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filthforfriends · 1 year

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Chapter 13

Alpha!Damiano Omegaverse

Read chapters 1-12 on my Masterlist!

TW: Contains r-word. Text will be in red.

The rest of the school had Friday off, but not the clubs and teams. Today was competition day and the transport van picked you up at 8:15 am. The yellow and blue uniform was sexless, a pair of loose trousers and a t-shirt. It was still chilly in the mornings, so you wore a long sleeve under it.

“You know, we won’t have a lot of time to do makeup when we get there.” commented Rosemary, as you climbed inside.

“I’m not wearing makeup,” you scoff. If any extracurricular wasn’t going to be part beauty pageant, it should be aerospace engineering.

“Oh…Well, everyone else will because they’ll be taping it.” Rosemary’s unfiltered honesty wasn’t unlike Thalia’s.

“What?” you exclaim in horror.

“Taping, not broadcasting,” clarifies Mx. Varela. “It's standard procedure to prevent cheating.”

“Oh, okay,” you sigh, senses still heightened. “So will there be photographers there?”

“Yes,” answers, an annoyed voice from behind you. 11th grader and alpha Bremen who was on the competitive team last year and this year was an alternate. Phrases such as “diversity hire” hang over your head like a dark cloud. The demographic specifications to qualify became progressively more intricate as extracurriculars sought to be more inclusive and fair.

It started as “Each team must have four competitive members and two alternates to participate in events.” Naturally, the entire team was comprised of seniors.

So things evolved to “Each team must have four (4) competitors and two (2) alternates, with each grade represented via at least one (1) team member, in order to participate in events.” Every competitive team that year was exclusively 11th and 12th years. It was a stupid oversight with an addendum drafted before the season was over. “The competitive team must include lowerclassmen.”

And that was all fine and good. For nearly a decade, the academic regulations of beta exclusive societies were identical to those with alphas and omegas. But last year something changed, a departure from B.E. societal standards. There was a controversial, new addendum, passed by no more than two votes.

“In applicable districts, alphas, betas, and omegas must all be represented for a team to qualify.”

So you had to prove yourself, and learned that genius is largely a self-perpetuating cycle. Bremen was so confident in his intelligence that he’d convinced other people too. At first, it seemed like he was just getting his ego stroked, because everyone agreed that he was one One of the Smart Ones. But then you’d watched him correctly solve a problem at grade level, throw down his pencil in victory, and sit back with a gratified smirk. “Oh course, Bremen's already done!” “I’d expect nothing less from a math whiz.” “Don’t you ever lose that edge, it's gonna serve you well.”

After the circle jerk was over, you looked to Mx. Varela. They had a weary, take-no-shit expression on, probably the only other person in the room that realized Bremen could burp and the masses would attribute it to his shining IQ.

“Refocus, please.” Mx. Varela looked to where you sat on the other side of the room, sneakily doing your engineering homework because you’d finished the worksheet. Your heart stopped at getting caught. It’s not like you wouldn’t do your homework in other classes as well, but this was a special case. The instructor was doing you a favor by offering five hours a week worth of credit for three hours worth of work.

“You realize you’re gonna have to speak to the rest of the team?” Mx. Varela snatches the paper off the table and checks your work with a raised eyebrow. They flip to the back side, then quickly to the front side once more.

“This is all correct. Did you do all this on your own?” The hidden accusation catches you off guard.

“I don’t need to cheat on 11th grade math! It’s literally what we’re learning right now with some basic reasoning.”

“Basic reasoning?” Your instructor is smiling in a way that reveals you’ve just screwed yourself. “You’re bored because you’ve got one of those minds that reads math instead of solving it.”

“I…guess. It feels like making inferences.” At this point Bremen and two other team members are staring. Mx. Varela holds up your finished assignment.

“If you want an answer key, just use this. We’ll move to more advanced practice now.” You hide a laugh behind your hand. The three sets of eyes boring into your profile kept the moment from feeling like victory.

Bremen had decided how he felt about you the second he realized your status. Fortunately, the other team members came to respect your intelligence in the last two weeks. Being liked is another goal entirely, and Mx Varela hadn’t set you up for success by calling your paper the answer sheet. Alpha friendships didn’t make you envious, because they were unachievable. However, seeing the easy comradery between the betas and alphas felt like standing on the other side of a glass wall. Ever the watcher, never the participant.

“Okay, a reminder,” Mx. Valera turns around from the passenger seat to address six grumpy teenagers.

“Y/n’s the only one that needs reminders,” murmurs Bremen.

“What the hell have I done to you?” you finally snap.

“Y/n, team, none of that. We go in as one unit, we succeed as one unit.” Your face burns and it feels like everyone inside the van stares at you. It's a small, stuffy space and there's no way to hide from view.

“Remember these are just the benchmark rounds. Today it's 280 points, so focus on meeting that score, and we’ll be good.”

“Basically impossible,” Sebastian murmurs. Mx. Valera sighs and takes a beat.

“Focusing on meeting benchmark scores rather than winning will not only guarantee us a place, but it’ll leave us much better prepared for more challenging competitions.” The resentment from that moment of injustice sat in your gut like a hot coal. Blood rushed in your ears, making it difficult to hear. You step out of the van with tunnel vision, being the first to stand in front of the Romero Public High flag. Next time you’ll wear Dami’s scarf.

“Want me to do your makeup?” offers Sommer, a 12th year alpha.

“Sure,” you respond, with a forced smile. It was an act of friendship, comradery between competing team members. You had no interest in being visually appealing to other alphas. However it seemed that everyone was made-up, and being the odd man out didn’t help your nerves nor your approachability.

“I didn’t know about all the politics when I joined. I was just trying to get the Aerospace 101 credit.” Sommor scoffs.

“The stuff we do is so much more advanced. Look down.” She applies something to your eyelid. The garish carpet pattern is a real eyesore.

“So when did you find out you were the affirmative action hire?” Sommer intends it to be more humorous than malicious, so you decide to laugh.

“Rosemary explained it to me.”

“It’s cool that you get Rose, because most of us don’t. She’s super smart though and that's what matters.” Something inside you twists. This supposed bonding moment felt treacherous to your only sort-of friend on the team. The whole interaction, Sommer’s monotone voice and flawless makeup, lacked a regard for anything but her own amusement. So badly you want to speak up and demand an ounce of authenticity, but you stay silent as she applies mascara.

“Look up.” Behind her, other teams filed into the arena in their brightly colored uniforms. “I’ve never marked anybody, but you must miss him. Damiano, right?”

“I’m fine on my own,” you shrug. It wasn’t a lie. Marked or not, you were happy to do things in the peace of your own company without Dami. However, in this particular moment, having someone that made you feel understood would be a great relief. If the event hadn’t been closed to the public, Dami would be sitting directly across the room, so whenever you looked up, he was in your line of sight.

“All non-essential personnel, please exit the arena. Competitive team members only.” As instructors herded the alternates out of the arena, a pattern became very apparent. Every single set of alternates contained an omega. A quick glance at the online rosters confirmed what you already knew: you were the only omega competing in the six teams.

Mx. Valera’s hand on your shoulder makes you jump several inches in the air. Some administrator is ordering them to go to the viewing room with everyone else. All the anxious voices blend together, but you get the jist.

“I had no idea that my colleagues would conduct themselves with such overt bias. I am sorry, y/n. It will be addressed.” This is where someone substitutes in on your behalf, so the stupid little omega can go be quiet in a corner with her brethren. Except no one does. There are just announcements upon announcements while you scan the arena for a single person like you. A judge, an administrator, the guy who hands out extra pencils, but you are the only omega in this giant room, which is suddenly a dangerous place to be.

“This can’t be happening,” you murmur. “Regulations, they wouldn’t…” The real trouble comes when the alphas realize you’re the only omega in the room. Hair up to show your mark is the first thing to do. It had just begun to scar. You rub the uneven skin just beside your scent gland.

“Y/n, hey –” Sommer snaps her fingers in front of your face and you bat her hand away without thinking. There's no telling who’s more surprised at your act of defensiveness. Rosemary points to the sheet in front of you. It’s the first prompt of the day. When you look back up to get your bearings, she puts a calculator in your hands. This, at least, you can do on autopilot, but it's hard to focus with your skin crawling.

Everytime you look up there's twice as many alphas staring as you’d anticipated. At first they’re just curious, then interested. They talk to each other in low tones, making sure that they’re not the only ones seeing this single, lone omega. The hum of their voices makes you clamp your hands over your ears. Rosemary has to pry them away and put a pencil in your hand, gesturing to the equations they’d come up with.

“God, she’s so slow today,” complains Sommer. You force yourself not to check, but possibility becomes the most terrifying of all. If you don’t look up now, how close could an alpha get before you finally do scan the surroundings? With such a crowded room, the answer is right on top of you. The answer is with its teeth to your neck.

The other three talk, but you just operate as a human calculator, solving whatever Rosemary hands your way. You remind yourself that your pheromones aren’t enticing to most of, if not all these alphas. You’re marked, but that matters significantly less as the only omega in sight. There isn’t a better option.

“Y/n? Y/n, these numbers are too big. It doesn’t make sense.” You’re going back over your work when a buzzer goes off.

“Pencils down, an administrator will come by to collect your work.”

“But I’m not done.” Even Rosemary’s gaze holds animosity. Sommer arranges the papers in the folder refusing to speak to or even look at you.

“Did you finish?” Mx. Valera asks. The silence is enough of an answer.

“Well that's fine, only half the teams finished.”

“So we’re in the bottom 50%? Y/n, what the fuck was that? Were you having a seizure?” You’d like to deliver a searing retort to put Sommer in her place, but the words get stuck as she intimidates you.

“Sommer, stop. How far did you get? I couldn’t see at the very end.” You wait for someone to answer, looking at Rosemary when the team remains silent. “Y/n?”

“Yes?” You’re backed up against the desk, trying to achieve some personal space, but everyone seems to be looming. “Where are the alternates?”

“How far did you get?”

“If I had like 30 seconds, I could’ve fixed the mistake. I'm sorry, I was just…”

“So to the very end?” There's hope in Mx. Valera’s eyes, but it doesn’t make you feel better. Even as a couple omega alternates scurry over to the bathroom, all eyes are on you. Figuring this is the safest time to break away from the group, you mutter an “excuse me” and grab your bag before heading towards the bathroom. Being the object of everyone’s attention is never a good feeling, but right now in particular, it makes your eyes and skin burn. An alpha shoulder checks you as he brushes by then laughs as you scramble not to eat shit on the cheaply carpeted floor. The message was clear: you are not supposed to be here.

I want my mommy is your first thought. Your second is no, I want my alpha. There was a district wide soccer tournament starting this evening, but Romero wasn’t playing until Sunday. That would make this weekend the first time Damiano had two days off in god knows how long. He did best with an occupied mind, but everyone needs rest, especially after such a rough patch. You’d be denying him that.

Of course, your mind goes exactly where he’d want it to. Dami in your kitchen four days ago, cooking some heavenly chicken dish. Where most alphas would simply say “make sure you eat a good meal and go to bed early. My omega’s health is important to me.” He asked nothing of you, cooking dinner and rubbing your back until you fell asleep at 8pm.

“I want you to know that you don’t need to be frightened, love. Things seemed pretty dire for a sec, but I’m doing so much better. I need you to know that I’m okay. I feel steady, so you can lean on me.” At the time, you were literally laying on his chest, not just hearing his words but sensing the vibration under his sternum as well. “I’m okay,” he repeats. “I’m okay.” And he was.

The tears on your cheeks evidenced how much you needed to hear those words out loud, because it took years for Thalia to be okay. Clio had yet to get there. You’d been bracing yourself, subconsciously. Damiano grasped both clenched fists, tendons straining, nails creating crescent shaped bruises as they dug into the meat of your hand. He unfurled them, kissing your palms, coaxing you to relax with the knowledge that he no longer needed a safety net. He was not a fall risk.

***

“Hey, baby,” he croaks. “Everything okay?” Fuck. Calling him was a horrible idea. You’re already wiping away tears. The warmth in his tone is such a stark contrast to the rest of this morning.

