, thighs trembling, back arching against his chest. My body jolted with every aftershock, helpless and wrung out and still hungry.

Zayne kissed my cheek as he slowly withdrew his fingers, bringing them up to his lips with a pleased hum. “Perfect,” he whispered. “Every damn part of you.”

He then moved to place me laying on the bed, with him sitting by my side with a gentle smile as he stared over me at my naked body. He then leaned down to kiss my neck as he removed his trousers and undergarments.

“My love…” He purred as his two hands grabbed my tits. “Any position you would prefer in moments like this?”

“Y-yeah” I moaned as I turned so my back was facing him and I was on all fours, my face perfect for the camera to record every expression. I lifted my ass off the bed and smiled at him.

Zayne groaned behind me like he was in pain, his restraint fraying fast. I heard the rustle of fabric, the zipper coming down, the soft slap of skin as he palmed himself, watching me from behind with fire in his eyes.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “You’re killing me.”

“Then come here and die properly,” I purred, tilting my hips back toward him.

He lined himself up, the head of his cock brushing against my entrance, teasing just like before—but this time, it was different. There was no pause, no slow build. Just a growled curse and then,

He slammed into me.

I gasped, fingers digging into the sheets, and feeling as his hand forced my head into the bed, feeling me in one deep, brutal thrust. My body rocked forward, then back again, already clenching around him, desperate for the friction, the stretch, the everything.

Zayne’s chest was pressed over my back, one hand on my head and the other on my hip: the pads of his thumb pressing into the dip of my lower back as he pulled out nearly all the way and then snapped his hips forward again.

“Is this what you wanted?” he asked, breath ragged. “Face in the camera while I fuck you stupid?”

I moaned—loud, needy—and nodded, not trusting my voice. His rhythm picked up, relentless, perfect. The sound of skin slapping echoed in the room, mixing with my cries and his gritted curses.

Every thrust pushed me forward into the mattress, and I could feel the heat from the phone capturing every expression.

“You should see yourself,” he groaned, leaning forward to bite down on my shoulder. “The way your eyes roll back when I hit that spot—fuck, like that—”

He angled his hips just right and I screamed his name, my entire body tightening. His grip on my hips turned bruising, grounding me as he drove into me again and again, chasing that edge with sharp, focused need.

“Touch yourself,” he demanded, voice nearly breaking. “Wanna see you come like this.”

I obeyed instantly, one hand snaking between my thighs, fingers working my clit as the pressure built fast. Zayne’s thrusts grew erratic behind me, and I could feel how close he was, how much he was holding back to let me break first.

And then I did.

I came hard, thighs shaking, back arching as I cried out into the mattress, voice wrecked and high and full of his name.

He moved gently from me, grabbing the phone to stop recording and then came back to the bed. He gently picked my trembling body and laid me against him. I opened my eyes as he cradled me into his chest.

I felt as his thumb caressed my cheek sweetly, a big contrast with the way in which he was fucking me seconds before.

“Hi love” he whispered softly 

“That was amazing-” I gasped as I leaned to kiss him. 

“It was” he said, quickly separating his lips from mine. “If you ever want round 2…”

“Why not now?” I said with a smile.

“Oh you greedy little thing” he said mischievously as he teased me one more time.

taglist: @mitskunicheesecake @puppy-steve @milknbagels @alexialvarez-11 @d4-ducks @xanxann01 @plzdonutpercieveme @namjoons-toenails @raendarkfaerie @shinyfestmilkshake @hisscenery @taronyuhunter @gawa-ng-gabi @cynireththorne @zaynescaleb