“Y/n? What’s going on?” You’d woken him up on essentially a weekend, when most weekends he had to get up early too. And what now? Damiano wasn’t allowed inside, no matter how hard you wished the rules to be otherwise. Piling guilt on to the rest of your emotional baggage was about to be the final straw.

“You’re scaring me. Say something.”

“Something,” you manage, in a shaky tone. Damiano had seen you cry in the past year more than anyone, but not these kinds of tears. He clears his throat and you can hear the rustle of bedsheets as he sits up.

“Okay, I’m awake. Where are you? I’ll come get you.”

“This stupid fucking competition,” you sigh heavily, then choke. It's not quite a sob.

“Right, okay. How closed to the public is it? Like is there security?” He’s not joking, but you still laugh.

“Um…could you pick me up? It supposed to be over at 10 but the next round is uh…” you search for a clock or a directory, “Fuck I don’t remember. I feel like it's gonna be done way before then.”

“And it's the conference hall right by LHS?” You purposely bang your forehead on the wall.

“Fuck, your old school is gonna be here.” Maybe that's why they were staring. “How much do I smell like you?”

“Uh…enough? It's recognizable.”

“Okay, good,” you say with a sigh. Staring because you were Dami’s mate was something you could live with.

“They’re giving you a hard time.”

“I’m a zoo animal.” A five minute warning is announced and the panic tightens in your chest. “Time to go jump through some fiery hoops.”

“I’ll brush my teeth and leave. I’ll be there whenever you’re done, kitten.” You roll your eyes at the nickname. It had started out cute but now only one of you found it cute (it was Dami).

“Do your hair and stuff too, if you want.” Being seen by people from Laurel High, his old school, was going to be tough.

“I thought you liked the man bun!”

“I love the man bun, but I know looking your best –”

“Makes it easier to jump through fiery hoops?”

“Exactly.” A two minute warning sounds. “Okay I have to go, I love you.”

“I love you too. Go be a rocket scientist!” You steel yourself before walking back to the podium. Purposefully, you veer by Laurel High School. When they stare you bite back like you’ve wanted to all day.

“Do I know you?”

“Jesus christ,” Bremen murmurs as he walks past you, He shakes his head in distaste, commiserating with the Laurel High competitors through mutual eye rolling and scoffs at your behavior. What an annoying, upetty omega. He would side with your competitors before having an ounce of respect.

“Have fun watching me compete,” you sneer.

“You know, you think that people don’t like you because you’re an omega. Actually, people don’t like you because you’re a bitch.” It's so hateful that you’re caught off guard. LHS “ooh” and “ah” at your expense. After all, there's no better entertainment than watching an omega be put in their place. Sommer grabs you by your arm and hauls you over to the Romero flag.

“Ignore them. I like the fact that you’re a bitch.” But I don’t want to be a bitch at all. Was that the only option if you stood up for yourself? Of course you also acted on the offensive and what else did that make you if not bitch? Did Damiano think of you as a bitch, in the pseudo-affectionate way Sommer did? That thought felt the same as guilt, a tear-wrenching, yanking sensation from inside your ribcage. What a swell time to have a personality crisis.

Mx. Valera comes to wish you luck before the second prompt is handed out. They’re pissed on your behalf, which is a nice sentiment, but doesn't solve anything in the here and now. The best strategy is to stay with the team, because at least Rosemary won’t let an pissed off alpha corner you. In that case, all you could hope for is that taunts don’t become retribution for merely existing in their space.

“Why do we leave at 10 if the competition is gonna finish at like 9:40?”

“It’s so all the teams can meet. We call it Nerd Conference,” Rosemary explains, as the papers are handed out, face down.

“You call it Nerd Conference,” mumbles a usually silent Sebastian, the forth team member. Thank god you’d called Damiano. Maybe the omegas would be treated like real team members, but more likely they’d be huddled in a corner while the betas and alphas enjoyed some comradery. If a team placed poorly, their alphas would want to take it out on something, and that something would be you.

“Begin.” They’re staring at me because I smell like Dami. They’re staring at me because they recognize his pheromones. These are the phrases you kept chanting to reduce the compulsion to look up every five seconds. At first it worked, but then fear won over and you have to focus everything on keeping the numbers straight. Mathematically, it was a surprisingly difficult problem for so early in the competition. Doable, but you needed a second sheet of paper.

“At least two of the teams are stuck,” narrated Rosemary as you handed the calculations to Sommer. While implementing the numbers, you checked your work over her shoulder. Something raises the hair on the back of your neck and makes you whip around. It’s just an administrator, doing his rounds to prevent cheating, but your heart rate still goes sky high. It dawns on you that there is no way to avoid being followed out of the building. All you can do is get to Damiano, or rather get in his line of sight. The AD2 part of him would welcome a challenge.

“How long until this is over?” You keep looking at the doors, convincing yourself he is on the other side and all you have to do is calculate the fucking trajectory of the capsule release to get to him.

“Six minutes and 49 seconds,” answers Rosemary. “Here.” As she passes the paper back, you become aware that the timer is the only thing keeping these alphas at their station. When it goes off, they’ll be free to roam, and temporarily, you’ll be the only omega in sight. One versus 35 alphas and betas that think you don’t belong here.

“Any teams still stuck?”

“Yes.”

“Is Laurel High one of them?”

“Doesn’t look like it.”

“Damn it.”

“Are you stuck?”

“No,” you shove the calculations across the desk. You should be done with your part of the prompt, and now there's nothing to occupy your mind except feeling like prey. LHS is watching you with self-satisfied smirks, convinced you’ll fail again. Other alphas are curious how you’re holding up, and each so clearly took pleasure in watching you squirm. The question becomes how many of them are marked or mated, which is what you’re trying to discern when Rosemary announces the team is finished. There's 17.9 seconds on the clock and you all huddle, checking each of your calculations.

“The numbers make sense,” Sommer breathes in a sigh of relief.

“So can I go?” She snatches your wrist and holds it forcefully.

“Wait or we’ll get disqualified,” she orders, using her alpha temperament to force compliance. You stare at the carpet until the timer buzzes.

“Now can I go?”

“Go where? They haven’t scored us yet.” The other teams have relaxed, some people even checking their phones after stepping away from the desk.

“Bye.” When Sommer doesn’t stop you, it's clear that the actual competition is over. You’ll skip the feeding frenzy and make minimal eye contact while heading to the exit.

“Nice job omega!” It's unclear whether the words are genuine, but the tone is certainly condescending. Someone laughs and your face heats up. You looked like a child in comparison to all the other competitors. Plain faced and anxious, you were the one cropped out of photographs. Or worse, included so the publication didn’t get attacked by Equalitarians.

In the lobby, are parents of children who lived more locally, early to pick up. Damiano is in the parking lot, if he’s here yet, so you keep your eyes on the window next to the exit. If you can make it out that door, you’ll be free. You’re so focused that Damiano has to physically step in your path to gain your attention. His concern is thinly veiled as he takes your backpack, so beautiful you can’t believe he’s yours. Dami would know to get done up, he wouldn’t have made this mistake. Maybe that's why they were staring. Clearly, he’d marked you, but how had someone so average looking managed that?

“Baby, c’mere,” he whispered. You’d just stood there pathetically, arms limp at your sides until Damiano’s beauty brought you to tears. Even as he hugged you, you were frozen.

“I think it’s incredibly brave, what you’re doing,” compliments an omegan father next to you.

“Uh, thanks.” You wipe the tears on your sleeves and notice all the black smudges from forgotten mascara. “Oh fuck, do I look like a racoon?”

“No,” Dami answers in a hushed voice with a tight smile. His eyes keep darting to just below the right side of your face. He says the perfect pleasantry with the perfect gesture and steers you out of the door. The cold morning air is refreshing and a bit painful on your wet cheeks. You can’t help but compulsively check behind you every couple seconds.

“Don’t worry about being followed. I’m here now.” Damiano’s hand finds yours on the way to the car. You’d expected a barrage of questions about your well being, but he was contemplative, probably struggling to calibrate his reaction.

“I’m sorry for waking you up.”

“Don't apologize. I’m glad you did.” He squeezes your hand and falls silent again. He wasn’t angry, but there was something plaguing him.

“Are you okay?” Damiano stops walking and winces with his eyes squeezed closed.

“Am I okay?” he repeats under his breath, shaking his head. “I should have been the first one to ask that.”

“I’ll be fine as soon as we get out of here.” Behind you is the repeated click of the door opening as people filter out.

“Y/n! Y/n!” Sommer’s hurried footsteps come up from behind. You steel yourself to face her, but end up looking at Dami’s back as he steps in front.

“Jesus fucking christ Dam, I’m not gonna hurt her. We’re on the same team!” You wrap an arm around Dami and lean into his side. You didn’t need to puff out your chest and prove to everyone that you were strong despite being an omega. He was your strength.

“We’re about to leave Sommer.” She rolls her eyes, breathless from excitement.

“I just wanted to say that you don’t need to be sad about messing up or whatever because we broke 300! We got second place.” Damiano smiles with pride, jostling you so you’d take a moment to celebrate.

“I wasn’t upset because of the score. It’s a science club and they still treat omegas like they’re inferior. Nobody wanted me there!” The smile falls from Damiano’s face as you turn to him. “Can we just go?” He nods, unlocking his car and leaning over to put your bag in the backseat. While he’s doing so, Bremen rushes out of the building, scanning the parking lot for someone.

“Valera is looking for you,” he yells.

“Bremen, I already said I’d find her, go be obsessed with someone else.” He bristles.

“Whatever. An administrator told me to find her. I guess they’re worried that if y/n crosses the street without someone holding her hand she’ll forget to look both ways and get hit by a car,” he laughs. Apparently his view of Damiano was blocked. You put a hand on your alpha’s back so he doesn’t react right away. Sommor looks at you and Dami, then back at Bremen with wide eyes.

“Can you just shut up for once,” she prompts, gesturing at him to stop talking. Bremen’s easily wounded ego is hurt by Sommor siding with someone else. If only he knew she was trying to help him.

“You’re the one who came up with the diversity hire jokes! She solves one problem correctly –”

“‘Diversity hire?’” Damiano growls, straightening up. Sommer shrinks back and Bremen looks cornered. Two alphas against one should have an obvious outcome, but Dami is stronger than them and he’s also really fucking scary when he wants to be.

“It really makes you that insecure that she’s more intelligent than you.”

“She’s not –” Bremen starts, then promptly closes his mouth.

“She’s not what?” Dami stalks towards him like a lion hunting antelope. Taking a step back would be admitting subservience. Bremen hasn’t caved in yet, but it's a matter of seconds.

“You think her safety is a joke. I take her safety very seriously,” he snarls. “If you ever were to compromise –”

“I would never,” Bremen shakes his head, taking two steps backwards.

“I know, because I know what a jealous alpha looks like.” He glances at Sommor for confirmation and she nods her head.

“Brem, you – he wanted to make the new omega on the team his mate.” Damiano hums, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

“It’s pathetic that you’re taking it out on her.” Pathetic was a pretty brutal insult from one alpha to another. “If you have an issue with the fact that she belongs to someone, you’re gonna take it up with me.” He’s almost whispering. “Do you have an issue with the fact that I chose her to be my omega?”

“No,” Bremen whispers, shaking his head.

“Do you take issue with me marking her?”

“No.”

“And when I make her my mate, will that be a problem?”

“No.” Damiano turns on heel, and walks back to you. His face is still contorted with anger. What you don’t expect is his fingers along your neckline. He pulls the necklaces you still put on every morning out of your shirt.

“Do you see these? They’re mine and I knew she’d be wearing them because she wears them everyday, even though I’ve never asked her to. Do you understand? You are nothing to her,” he spits. Damiano opens your door and you sit down, shell shocked by the turn of events for several minutes.

“Uh, sorry.” Dami looks sheepish and his hand is hesitant as it takes yours. “My territorialism…I could have handled that better.” You shake your head, bringing his palm to your cheek. He takes it back only to turn off the highway and into a residential area.

“That's my childhood home.” He points to a one story brown house that sits up against the woods. “The people that live there now have like a dozen cats. We moved when I was 11 and again when I was 15.”

“Big backyard,” you guess.

“Exactly,” he smiles. “And this is Blue Creek Park. It's a little nature preserve, but people outside the neighborhood don’t come here because it’s on the other side of the freeway.” The gravel crunches below the tires as Dami pulls into a small parking lot of only five spaces. “Sandro and I did a few legally questionable things here as kids.” He parks the car and turns towards you. The keys jingle as Damiano drops them in an empty cup holder. Isabella had color-coded them some time ago. The brightly colored rubber borders were dirty.

“Y/n, why were you crying?” You keep looking at the cupholders. Dami puts a finger under your chin and raises your gaze to his. Keeping your shit together was hard with all that affection and empathy directed your way.

“Why did that man say you were brave?”

“It’s stupid, I don’t want to talk about it.” You look back down. A drop from your last latte had fallen, staining the tan-colored hard plastic.

“Well, you’d never let me get away with that.”

“Not wanting to talk about something?”

“Yeah, you always make me face it, even if I don’t want to.”

“Sounds like I’m a pretty shitty girlfriend,” you mutter and curl into a ball in the passenger seat. Damiano is coming to recognize this body language as overwhelmed to the point of defensiveness.

“What? No, that wasn’t the implication, kitten.” God damn it.

“Don’t call me that.”

“We’re not leaving until you tell me why you called me crying because you’ve never done that before.”

“And maybe I’ll never do it again!” Damiano’s leg starts bouncing. He probably knows they’re just words, but the prospect of not being allowed to protect you is anxiety-inducing. Threatening him, this whole interaction was miles away from the point.

“Ugh!” You get out of the car with your arms crossed.

“A walk in the crisp spring morning, what a pleasant idea,” he exclaims, locking the car.

“I’m not mad at you and I don’t want you to think that I am because you’re the only person that doesn’t suck, except you do kinda suck for forcing the issue,” you announce in exasperation. Damiano nods, taking a second to process your words.

“Let me show you my favorite place to blow up illegal fireworks when I was 13.”

“Does it bother you that I’m equally as close to being 13 as I am to being your age?”

“Ooh, ouch,” he cringes. “Still not distracted though. Also put on your coat.” He holds the garment up for you and zips it. The gesture is so tender your eyes water.

“Show me the scene of the crime.” You take his hand in yours, and that satisfied Dami for now. Meanwhile, you’re spiraling. Bringing up the age difference could never be just a joke to him. And what had he done to deserve that? Wake up three hours early, rush across the city, and defend you despite just getting cleared by the collegiate board. Then he’d shown you a piece of his personal history and you’d acted just as immature as opponents of this relationship predicted you would. Either in whispered voices and furtive glances or gossiped in private spaces. If the competition’s alphas had witnessed this behavior, their value judgments would be completely just.

“I’m sure all the moss has grown back now, but…” He leads you around the backside of a two story rock face. In a clearing is a pathetic little fire pit.

“You know that joke about the omega who makes a nest they’re really proud of, but to their alpha it’s just a pile of blankets. The alpha can see how important it is and compliments them, pretending to be impressed anyway?”

“Yeah?” You take a long look at the scorched mark on the ground and then at Dami.

“Dear, I think this is a very nice pile of blankets.” He bursts out laughing, the wonderful, crowing, grinning wide laugh that fills up a whole room.

“Okay, okay, fair enough,” he pants, leading you up the incline. Twice Damiano has to pause to bend over and cackle. By the time you take a seat on a flat spot at the top, the sharp clawed insecurity is almost forgotten. He looks around the park from this high point in silence. No, Dami hadn’t always been easy, but he loved you the way you’d secretly hoped to be loved. In your whole life, he was the only one that made you the priority and he did it without asking. Never did you ache for more attention or validation. It was remarkable to be at the center of such an exquisite universe.

“I think I’ve always loved you without knowing it,” you murmur. Damiano’s big, soulful eyes fixate on you. It’s a rarity to see him stunned.

“Like, before we met I must’ve…I don’t know.” You search the branches for a bird’s nest and, and move along before things get emotional. “We should just go home and sleep until lunch.”

“I…You said the competition acted like omegas were inferior. They treated you like you were stupid, they must have been horrible.” His voice is buckling with emotion.

“They didn’t treat me like I was stupid, exactly. I just felt so othered and fucking terrified. I’m never doing that again. Mx. Valera might be in the right, but it doesn’t matter if no ones on their side.” Finally, your voice breaks. “I was so scared. I was so, so scared and they enjoyed it. I was suffering and all these alphas loved it, relished it,” you cry against the rough fabric of Dami’s jacket. “They were waiting for me to fuck up and guess what? I did! I proved all of them right!”

“You didn’t prove them right. Each team had at least one omega, so clearly there is just as much variation in the intellect of –”

“No they didn’t!” You force the words out. “I was the only one in all six teams and I spent the whole first round so terrified that one of them was gonna lunge at me that I could barely think. Thats why I fucked up!”

“Woah, woah, wait. Y/n, my love, what – that's not –” He tries to get a view of your face and you permit it, flushed cheeks cupped in his hands. “Teams aren’t allowed to compete without an omega. I know, I looked, I –” Damiano and probably Isabella had found the rule book online, then combed through it to confirm that the event was safe. He was truly your guardian angel.

“They were all alternates. Only competitors are allowed in the arena so I…” The whole moment was too revealing and you curl into a ball again, this time with your head in Damiano’s lap. At least you can sob without worrying what horrendous shapes your face is making.

“There were no other omegas competing. Against betas and alphas you were the only one?”

“I was the only omega in the whole fucking room! Not an administrator or judge or teacher or janitor or person with extra batteries for the calculators. No one!” you howl against his sweatpants. “And everyone knew to wear makeup and do their hair except me so I looked ugly and that's probably why all the people from Laurel High were staring like I was a polar bear in a plastic enclosure.”

“Y/n, no.” Hey starts combing your hair back with his hands.

“They were just waiting for me to fail. I was an object for them to toy with for amusement. It’s not just that they didn’t want me there. It’s like –” Damiano’s hand strokes your exposed cheek.

“They didn’t really see you as a person, but you finished that shitty competition anyway.” Now that the words are out the tears should stop, but they don’t. Damiano gets an arm underneath your waist so he can hold you, rocking back and forth.

“I’m…infuriated.” It's apparent in his tone of voice. “I hate that I wasn’t there and that you felt unsafe without me. I’m so sorry.”

“It was closed to the public.”

“But they didn’t follow the regulations to keep you safe!” You flip over and look up at Damiano, lifting a hand to his angular face. He catches it and kisses each knuckle, staring into the distance and scowling. It’s clear he’s taking the competition’s lapses in judgment very personally, even as personally as you. The moisture from the moss had wet your outfit in patches, probably stained the white polyester green.

“Can we go home now? I want to get this off my body.” You sit up and Damiano nods, expression tortured. He’s looking off to the right again, towards your mark.

“I put my hair up so they’d see.” His face becomes pained, rather than pleased. “When I was nervous I’d touch the scar and it helped.”

“It's irritated. You were probably rubbing it to self soothe.”

“Oh…” You feel sheepish, even as Dami helps you off the ground.

“Also there's makeup on your face, love. Don’t you remember putting it on?” He brushes your under eye with the pad of his thumb. Reflexively, you raise a hand to your complexion, as if you’d be able to feel the black pigment staining your face.

“Sommor?” You nod and he rolls his eyes. “I thought it looked...”

“What?”

“Tacky. She’s always been that way.” That comment literally stops you in your tracks

“Oh my god, you slept with her.” It's a horrifying realization and even worse was Dami not rebuking it. He just cringes with his shoulders raised up to his ears. It's also kind of hilarious considering how agro he was towards her today.

“Sorry,” he squeaks. “It was a long time ago.”

“Like over a year?” He squints one eye while counting on his fingers.

“You have to think about it!?” It really sucked that he’d slept with one of your teammates, but he also didn’t do anything wrong. Damiano had never squirmed like this before, so teasing is plenty of retribution.

“Nevermind, I don’t want to know,” you dismiss, dramatically walking past him.

“Definitely a year! I didn’t even mean to have sex with her. Her friend Maia, was the one I was going after, but she hooked up with someone else that night, so,” he shrugs.

“Well thanks, that makes me feel so much better,” you reply with heavy sarcasm.

“I actually have no earthly idea why I told you that.” You begin walking backwards, facing Dami.

“I’m just impressed that you remember their names.” He throws his head back and groans in mortification.

“I’m never gonna live this down.”

“Did you do an every letter of the alphabet challenge? Does Xiema have something to tell me?”

“No,” he says forcefully. “I made sure not to sleep with any of your friends.”

“How romantic! And I thought chivalry was dead.” He jogs a few steps to catch up.

“You’re taking this kinda well.”

“Logically, you had to get good at it somewhere. In the future, please tell me so I have a couple zingers prepared.”

“That sounds super fair.” He throws an arm over your shoulders and brings you in for a kiss on the temple. “Christ, I wish I was as funny as you.”

“You are funny!” Some of your favorite moments were rolling around in Dami’s bed cackling, until you got side cramps.

“I know I’m funny, but you’re so quick witted. Whenever I see you humble some alpha, I’m happy to be on your good side.” So Damiano’s funny, but you’re funny and mean? He phrased it like a compliment, so you’re left contemplating what such a compliment said about your personality. Sliding into the car seats, your mind is occupied until Dami speaks.

“Oh man, someone’s gonna have to teach you how to drive pretty soon,” he ponders, buckling his seatbelt. “Poor bastard.” Damiano brakes at the stop sign and finds you staring at him. “No! Absolutely not.” You continue the silent stare, smirking. “Oh, fuck me.” Damiano rests his head on the steering wheel upon realizing his fate. “I am the poor bastard. God damn it, this is what I get for being a cradle robber.” Wow. Yep, that did feel like shit. But you’d started the age jokes, which meant you had to take them too.

“Well if I show up to practice with any inexplicable injuries,” he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, “I can just tell them it's from almost dying in a car crash. After seeing how you handled Okoro’s team, I’m sure they won’t question it.” he chuckles. That had to be excessive, but one glance at Dami reveals that he’s not intentionally punishing you. He never intentionally punished you, but it did happen the other way around. Dami actually thinks this is flattery, and being confronted with the realities of his perception is beyond jarring. Liking this part of your character doesn’t change the fact that Damiano sees you as a bitch, too.

“Hey, stop, stop, stop.” Stop what? “You’re doing it again.” He pulls your hand from your neck and laces your fingers together so you can’t rub the scar subconsciously. “The proximity to your scent gland makes me really nervous, kit – love.” Kit wasn’t so bad. Foxes had kits.

“I like the pet names, but kitten just doesn’t feel right anymore. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize.”

“It just doesn’t fit.” He rubs his thumb along the back of your hand.

“That’s fine, I can just say something else.” A healthy person was not meant to contain this much self-loathing at one time. You bring your legs to your chest and rest your face on your kneecaps.

“Something else you wanna –” Dami’s phone rings. He curses under his breath instead of reading the contact name immediately.

“Who’s parents?”

“Your dad,” he groans, hitting ANSWER. “Good morning, Kevin. How are you doing on this beautiful day?” It’s a miracle how genuine he sounds.

“Is y/n with you?”

“Yes she is. Safe and sound. We’re headed home right now.”

“She was supposed to be in the van with the rest of the team. That was the plan.”

“I’m so sorry if you were unsure of her whereabouts. I assumed –”

“We figured she was with you, since one of her teammates told the coach as much. That girl got in the van with everyone else like normal.” Normal was one of your father’s favorite words (and concepts).

“I know who you’re talking about, her name is Sommar.” There's a long silence, as your father recovers from Damiano not taking the bait.

“Why isn’t y/n answering her phone?” You strain to grab your bag from the backseat.

“I believe she still has it turned off from the competition, but I’ll have her turn it on right now.” You nod. Lacking patience, you turn the backpack upside down, dumping all your shit out on the floor. Damiano begins to laugh at the strawberry four chapsticks with peeling labels and hoarders collection of empty water bottles, but covers it with a cough.

“Bring her straight home. Y/n needs to discuss this behavior and the consequences with her family.” You shake your head vigorously and Damiano places a hand on your leg.

“Can you please elaborate for me?” Kevin releases a long, irritated sigh.

“Look, we really appreciate times you might have provided some type of protection,” that was an insulting amount of qualifiers, “but y/n needs to preserve her resilience.” All you had been today was resilient and Dami seems to think the same as he squeezes your thigh to pacify your anxiety. “A year ago she would never have called a boyfriend to come pick her up because she was upset about getting second place.”

“Y/n is not upset about getting second place. The way she was treated today –”

“And do you think that is helped by being the only one with a chauffeur? Being seen as having special privileges, being different from everyone else, that's not gonna make anything easier. Disagreements are normal. It happens in the adult world all the time and you have to resolve them, not run away. I think –”

“‘I’m gonna have to pause you right there, Kevin.” Dami actually pulls over as he speaks. “Lots of kids were picked up by their parents or perhaps even partners. I don’t know for sure, because we didn’t hang around long. What I do know, for a fact, is that the only person questioning y/n’s resilience right now is you.”

“Be that as it mm – Olivia, it’s fine.” Your father holds the phone away from his ear while speaking to your mother. “I’ve got a handle on it…well, alright.” His voice is faint, but you can still hear how begrudging his concession is.

“Dami, darling, you’re on speakerphone with the both of us.” Since coming home to a gourmet dinner and clean kitchen on Monday, your mother had grown quite fond of Damiano.

“Olivia, how are you this morning?” This time the warmth isn’t manufactured.

“I’m quite well and happy to hear that our girl is being taken care of.” Kevin huffs in disagreement. “Of course, taking the van with everybody else would have been better.”

“Normally that’d stand to reason, but y/n isn’t like everyone else, and her teammates remind her regularly. Today the competition broke multiple regulations by having y/n as the only omega in a room – actually, calling that arena a room isn’t accurate. It's the size of a skating rink. In a space of over 40 people, at least 25 alphas, most of them single, she was the only omega.”

“Oh my god. Kevin!”

“I feel deeply uncomfortable with any actions that might discourage y/n from repeating this behavior, whether overt or subliminal. Discipline is out of the question, since this was an issue of safety and y/n couldn’t have reacted more appropriately.” Your eyebrows must be in your hairline and it wasn’t just Dami’s eloquence. He was using his alpha authoritarianism to instruct your father on how to raise his daughter.

“Well that's a little dramatic.”

“In a state of flight, fawn, or freeze, an omega isn’t going to choose the best plan of action, but the easiest. They’re already battling sensory overwhelm, so I need to be her path of least resistance. When y/n goes “I think I might be in danger. What the hell can I do?’” Swearing in front of Kevin, even if just for emphasis, was a ballsy move. It seemed like Dami was too impassioned to care, both hands gesticulating as if he was speaking to your parents in person.

“I need her to think ‘I’ll call my alpha,’ not ‘I could call Damiano, but last time I did someone got mad at me.’ Because then she isn’t going to call me. She’s gonna choose the option that won’t keep her as safe,” he’s bordering on hysterical. Anxiety that concerned your well-being seemed to escalate and escalate out of Dami’s control. You put a hand on his leg, trying to ground him. He merely glances in your direction, but in that glance you can see all the scenarios he came up with on the drive over. Revenge raped. Alpha’s getting carried away and seriously injuring you by accident because they don’t yet know their own strength.

“Or maybe she’ll choose an option that won’t keep her safe at all.” You grab one of his hands and squeeze so he’ll focus on reality. “And if something happened to her because of that I would literally never forgive anyone –”

“Dami! Dami, I’m okay.” You undo your seatbelt and climb into his lap. “I’m fine. Hey, look at me. I’m fine.” He doesn’t want to meet your eyes initially, caught up in all the horrors of his mind. You force him to, knowing that your healthy contenance will soothe his panic.

“Y/n?” rings your mother's worried voice.

“Hi, mom. We pulled over a while ago, by the way.” Damiano looks at you, with his jaw in your right hand, nails of your left in his undercut. Your lower body is still on the center console, so he pulls you fully onto his lap, sitting sideways.

“Oh, well that's good.” If they think Dami is on the verge of a breakdown, your parents will interrupt today’s plans, which must be avoided at all costs. A weekend together was your reward for trying to “take space,” as Jay begrudgingly requested. It still struck you as a strange and damn near counterintuitive request for a new alpha-omega couple. Bonding was encouraged by society, and if there was a concern, it was over a lack of connection, not a surplus.

“I know Clio isn’t particularly fond of Damiano, but I think they could bond over worrying about things that are never going to happen.”

“It’s my job to worry about you.” He kisses you lightly (so the gesture doesn’t make a sound) but slow.

“And we do so appreciate your help today. Um…y/n, when will we see you next? Tomorrow?” Your father is grumbling in the background. Holding the phone away from her ear, but not nearly far enough for her words to be indistinguishable, your mother hisses at him. “I wouldn’t dream of separating them right now and if you ever went to the Support Meetings you’d understand why that’d be cruel.”

“You’ll see her tomorrow and y/n will keep you updated on our whereabouts via text now that her phone is on,” Damiano answers. “We’re gonna go to the game tonight.”

“I’ll be amusing myself by eating my weight in junk food and screaming random sports terminology.”

“She does it so confidently that nobody figures it out before our break,” he responds fondly.

“And you’ll be meeting friends there?” When your mother asks, the sentiment isn’t so accosting.

“Yeah, tons of people, plus I think y/n is inviting…”

“Gia and Xiema, if I can convince Xia to come. They’ll also be joining in on the junk food and heckling, of course.”

“Yeah, focusing on the actual game is too mainstream.”

“Only cool kids undermine the integrity of events because they’re too lazy to learn the rules.”

“You know the rules! You’re just hellbent on creating chaos to distract the opposing team.”

“I guess you know to ignore the random voice screaming ‘SPIKE IT’ as you’re trying to make a goal.” Dami is doing what you’ve donned The Possessed Seagull Laugh, bent over and leaning against you.

“Damiano, I’m sorry for raising such a heathen. I really tried my best,” your mother adds to the banter.

“Don’t apologize, she’s probably helped our point margins this season.”

“Help? I am solely responsible for your success.”

“Your humility is one of my favorite things about you, dear.”

“Oh yeah? That and the banshee screams at 10:00 AM right?”

“I especially enjoy the expressions of the opposing team at the end of the game when they realize the crazy woman in the stands is my omega.”

“Okay, okay, so it sounds like you guys have some great plans tonight,” she laughs. It’s been so long since you heard your mother’s laugh.

“Y/n, call me if you need someone to talk to before I see you tomorrow. I love you, be safe.”

“Love you too, bye!” Instead of getting back on the road, Damiano holds you for a minute with a hand up the back of your shirt. His face is pressed into your neck and you know he wants to be scented, but that’d make focusing on driving difficult. So he’s tiding himself over by admiring your mark. He thought you’d be upset at the scarring since it branded you as his for the near future. Who else am I going to spend my future with? you’d asked. Dami got a funny look and worked three dark and very visible hickies into your neck and shoulder that you were plagued with concealing from your father. At school you wore them proudly. Secretly, he’d wait around corners and watch you walk to class. Alphas did a double take and you never noticed.

Of course, his inner pessimist made Dami also ponder that If anything were to happen to him, or god forbid the relationship, the discolored skin would remain. The next alpha would have to bite through the scar tissue if they marked that side. It’d be much harder to get their teeth in, Damiano still guarding you from a world away.

“What are you thinking about?” He sits upright with that same strange expression.

“Oh, just toxic alpha stuff that would annoy you.” He pats your ass with finality. “Let's go home, hmm?” You climb back across the center console with his help. “And sorry for…freaking out on the phone call with your parents. I – Jay, I’ll talk to Jay about managing that.”

“It’s alright.” Wearing a genuine smile, you squeeze his leg, then keep your hands to yourself. Possessiveness and arousal were extremely close for alpha’s and you weren’t feeling up for the usual raucous lovemaking. The most accurate adjective was fragile and it was awful. You avoided fragility at all costs, especially the perception of it.

“I think I’m gonna quit the AE club. I can’t go through that again, it isn’t worth it.”

“Understandable.”

“All of the alphas are friends with each other and all the betas are friends with the alphas, but nobody except Rosemary is friends with me. I act like I don’t give a shit, obviously, but it kinda hurts a lot, I guess.”

“I won’t tell,” he whispers.

“Thalia says it feels like everybody has the 10th edition of a social handbook that she only has the first edition of. AE club is like that.”

“Alphas do relate to each other differently than omegas, that's not on you.”

“They just want to keep me on the outside and what's worse is – is that the other teams hated me because I’m an omega, but they hate my personality.”

“Baby, you said they’d accepted you!”

“As a human calculator, but I didn’t realize before today that – that it's different.” you get choked up and stop talking.

“Baby, I can’t imagine what you dealt with today. Rosemary and Sommar like you and I bet that –”

“Sommor likes that I make her look good as team captain. It’s self-serving.” Damiano pauses in thought before answering.

“Okay, that’s fair.” You appreciate his honesty, but hearing that Sommar actually did want to be your friend and she just had a weird way of showing it might have been better. Even if it was a lie. Suddenly, the fact that Dami had slept with her and didn’t tell you for two weeks, knowing she was on the team, is upsetting.

“Maybe she’s not so bad. She could have publicly humiliated me with the fact that you’d slept together and I’d be completely unprepared.” Her enduring loyalty to Dami was worse.“How many other people do you have keeping your secrets from me?”

“Woah!” You roll your eyes at his reaction. “A second ago you were fine with this.”

“I was fine with you fucking someone else before we met. Keeping it from me? Not okay. If I hadn’t put two and two together, would you have told me yourself? Or would you have waited for Sommor to do it?

“I would have told you.”

“When?”

“Today! I wasn’t sure that it was the right Sommar until I saw her. We spent about half an hour alone together, in the woods, at night. I didn’t know her last name.”

“Even if you weren’t sure, you should have told me.”

“If I told you every time there was a possibility that someone interacting with you had been a past hookup, you’d think I was a piece of shit. If we’re being completely honest, I wasn’t sober every time either, so some of them I don’t really remember. Okay? It’s embarrassing,” he confesses. It’s not as if you can argue with his experience, so you fall silent.

“I’m really sorry that you’ll be dealing with this baggage for the rest of high school. If I could go back, I’d change so much, but I’m stuck with this shit.” Looking at your hands, unsure how to respond, the tension thickens. “Why aren’t you saying anything?”

“I don’t know what to say! It feels like Sommor was keeping this secret out of continued loyalty to you and you were allowing it. I can see that's not how it was, but it still makes me insecure as fuck.”

“I wouldn’t do that, y/n, I swear.”

“God that whole fucking competition made me insecure. I can’t tell if I’m what's wrong or if it's bias or both. Today was such a mind fuck, I hated it.” You fix your gaze out the window, watching the other cars on the freeway. “I don’t even know why I bring it up, it's so rudimentary in comparison to what you deal with.”

“Y/n, no. You get to have problems that aren’t medical emergencies.”

“They’re superficial and petty.”

“I don’t give a fuck. If they’re affecting you, I want to know. If they’re not, I still want to know what you’re thinking.” He pauses to inhale. “Also nothing about today has been superficial, It’s real, heavy stuff. I need to know how you’re doing, ideally before anyone else.”

“Okay,” you agree, too bashful to meet his eyes. Luckily Damiano has a great sense of humor.

“I want to know if you have a particularly good cup of coffee and if you subsequently have a good shi –”

“Ew! Stop talking!”

“The role of digestive health is not to be underestimated!” he insists, jokingly. Then Dami’s tone becomes slightly serious.

“I guess I never told you this, but I used to get the worst upset stomachs. We went to a gastroenterologist who tested for celiac and lactose intolerance, then another that checked for inflammation, not a fun experience I’ll have you know. Everything was negative. They couldn’t figure it out until a nurse suggested that it's from anxiety. At first I couldn’t accept that it was all in my head.”

“Baby, has this been going on and you were hiding it?”

“No,” he smiles. “When I’m with you, I never get stomach aches. It happened almost immediately. When I was trying to keep my distance some days I’d feel so sick, but I’d just tell myself, ‘make it till the end of the 6th block.’ Then I’d hug you and the rush of oxytocin would… I’d be okay. My body remembered how to regulate.”

“Damiiiii,” you whine, emotional. “Why didn't you tell me before?”

“Because ‘you cured my psychosomatic IBS’ is a creepy thing to say.”

“Creepy isn’t the word I would use.”

“And how the fuck am I supoosed to lead into that? Give me one way to lead in that isn’t gross.”

“I –” you begin to say, but end up stumped. “Okay I see your point.”

“Thank you.” You spend the rest of the car ride in comfortable silence. Or rather, Damiano spends the rest of the car ride in comfortable silence and you are left alone with your thoughts. So far today, that has proven a very bad position to occupy.

Yeah, Dami found your behavior at games funny, but he must also find it annoying. Why hasn't he mentioned that you were embarrassing him? Surely these quirks will stop being amusing when the novelty wears off. If your personality isn’t interesting, then what is it besides contrary? You’d made a joke about the integrity of the event, as if sports wasn’t an integral part of Dami’s life and identity. It helped him manage his symptoms, but you always made everyone aware that you were above taking matches seriously. He didn’t hold himself superior to anything in your life.

Damiano sighs upon putting the car in park. He should have kept talking to you, because now you have an expression like your soul has been crushed under someone’s boot. He has a close enough relationship with self loathing to know what it looks like.

Dami gets out of the car and walks around the hood. The sound of the driver’s side door closing makes you look up for the first time in several minutes. Slowly, you unbuckle your seatbelt, unsure if he intends to do the gentlemanly thing and open the door. Damiano does, but he crouches down to sit on the driveway as soon as you swing your legs out. It's the same gesture as earlier this week, which means this wasn’t out of convenience. Damiano was purposefully positioning himself lower than you, as a rare act of submission. If you couldn’t confide in him as your alpha, maybe you’d talk to Dam, your friend.

“Give me both hands and look at me,” he requests, as softly as he’s able. You extend your hands and gaze out from under your lashes.

“Will you keep looking at me?” You nod, already wanting to divert your eyes away from such intensity. “Do you promise?” He’s never asked you to promise this before.

“Um, yes.”

“When I decided that we could enter a relationship, I knew I was dating a 15 year old. I never expected the maturity level of dating someone my own age, but you’re very good at pretending. I’m not gonna lie, it's convenient.” He takes a deep breath and you realize you hadn’t inhaled since Dami began speaking. “But if I have to watch another second of you hating yourself for acting 15 because you are 15, my heart is gonna break, love.” You’re shaking and your face feels hot, but are too stunned to cry. “You get to be 15. You get to rant about your social life. You get to be a pain in the ass omega and you’ll still be owed unconditional love and protection from me, your alpha.”

“I don’t want to be a burden,” you whisper.

“Too bad, I want you to be my burden.”

“But you’ll resent me,” you whimper, feeling the scalding hot tears run down your face and snot from your nose. It must have been a great look, especially from Dami’s angle.

“No. I’ll be fulfilled.” You shake your head and holding eye contact is hell. “Why would I ask for something that would create problems in our relationship? I’m not about to sabotage this.” He’s right, it doesn’t make sense. “Y/n, you’re used to caring for other people and you’re really good at it, but this isn’t a one-sided relationship. Just like you help me deal with my pain, I’m going to do the same. Sometimes that's gonna be difficult for you because this is new, but I’m going to insist anyway.”

Finally you break eye contact, staring at the clouded sky as mascara drips. You try to cover your face, but Damiano won’t give you back use of your hands. He’s not giving you space to hide, not a single inch.

“Look at me.” You shake your head. “Y/n, look at me,” he demands. With a hint of resentment, your gaze finds his.

“Give me your burden.”

“What the fuck does that even mean?” You try to put a wall up.

“You’ve had to bear this all by yourself, but now you’re not alone. You are not alone.”

“We’re in a relationship for fucks sake I know that –”

“Y/n listen to me. You are not alone. Be emotional, be inconvenient, be 15.”

“As opposed to what?” you challenge, because that was easier. “What have I been this whole time, huh? What are you talking about?”

“You are not alone,” he repeats, patiently.

“No shit! There's this crazy man that won’t let me use my hands.”

“You are not alone. Y/n is not alone.”

“What the fuck are you even talking about!?” Even as you try to dismiss the whole thing, you gasp for air and taste snot. After wiping that on your arm indignantly, you try to steel yourself and end up with a sob.

“You are not alone. You are not alone.”

“Uh! Stop saying that!”

“Y/n is not alone. She is not alone. You are not alone. You are not alone.” A different version of you would have fought it out for another 30 seconds at least, and maybe even managed to control her emotions. This version of y/n knew how good it would feel to cave and fall into her alpha’s loving arms.

“I feel so fucking fragile,” you confess, knees aching as they collide with asphalt. Damiano holds you in a way that could squeeze a thousand broken pieces together. He picks you up off the ground and kicks the car door closed.

“Got your phone, love?” You nod, annoyed by the strands of hair stuck to your face as the skin becomes tacky. Who knew that your body would remember every tear you didn’t cry and demand that the debt be paid in full? It was brutal, but a relief. As Dami opens the door, you try to convince yourself that his parents seeing you as a hot mess doesn’t matter after the entire neighborhood just witnessed the mental breakdown.

“Hey, I made you some snacks to bring back to your room,” is the first thing you hear Matteo say. He pushes a tray full of food and drinks into Damiano’s hands, probably worried about you fainting again.

“Thank you so much.” You hug him, not because that's the routine, but because it feels right. “I’m sorry for ruining your whole morning.”

“No, no, I heard about – well let's not talk about that now. Are you okay?” Typically you’d respond affirmatively, regardless of if the house was burning down. Today you try to come up with an honest statement.

“It feels like everyone thinks I’m a bitch.”

“Well, I certainly –”

“False! Entirely false! Nobody thinks that, baby.”

“Bremen literally told me that nobody likes me because I’m a bitch.” You glance over your shoulder and see Damiano turning red from anger. It's a good thing he’s holding the tray so he can’t go straight to his phone.

“Sommar agreed with him, but said that being a bitch is a good thing.”

“Next time I see that little shit stain I’m gonna break him in half and then –” Matteo interrupts Dami’s enraged muttering.

“If you were an alpha they would have called those leadership qualities and recommended you seek out management positions in the workplace.” Matteo’s words reframe your entire perception of today and beyond. “Something possesses people at high school competitions to act so heinously. Ignore it if you can, or even listen to music. That always helps Dam.

“Well I’m quitting the AE team, anyway.”

“Oh, really? I read that… “ He shifts his gaze onto his son behind you, searching for a signal of some sort. “I read that you got second place.”

“She kicked ass,” he announces proudly. If Dami had been in the arena, he’d have seen that you were a quivering mess.

“But it kicked right back,” you joke, looking down the hall longingly.“It’s such an injustice that you have to change.” Matteo opens his mouth to speak further, but sees the exhaustion in your eyes and stops. “A conversation for another time,” he says, with finality, and turns towards the kitchen. The gesture allows you to politely walk away.

Notes: A throwback to when I originally started posting in that this isn't not proofread.

Taglist: @bieberhoodforever @blackberryblossom @butkutee @cuzimitaliano @elvirabelle @iamtashaquinn@icarodamiano @ilwiwbysmv @immrbrightsideeee @little-moonbeam-666 @maneslut @mortyandem @the-chaotic-cow @wasteddoubts @weareoddlydrawn @whore4damia @azertyhug @biancathecool @bohemianrainbow @daisy0gf @dustyinkpages @katyldamusic @minnietmouse @obiw4n @persona1read1ng @gr8rainbowpunk @hiraetheral @l0standn0tf0und @que--sera--sera @stardustingold @teenyweenynightghost @softmullet @solacestyles @thegeminisgirl @bobfood @slavicgoddess13 @bright-shiningstar @lizzylynch1

#maneskin #måneskin #må #daminao #damiano david #damiano maneskin #maneskin damiano #damiano david x reader #damiano david imagine #damiano david fluff #damiano david fanfiction #damiano david angst #maneskin fanfiction #maneskin imagine #maneskin x reader #omegaverse #alpha beta omega #alpha and omega #alpha/beta/omega au

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avabananas13 · 1 year

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Rockstar! (Rockstar!Eddie Munson x Rockstar!Reader)

Summary: You’ve known Eddie Munson for years, not really becoming friends until high school. You don't have much in common except for your future: you both want to be on stage with thousands of people chanting your name. After graduation you move to LA in hopes of making it big. Eddie might just have the same idea.

TW: Angst, fluff, flashbacks (indicated in bold italics), fem!reader, most of this takes place during Eddies second senior year, cursing, brief descriptions of making out

Word Count: 5.7k

A/N: Hi everybody, here is the first chapter of my new series Rockstar! I’ve been working on this concept for a little while now and I hope you all enjoy.

Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Chapter 1: Prologue

You and Eddie have known each other since middle school. You never really talked though seeing as you ran in separate circles for the longest time. You had lived in Hawkins your entire life, just as your parents had lived their entire lives in Hawkins. Everyone in town knew you and they knew your family. That's why you were surprised when the first day of 6th grade rolled around and some boy with a buzz cut ran into you and asked your name.

“I’m Y/N. You didn't know that?” you questioned, having more of an attitude than what you meant to have.

“How am I supposed to know that when I just moved here?” he responded, with just as much attitude as you (if not more).

“Oh. Sorry. Your name?”

“Eddie. Eddie Munson,” he answered, sticking his hand out to shake yours. You reached for it and he gripped your hand into a tight handshake. You both stood there for a few awkward moments but luckily saved by the bell just after.

“I should probably get going to class. It was nice to meet you Eddie Munson,” you said, winking at him before turning away to leave. Eddie was completely awestruck just from your existence. He swears that he never saw a human more beautiful than you on that first day of middle school. Eddie hadn’t even registered you walking away as he was frozen by the way you said his name. And he was practically begging to be put out of his misery after you winked at him. You might’ve been 12 but you were a huge flirt.

“Nice to meet you Y/N” Eddie said, long after you had left but his brain hadn’t registered it until then.

You and Eddie didn’t have a real conversation after that until the end of 8th grade. And that wasn’t by choice.

“Today I’m going to put you in pairs for your final project. These pairs are non-negotiable,” your math teacher Mr. Robertson announced in his monotone voice, “who you get, is who you get. Let's get started, shall we?”. All you could do was pray you got paired with one of your friends, which shouldn’t be too hard as you were friends with practically everyone that would let you be their friend.

You sat at your seat, bouncing your leg from the nerves, as your teacher called out each pair. You must’ve zoned out because you didn’t hear anything until your name was said.

“The next group will be Y/N and Eddie,” your teacher told the class. You looked behind you to see Eddie in the back of the class tapping his pencil on his desk. You must’ve been staring for some time because he eventually caught your gaze and made a face at you, making you turn back around.

After your teacher announced each pair you all moved seats to sit with your respective partners. You were hoping Eddie would come to you but you had to go to him.

“Hey. This seat taken?” you asked softly, gesturing to the desk next to his.

“Nope” giving you a short and cold response. You pulled the chair out from the desk and sat down, ready to work. Eddie was slouched at his desk, still rocking the buzz cut, and continued to tap his pencil on his desk.

“Ok so I think that we should start with the research and note taking and then we can-” you were cut off by Eddie drumming his pencil even louder against his desk. “Could you please stop that? We need to work on this project,” you informed him, thinking he missed the memo. He ignores you and continues on with his drumming.

You can’t help but cringe at how horrible his drumming is. He can’t keep a steady beat and as soon as he has one rhythm down he changes it to another.

“You clearly aren’t a drummer,” you say with a small giggle, trying to lighten the mood.

“What did you just say?” Eddie snaps his head towards you.

“You’re not much of a drummer. You’re really bad at it, actually,” you say in defense.

“Oh right and you think you could do better?” he questions. You weren’t a drummer, you were a singer and a pianist, but you knew when someone was just bad at an instrument. It doesn’t take a genius.

“No. I do have ears though and you are currently doing them much harm,” you playfully say. Eddie just sighs and rolls his eyes. “Now, can we please work on this project?” you ask, trying to get back on track.

“I bet you don’t even know how to sing,” Eddie says, clearly pissed that you made fun of his drumming.

“Actually, I’ve been taking voice lessons for five years, and piano for seven. You’re not the only musician at this school, Eddie Munson,” you inform him.

Eddie has had the biggest crush on you since that day you met but when you inform him of your musical abilities he’s convinced that he’s in love with you. Sure, it seems like he isn’t interested in you but it’s the exact opposite. He brushes you off because he’s pretty sure that the second he got to know you he’d be done for.

“That's actually pretty badass,” Eddie compliments you, “what kind of stuff do you sing?”

“Well, I really like Fleetwood Mac. Stevie Nicks is my hero,” you say trying not to spill word vomit about a band you know Eddie isn’t interested in.

“Not bad, not my personal taste, but not bad,” Eddie tells you, trying not to hurt your feelings as he very much prefers metal over soft rock.

After that you and Eddie became inseparable. The whole summer leading up to high school you ditched your regular friend group and spent most of your time over at Eddie's trailer listening to music. He made you listen to bands like Motley Crue, Black Sabbath, and Iron Maiden. You, in return, made him listen to Fleetwood Mac, ABBA, and The Beatles.

You shared with each other your dreams for the future and how you hoped to make careers off music. Eddie would move to LA with his band, Corroded Coffin, and make it big. World tours. Sold out shows. Money. You wanted to move to California too but for a solo career. You didn’t care if nothing came from it either, you just wanted your voice to be heard.

The more time Eddie spent with you the deeper he was falling for you. It was starting to hurt him, knowing he was destined to be friendzoned for life by you. Little did he know, you felt the same way about him as he felt about you.

Just like Eddie, that day he bumped into you, you knew you were fucked. He was kinda awkward looking but in the way where you know he’ll grow up to be pretty. You didn’t realize just how much you liked him though until you started to hang out regularly. Before you thought it was just a stupid, middle school crush but by the first day of freshman year you were in love with him.

It took Eddie another year after that before asking you out. You were practically dating by the time your sophomore year rolled around. The two of you were always together, in school and out of school, he would sneak through your bedroom window multiple times throughout the week to “hang out” even more, and you guys were a lot more touchy than what platonic friends should be. Eddie found any and every excuse there was to touch you. He just needed to feel that contact with you.

He eventually decided to just bite the bullet and ask you out. He had gotten more than enough signals that you wanted him to ask you out and he finally felt confident about it.

It was a Friday night, and it was during the autumn of your sophomore year. You had gotten a couple of gigs in Hawkins and some other towns close by. You could feel it, sometime in the near future you would be making it big. You would be the first person in your family out of Hawkins, and you couldn’t be happier.

You were laying in bed, working on a new song, when you heard a few taps on your window. You look over to see Eddie waving for you to let him in your room. You quickly rush over, leaning over the desk you have placed in front of it, and open the window for him. “Hey! Why didn’t you tell me you were coming over? I would’ve left the window unlocked for you,” you tell him. Eddie climbs over your desk, careful not to mess up the schoolwork you have sitting there, and stands directly in front of you. He seems a lot more stressed than usual and it’s very noticeable. “Are you ok? You don’t seem like yourself?” you ask him, worriedly.

“Yeah, I’m fine. No need to worry about me,” he says, starting to smile. He’s trying to work up the courage he needs to ask you out, afraid he’ll never do it at this point. “I do want to ask you something though,” here goes nothing.

“Yeah! Whatever you need!” you say assuringly. God, he can’t believe he’s about to ask out the most perfect and well-liked girl in Hawkins. And in her bedroom of all places. You move over to your bed and sit comfortably on the edge.

You can’t help but notice how pretty he is now. He grew up from that awkward kid with a buzz cut to looking like the toughest guy out there with his hair starting to grow out and wearing a Black Sabbath t-shirt, topped with a leather jacket and his battle jacket. Even when he looks nervous he’s still so pretty. You notice how perfectly pink his lips are, and how deep his eyes are that you could easily get lost in them for the rest of your life and you would be more than ok with that. You swear that if he doesn’t ask you out soon that you’ll just have to get it over with and do it for him.

“Listen, I have a question to ask you,” he says after the few moments of silence you took to admire his beauty.

“You said that already,” you giggle.

“Oh shit, yeah you’re right sorry,” he says, shaking his head, hoping that’ll get rid of his nerves. It doesn’t. This is when you start to think, maybe, just maybe this is it. Eddie Munson would be asking you out on a date. He takes a pause, a deep breath, and starts again.

“Ok, I’m just gonna say it and rip the fucking band-aid off. I like you, Y/N. And not as in a friends type of like, like a I want to be your boyfriend type of like . It’s totally cool if you don’t feel the same, and if I made things awkward between us but I just needed to tell you,” he rushes out. You sit there for a few seconds, staring at him, and he’s pretty sure he’ll piss himself due to your silence.

“You never asked me a question,” is all you said, knowing the question but wanting to hear him say it.

“What?” you smile in a way that lets him know that you know what he’s asking. He takes another deep breath, looks at the ground for a moment, and then back at you where you just sit there, beautiful and patient. “Would you do me the greatest honor, and go out with me?”

You jump off of your bed and rush over towards Eddie, who just stands there awkwardly, and you fling yourself on top of him into the warmest embrace either of you have ever felt. Eddie is paralyzed by your touch and it takes him a second to register what's happening but as soon as he does, he’s grinning wider than he ever has before.

“So, is that a yes?” he asks, pulling you away from him.

“Yeah, it’s a yes,” and as soon as he thinks you’re going back in for another hug you pull him down into a passionate kiss. You both feel the weight that has been lifted from your hearts as you kiss one another for the first of many times. The kiss intensifies the longer it goes on, both of you worried that as soon as it breaks it’ll never happen again. You eventually remember that you’re human and need to breathe, and you pull away first.

“Holy shit,” Eddie breathes.

“Holy shit,” you agree.

Now, here you are two years later and graduating high school, sadly without your boyfriend by your side. Eddie had gotten the news that he would have to repeat his senior year. 85’ would be his year though, he was sure of it. You were worried that Eddie might be jealous that you would be graduating without him but he was so proud of you that he didn’t have time to be jealous. When he saw you walk that graduation stage, he cheered for you louder than anyone else. He was so fucking proud of you.

After the ceremony, you rushed over to him and he gave you the world's nicest congratulations kiss. “Babe, I can’t believe you graduated! I’m so proud of you! How does it feel to be a high school graduate?” he asked.

“Weird. I can’t believe I’m no longer a Hawkins Tiger,” you giggled, school spirit had never really been your thing. You went to football games and basketball games but that was really only to cheer on your friends that contributed to the athletics department. “Oh yeah! I was wondering if you wanted to come over tonight. I have something I want to tell you!” you said excitedly.

“Count me in,” Eddie responded, pulling you in for another kiss. “Does 8 work?” he asked between kisses and you nodded in response.

Keeping to his word, Eddie arrived at 8 that night. He wasn’t usually this punctual but he was eager to see you, his little high school graduate. He climbed up the siding of your house and made his way up to your second floor bedroom window for the hundredth time. You left the window unlocked for him and he crawled through the window. He found you on the edge of your bed, the same spot you sat just two years ago when he asked you out, your knee was bouncing and Eddie couldn’t help but wonder what was causing your jitters.

“Hey high school grad! How's it going?” he asked, grabbing you by your hands to pull you up and into a soft, welcoming kiss.

“Well, I have some news,” you said, hardly able to contain just how excited you were.

“Ok, shoot,” Eddie gestured to you, waiting for you to start. He walked over to where you had just been sitting on the bed and you stood in front of him.

“So, I don’t know if you remember this or not but a few months ago I had that gig in Indianapolis? Well, I guess there was some music producer there that night and a few weeks ago he sent me a letter,” you paused, realizing you were about to tell your boyfriend life changing news for not just you but him too. You took a few deep breaths, trying to collect your thoughts, and Eddie started to wave his hand for you to finish. “He sent me a letter, offering me a record deal. He wants me to move to Los Angeles for a few months to make an album. He thinks I could be the next Stevie Nicks,” you gave a gentle laugh at the last part.

Eddie didn’t know how to react. He wants to be proud of you. Oh god, all he wants to do is be proud of you, but he can’t help but be jealous. This is the exact opposite of what he was feeling at your graduation ceremony that morning. He’s been trying to get Corroded Coffin to become the next big thing since they formed back in the eighth grade, and here his girlfriend was beating him to it. And worse of all, he would be losing you.

“So you're moving?” Eddie didn’t mean for that to be the first words out of his mouth but he just had to know. He didn’t want to break up. He loves you more than anyone else in the whole world, hell the whole universe. He didn’t want to be the guy that stands in the way of your dreams either. You would be moving on, without him, meeting all sorts of famous people and going on world tours. You would forget all about him the second you got to LA.

“Yeah, I’m moving. But, Eddie, we can make this work. We will work. It doesn’t matter where we’re at, we will always love each other. There's phones and we can write letters. We’ve got this,” you try comforting him. You know that this is probably breaking his heart. You know Eddie well enough to know when he has doubts, and you can tell he definitely has doubts over the survival of your relationship.

Your words help Eddie remember that you’ll still be able to keep in contact. And he can always go visit you during his breaks, and you can visit him whenever your schedule allows it. “When do you leave?” he asks, a little more excited for you now.

“Wednesday, we’re driving and need to be there by Saturday. I wish we had more time together but they need me to start on this album now,” you say sadly.

“Well, I guess we just have to make the best of our last days together,” Eddie says smiling. He starts standing up, walking towards you. He puts his hands on your waist and starts bringing you in closer and closer to him. “Babe, I am so fucking happy for you. You’re going to be something big, I can feel it,” he brings you into a tight embrace and you stay there together for a few minutes.

Come Wednesday and Eddie is in your driveway refusing to let you go. He is hugging you so hard you start to think he’s broken multiple of your ribs but you don’t mind because who knows the next time you’ll feel his touch.

“I love you so fucking much sweetheart. You’re going to blow them out of the water,” he says, kissing you. You start to cry at his words. You’re not sad to be leaving Hawkins, it’s a shithole and you were actually happy to leave, but in leaving Hawkins you also had to leave behind the best thing about it, Eddie.

“Come on, sweetie,” your mom says, trying to pull you away to leave. Your parents would be driving out with you to help you settle into your apartment. You were lucky enough to be getting enough money from the record company that you could afford to rent your very own apartment. You finally felt like an adult for the first time in your life, even though you’ve been 18 for three months now.

You stand on your tip toes and pull Eddie down for one last kiss, he’s the one crying now. He goes back to hugging you, giving a tight squeeze before letting go of you.

“I love you, don’t forget that,” he whispers in your ear.

“Never.”

LA is nothing like you thought it would be. It’s loud, dirty, and you’ve never witnessed so many muggings before in your life, not that you saw many back in Hawkins anyway. And most of all, you desperately missed Eddie. You’ve been there for almost a year now and you were longing for home and your boyfriend, who you still haven’t seen since you moved. He promised to visit during his spring break last month but he canceled. He told you he needed to study. You weren’t sure to believe it though since 1.) it was Eddie, who has never picked up a textbook willingly and 2.) Who studies during spring break?

You thought that the move would be easy, that long-distance would work between you and Eddie. Sadly, you were starting to realize that isn’t the case. You had blamed yourself for the distance between the two of you. You called each other every day the first week you were there and then things got busy, you didn’t have as much down time. You did write to him every week though, at least that was what you did for the first five months.

Eddie wasn’t innocent though seeing as the reason you stopped writing to him was because he stopped responding to you. Now, you would call each other maybe once a week. He was nearing the end of his second senior year now and the last time you talked to him it sounded like he was failing Ms. O’Donnells class again. You just hoped he would graduate this time. He deserves it.

The only thing keeping you there was your career. You had to keep reminding yourself that things would be all better soon though because Eddie was supposed to be flying over for your release party next week. Your name had started to circulate in the media over the last few weeks after your first single dropped to promote the album. People were going crazy over it and were so excited to see what else you could do.

Y/N L/N has become an overnight sensation after the release of her single New Guy hit the charts practically overnight

Make way for America's newest sweetheart, Y/N L/N, as her first album titled Crush is set to release next Friday

From small town to big town, Y/N L/N is lighting up Hollywood ahead of her first albums release

You couldn’t believe just how much buzz there was over your name. Your single, which was about the first time you met Eddie, had made it high up the Billboard charts in a matter of days. The whole thing felt surreal and you felt fulfilled with achieving your dreams. You just wish you could’ve been closer home to do it.

“Y/N, babe, Rolling Stone just called and they want to interview you,” your manager Glenn Thomson announced.

“Are you fucking with me? Rolling Stone? Shut up!” you said excitedly.

“You’re a star, kid, and they can clearly spot talent,” he compliments.

“I need to call my boyfriend! He’s going to shit himself when I tell him!” you jump up from off the sofa you were sitting on and rush towards the nearest phone to call Eddie.

“That's not all though,” he continues with his exciting news. You turn away from the phone that you’ve already picked up and face your manager awaiting to hear the rest of the deal.

“They want you to cover their May issue,” you feel like you’re going to pass out right then and there. Rolling Stone wants you on their cover and you’ve only released one song so far. You felt tears starting to prick your eyes and you quickly moved to wipe them away with the back of your hand.

“Oh my god. I can’t believe this is happening,” you finally say, remembering how to breathe. You turn back to the phone and dial Eddies number faster than you ever have in your life. The phone rings multiple times to the point where you start to think he isn’t home. Just as you’re about to hang up you hear a voice on the other end of the line.

“Hello?” Eddie's voice fills your ears and you smile at the sound of it.

“Babe, it’s me. I have something to tell you,” you tell him excitedly.

“Should I be sitting down for this?” he jokes.

“No, it's fine. You can stand,” you take a breath as you are still trying to wrap your head around the news, “Rolling Stone is interviewing me!” you squeal. You tried to contain your excitement but this was too big to downplay.

“Holy shit babe! That's amazing! I wish I was there to hug you right now,” for a second you think that he’s more excited than you are.

“I wish you were here too because, that’s not all,” you try your best to not freak out this time but you know it’s bound to happen, “I’m going to be on their May cover!” you squeal again.

Eddie drops the phone at this news. You were really becoming a big deal. You had an album coming out next week, Rolling Stone was taking notice of you, he’s constantly hearing your single on the radio. You were doing just fine in LA without him. He was missing you so much that he can hardly stand to be on a phone call with you because the more he hears your voice without seeing you, it breaks his heart. He just wants to hold you and kiss you.

He didn’t go to LA last month for spring break like he promised but that's because he needed to study. He was at risk of failing his senior year for a second time so he had to focus his energy into Ms. O’Donnells class. He regrets not going but he needs to be in LA with you next year so if that means going a few months without you for now, but gets to spend a lifetime with you, then so be it.

He starts thinking that maybe he wouldn’t get that lifetime with you. He always thought you were in this together. You would move to Los Angeles together, you would rent your first apartment together, you would make it big together. He is trying to convince himself he’ll catch-up. Him and Corroded Coffin can move out there after they’ve all graduated, which could be two years away he realizes. He’s the oldest in the band, the second being Jeff who’s a junior and then there's Gareth who’s a sophomore.

At this point he thinks he’ll just never get to where you are. Destined to remain in Hawkins forever. You’ll forget about him, get married to some hotshot actor, and have perfect babies who’ll grow up to be just as famous as you. The thought leaves a sour taste in his mouth. Oh shit, you’re still waiting for a response from him.

“Babe, that’s fucking incredible. You are fucking incredible. Hey, I gotta go so I’ll call ya tomorrow ok?” he hangs up the phone before you could even respond.

“Yeah, sounds good.”

Eddie never called you back. To be fair, you didn’t call him either but that’s because you were expecting him to. Your album release party was tomorrow night and you weren’t even sure if your boyfriend would show up for that. You sat on your sofa cross-legged, staring at the phone. You weren’t sure if you were trying to work up the courage to call him or if you were trying to use some unknown power you have and force him to call you. You decide it’s the first one. You take a breath and reach for the phone. Just as you are about to dial, it rings. You pick it up faster than you’d like to admit but it was in your hand, of course you were going to answer it quickly.

“Hey sweetheart, you excited for tomorrow?” you have powers, you're convinced. This is the freakiest coincidence you’ve ever experienced but you're not mad about it. You shake it off and smile at his question.

“Uh duh, I’ve only been waiting for this my entire life!” you excitedly tell him. You listen in on his side of the phone and it sounds busy where he is. You can hear shouting and the sounds of traffic, definitely not Hawkins. “Hey, where are you? It doesn’t sound like Hawkins,” you hear him chuckle a little as if it wasn’t obvious where he is.

“Sweetheart, did you really think I was going to miss your party? I was calling because I realized that I forgot your address. Think you could help your dear ol’ boyfriend out and remind me?” he was coming. You’ve never felt more relieved since moving out here. You happily oblige and give him your address and he says he’s on his way now.

It’s been about half an hour since your phone call with Eddie and you hear a funny knock on the door, it almost sounds like a song. You rush to open it and see your boyfriend there, in front of you for the first time in ten and a half months. You fling yourself at him and wrap your arms tightly around his neck. He kisses you more passionately than he ever has in your relationship, which is going on three years now. He walks you back inside your apartment, closes the door, and drops his duffle bag, all without breaking the kiss. The kiss only breaks after you both realize it’s been a minute since either of you has breathed.

“I missed you so fucking much, princess,” Eddie says, his lips grazing your own as he refuses to let you be anymore than an inch apart.

“I missed you too,” you feel like you could cry just from the sight of him. He is quick to reattach himself to you after you’ve both caught your breath. You open your mouth enough that he can stick his tongue in and you moan at the contact. He moves away from your lips and starts to work his way down your neck and kisses your sweet spot.

“Baby, I missed you so much,” he said in between kisses.

“Oh- oh god, Eddie it’s been so tough without you here. I miss you so much,” you can’t help it and tears start freely flowing down your cheeks. Eddie stops what he’s doing and stands up straight, cupping your face with his hands. He starts brushing your tears away and places a sweet kiss to both your temples.

“It’s ok, sweetheart, I’m here now,” he says, pulling you into him tightly. You wrap your arms around his torso and cry into his shirt which is now stained from your mascara, but he doesn’t care.

“I started to think you weren’t coming,” you admitted.

“What?” he says, slightly pulling you off of him with a confused face, “why would you think that?”

“Because, you’ve been so distant. You haven’t called or written much,” you confide in him. You start to think that you should’ve just kept your mouth shut. He didn’t need to know you doubted him. He didn’t need to know why you were crying into his shoulder. You’re in deep shit now.

“I’ve been busy. Y/N do you hear yourself? You’re the one making a fucking album,” he says, barely holding on to you anymore.

“Yeah but you’re the one who isn’t returning my phone calls! I’m making an effort, unlike you,” you spit at him, fully pulling yourself away from him.

“I’m trying to graduate Y/N!” Eddie shouts. His face turns to a shade of red you had never seen on him before. You were in disbelief. How dare he claim you were the one pulling away.

“So what, you’ve finally decided to focus on school and now you don’t have time for me?” you say, striking a low blow. You know how sensitive Eddie is about school. It was incredibly hard for him last year when he was told he’d be held back.

“I want to be with you! I’m trying to graduate so I can be with you! God! I’m trying to be responsible. I really am, Y/N, but the fact that you think I just don’t have time for you anymore hurts. It fucking hurts. Everything I’ve done is for you,” he yells. Eddie doesn’t lose his temper that often. Sure, he’ll say shit and pick fights but he never really snapped at people, especially you. At this point, you start crying harder. The last thing you wanted to do was fight with him, but your mouth was thinking faster than your brain.

“Then maybe you shouldn’t be with me anymore,” you shout back at him. You hate to insinuate the idea of breaking up but you were angry and needed to find a way out of this conversation, even if it ended up making you hurt worse. You knew that this relationship was just not working anymore. You knew making a long distance relationship work was going to be a long shot.

“What?” Eddie asked softly, staring at you with hurt in his eyes. “You don’t want to be together anymore?”

“Eds, it’s not that I don’t love you. I love you so fucking much it hurts but we need to look at the situation in front of us. I’m busy already as it is and soon enough I’ll be going on tour,” you said, hearing him scoff in response. “It’s not like you have all this free time either. Not only are you across the country but you need to graduate,” you told him.

“I can’t believe we’re even having this conversation right not\w Y/N,” he said in disbelief, “I flew all the way out here, working extra shifts at the garage so I could even afford to the goddamn ticket, and now you’re just what, breaking up with me?” You could tell he was on the verge of tears. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him so heartbroken.

“Eddie, I’m really sorry but I just don’t think this is working anymore,” you go to reach out for him but he takes a step back, trying to create as much distance as possible between the two of you. “I think you should go,” you whisper.

Eddie rubs his hands over his face and groans, trying to hide his tears. “Ya know what, I will. Congrats on the fucking album Y/N,” and with that he turns to open the front door. You step out to the hall and watch as he enters the elevator, walking out of your life forever. Or that's what you think.

Thanks everyone for reading, I really appreciate it! Let me know if you want tagged in the next part

#eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson x fem!reader #rockstar!eddie #rockstar!reader #eddie munson x reader #friends to lovers #rockstar!eddie x reader #lovers to enemies #angst #fluff

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random-mailbox · 9 months

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Random-Mailbox's Favorite Sailor Moon Fics - Week 46 - Tutoring

Back to our regularly scheduled programming after the excitement of @usamamoweek2023 (check out the blog for various contributions, master post is coming in a couple of days to allow for any late submissions).

This week we look at fics where Mamoru takes on the role of a tutor for Usagi in various settings - ranging from high school to university. Some are more lemony than others.

Reminder that @smquickies2023 are next week! August 6-12 (and is open to any SM pairings).

As always, my apologies in advance for spoiling some of these for you (Fic Titles are linked to either FFN or AO3 entries).

we are absolutely made of glass - @cgsf

This one shot is a lemony culmination of years of build-up that led to Usagi convincing Mamoru to help her graduate.

The Physiology of Tutoring - @uglygreenjacket

Usagi’s dad gets Mamoru to become her tutor for Biology because Ami’s methods were clearly not working. Leading to higher grades for Usagi, but also a lot of miscommunications and half truths spoken that will have to be cleared up.

A True Hero: An Essay by Usagi Tsukino - @linlamont

Mamoru, who has been dating Rei for a bit, agrees to tutor Usagi in English in spite of his girlfriend’s protests. In this enemies to lovers fic, Usagi and Mamoru slowly discover how to co-exist before realizing what they mean to each other.

i should tell you to leave ‘cause i (know exactly where this leads) - @goddamnelsa

Usagi thought that taking a physics class in university would be easy if she does it with her friends. Except Ami has too much on her plate to help, so she has to rely on her TA. With their tutoring sessions moving from office hours, to the library and eventually his apartment, Usagi and Mamoru have to make a decision on what they want to become and how ethical that might be. Make sure to read the entire series of stories!

Stuff Tippy Wrote -- Sailor Moon edition: Chapter 20: Usagi is bad at math - @tiptoe39

Mamoru is trying to help Usagi understand how to solve for X in a new way - using Choco Pies!

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That's it for this week. Here is the schedule for the next month:

August 7 - Thunderstorms

August 14 - Food

August 21 - Proposal

August 28 - Locked In

Here are the links to the previous Tumblr posts in these series to explore more amazing works based on different themes - make sure to check them out if you haven't had a chance! (Click on title name to go to the post) - I will keep updating the list every week as new posts come up:

Week 1 - Groundhog Day

Week 2 - Established Relationships

Week 3 - Sex Positivity

Week 4 - Unfinished Stories

Week 5 - Darker Stories

Week 6 - Potions 🧪

Week 7 - Reveals

Week 8 - 👻Halloween🎃

Week 9 - Wrong Perceptions

Week 10 - Non-Senshi AU

Week 11 - In-Progress Fics

Week 12 - Mutual Pining

Week 13 - Enemies to Lovers

Week 14 - Slow Burn

Week 15 - Christmas Part 1 - Ugly Christmas Sweaters and Santa!

Week 16 - Christmas Part 2

Week 17 - New Years

Week 18 - High School AU

Week 19 - Slice of Life

Week 20 - Coffee shop AU

Week 21 - Huddle for Warmth

Week 22 - Friends to Lovers

Week 23 - ❤️Valentines Day❤️

Week 24 - Do a Grouch a Favour Day (or Cheer Up Fics)

Week 25 - Soulmate AU

Week 26 - Amnesia Fics (and resources)

Week 27 - 🍀St Patrick's Day🍀

Week 28 - Fix it Fics

Week 29 - Prompt: Mug

Week 30 - Flowers

Week 31 - Traditions

Week 32 - Dreams

Week 33 - Friends

Week 34 - Body-Swap

Week 35 - Medical Assistance

Week 36 - Sex Pollen

Week 37 - Psychometry

Week 38 - What If

Week 39 - Missing Scenes Part I

Week 40 - Green Jacket

Week 41 - Dr Chiba

Week 42 - Birthdays

Week 43 - Fluff

Week 44 - First Kiss

Week 45 - Reviving Shitennou

#sailor moon #usagi x mamoru #fic rec #fic list #tutoring

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edusquaremaths · 1 year

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Q4 Exercise1.1 I Class 12 Maths NCERT Chapter 1 Relations and Functions | NCERT solutions

NCERT Class 12Chapter: Relations and FunctionsExercise 1.1 Question 4: Show that the relation R in R defined as R = {(a, b) : a ≤ b}, is reflexive and transitive but not symmetric.

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#class 12 #class 12 maths #class 12 maths chapter 1 #class 12 maths relations and functions #ex 1.1 q1 class 12 #relation and function #relation and function class 12 #relation and function class 12 exercise 1.1 #relation and function class 12 in hindi #relations and functions #relations and functions class 12 #relations and functions class 12 exercise 1.1 #relations and functions class 12 ncert #relations and functions class 12 ncert solutions #Youtube

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mathswithnarendrasir · 1 year

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Class-9 Mid Term - 1 Mathematics | Important Questions with Solution | Both Medium #mathematics

#16 views 10 Dec 2022 #Class-9 Mid Term - 1 Mathematics | Important Questions with Solution | Both Medium #mathematics #In this video you will learn about classification of real numbers such as rational #irrational #integers #whole and natural numbers.#Also in the end you will learn how to find rational numbers between two rational numbers.#mathmatics 2022 #2nd puc mathematics mid term exam question paper 202 #class 12 mid term inverse trigonometric function #2nd puc mid term exam maths #midterm in mathematics #mid term section discrte math fuctions #aspn class #2nd puc maths mid term question paper 2021 #discrete mathematics midterm #discrete mathematics midterm 2 class 9 mid term question paper 2022 9th first mid term question paper 2022 pdf #class 9 maths #class 9 maths chapter 1 #class 9 maths important questions #important questions #class 9 #class 9 maths chapter 1 mcq #class 9 maths chapter 1 important questions with solutions #class 9 maths chapter #class 9 maths chapter 1 extra questions with solutions #class 9 number systems very important questions #number system important questions #class 9 maths number system

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religion-is-a-mental-illness · 6 months

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By: Anna Krylov and Jay Tanzman

Published: Oct 2, 2023

Note: A version of this article will appear as an invited chapter in the forthcoming volume The Free Inquiry Papers edited by Robert Maranto, Lee Jussim, and Sally Satel.

1. An age of unreason

The liberal enlightenment, humanism, and democracy are under siege. A once-obscure postmodernist worldview, Critical Social Justice (CSJ) [1-3], has escaped the academy and is quickly reshaping our institutions and society at large. Long-standing merit-based practices in science are rapidly being subordinated to practices based on the tenets of CSJ theory [4]. Increasingly, scientists must compete for funding, no longer only on the basis of scientific merit, but also on the basis of how their proposed research will promote the goals of CSJ. As an example, an NIH neurology program requires grant applications to include a “plan for enhancing diverse perspectives” with the goal to “bring about the culture change necessary to address the inequities and systemic biases in biomedical research….” [5] Similarly, funding for fundamental research in chemistry and physics now depends on researchers demonstrating their commitment to “promote equity and inclusion as an intrinsic element to advancing scientific excellence” [6].

In the academy, faculty hiring and administrative appointments are increasingly made on the basis of the candidate’s identity [7-9]. Merit-based admission to schools and universities is being weakened, with standardized tests such as the SAT and ACT being abandoned on “social justice” grounds [10,11]. K–12 is affected as well. Some school districts have stopped giving D and F grades in order to improve “equity” [12]. In math classes, activist teachers claim that getting the right answer and showing your work are white supremacist concepts and are advocating, instead, a supposedly anti-racist CSJ pedagogy [13,14]. Accelerated mathematics programs for gifted students, necessary to prepare them for advanced training and careers in STEM [15], are being dismantled in the name of “social justice” [16-18]. Many school districts have eliminated honors classes altogether in the name of “equity” [19]. The resultant weakening of the workforce has already contributed to the fall of the US from its position as the world leader in science [20].

In the university, faculty and staff are instructed to use Newspeak—neopronouns and other neologisms—in their written and verbal communications for the purpose of “inclusivity” [21,22]. To be avoided are such apparently un-inclusive terms as “strawman,” “brown-bag lunch,” and “picnic” [22–25]. Professional societies and corporations are following suit, proscribing terms such as “field,” “dark times,” “black market,” “double-blind study,” “nursing mother,” “hip-hip hooray,” “smart phone,” “homeless,” and “the French” [26–30].

In biology, an education paper recommends that teachers emphasize the sexual diversity across species in nature, which includes “organisms such as ciliates, algae, and fungi [that] have equal-size gametes (isogamy) and do not therefore have gametic sexes [that is, binary sexes, as mammals do].” This is supposed to promote inclusivity of LGBTQIA2+ students in the classroom [25]. Chemistry education also needs to be reformed, according to the journal Chemical Education, which published a virtual Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion (DEI) collection of 67 papers exploring such topics as decolonization of the chemistry curriculum, chemistry and racism, and gender and sexual orientation identities in the chemistry classroom [31]. A recent paper in the same journal describes “a special topic class in chemistry on feminism and science as a tool to disrupt the dysconcious racism in STEM,” which explores “the development and interrelationship between quantum mechanics, Marxist materialism, Afro-futurism/pessimism, and postcolonial nationalism.” “To problematize time as a linear social construct,” the paper says, “the Copenhagen interpretation of the collapse of wave-particle duality was utilized” [32]. No, Deepak Chopra was not a co-author of the paper.

In STEM, prospective faculty are asked to pledge their commitment to the ideology of CSJ and to document their activism in advancing DEI [8,9,33,34]. Medical schools are abolishing long-accepted assessments of competency in order to improve racial parity in residency programs [35]. A pamphlet published by the University of Illinois Chicago School of Public Health claims that public health anti-obesity campaigns are an example of “fatphobia,” that public health’s “focus on body size is rooted in racism,” that “higher weight is not causal to worse health outcomes," and that “focusing on weight ignores systematic injustices” [36,37]. Under the doctrine of gender-affirming care, adolescents are offered life-changing transgender treatments, often after only perfunctory psychological assessment, despite the poor understanding that medicine currently has on the risks and benefits of these treatments [38–40].

[ Unreason and intolerance. Upper left: Yale students protest “offensive” Halloween costumes (2015). Lower left: Activists burn books by J.K. Rowling (2023). Right: Students at UC Davis disrupt a film viewing by throwing a bag of manure into the room. ]

Free speech itself, the cornerstone of liberal democracy, is under attack. As viewed by CSJ activists, free speech is dangerous, harmful, and equivalent to violence [41]. Adherents of DEI ideology believe that DEI should trump academic freedom [42]. Institutions essential for providing a platform for the marketplace of ideas, information exchange, and debate have largely abandoned their mission in the name of social justice activism. Articles in the press are infused with CSJ ideology [4]. Scientific publishers from Scientific American to the flagship journals Science and Nature have become mouthpieces for CSJ [43–56]. Universities, whose primary mission is education and truth seeking, have become complicit in censorship, scholarship suppression, indoctrination, and intimidation [57–59]. Universities and professional organizations have compromised their mission as seekers and communicators of objective truths by abandoning traditional institutional neutrality in favor of political activism, taking official positions on elections, police reform, abortion, wars, and other social issues [60,61], leaving dissenters out in the cold. Where debate, constructive disagreement, and discussion were once cultivated, conformity and dogmatism, enforced both top-down (by CSJ-infused DEI trainings [62,63]) and bottom-up (by ideologically driven activists [58]), now reign.

On campus, another essential provision of democracy, the presumption of innocence until proven guilty, no longer guides procedures for resolving conflict. Suspensions and terminations of professors without a hearing in response to offense taken by students, faculty members, or administrators has become commonplace (see, for example, Ref. 64–67). A predictable consequence is that there is now an unprecedented level of self-censorship by students and faculty [57,68,69]. Proposed changes to Title IX regulations will further erode the free speech of students and the protection of due process [70].

CSJ adherents accuse dissenters of being indifferent to existing inequalities and historic injustices, of being bigots, of having nefarious motives, and of perpetuating existing power structures. We reject these accusations. We oppose the practices of CSJ because they harm everyone, including those groups they purport to elevate [71-73]. It is precisely because we care about the existing problems in the world and about real social justice that we oppose CSJ.

What we are witnessing today—curriculum “decolonization,” the elimination of honors classes in schools, the ubiquitous war on merit [4], the imposition of political litmus tests for academic positions, Newspeak, the renaming of everything in sight, and on and on—are not isolated excesses perpetrated by a handful of overly zealous but otherwise well-meaning individuals; they are symptoms of a wholesale takeover of our institutions by an illiberal movement that currently has the upper hand. The current situation is not a pendulum that has swung too far and will self-correct [74]; it is a train hurtling full speed toward a cliff. Those of us unwillingly to go over the edge can either jump off—leave academia (or maybe start up alternative institutions)—or fight to get the brakes applied before it is too late. The remainder of this chapter is about the latter course of action.

2. Why we should fight

To put it simply, we should fight because it is the right thing to do. It is not only our duty to the next generation, but an opportunity to pay our debt to the previous generations of dissenters who fought against forces of illiberalism to create the free and prosperous world that we enjoy today [75,76]. By fighting, we, too, can fend off the forces of unreason and restore the values of humanism, liberalism, and The Enlightenment. Inaction and submission will only enable the further spread of illiberalism. The history of past illiberal regimes, such as the USSR and Nazi Germany, provide ample lessons and motivation to stand and fight today. The train is gaining momentum; the longer we wait, the harder it will be to stop it. We must act now, while we still can.

Although there are uncanny parallels with totalitarian regimes of the past [23,77–80], we are still living in a free, democratic society. Despite the advances of illiberal ideology, manifested by the rise of censorship, the spread of cancel culture [23,57,58,81–83], and the proliferation of institutionalized structures (such as DEI bureaucracies) to enforce CSJ ideology, the dissenters of today do not face incarceration in prisons, labor camps, and mental hospitals. Nonetheless, we can learn from history.

In his book To Build a Castle: My Life as a Dissenter [84], Vladimir Bukovsky [85] describes his experiences as a dissident who refused to comply with the Soviets and challenged the regime. Bukovsky describes the apathy and complacency of the majority of the population at that time. People understood the corrupt and inhumane nature of the regime, but they chose to keep their heads down because—as the Russian proverb goes—“No man can splay the stone” (in Russian: плетью обуха не перешибёшь).

Because of this complacency, the economically bankrupt, oppressive, and inhumane Soviet regime lasted as long as it did (70+ years). But it was the actions of dissidents that ultimately catalyzed its downfall. Consider, for example, the impact of the books of Solzhenitsyn, who told the world the truth about the atrocities of the Soviet regime [86]. In addition to meticulously documenting the scale of the atrocities, Solzhenitsyn explained that they came to be, not due to deviations from the party line or shortcomings of its individual leaders, but as the direct result of Marxist-Leninist ideology.

In Bukovsky’s time (the late 1950s to mid-1970s), open dissent was rare. Growing up in the Soviet Union, I [Anna]—as most of my peers—did not even know dissidents existed. It wasn’t until Perestroyka in the late 80s, when I read Solzhenitsyn’s books and learned about Sakharov [87] that I found out. Yet, it is through the actions of the dissidents that the West came to understand the Soviet regime as an “evil empire,” and this understanding propelled the political forces in the West that ultimately decided the outcome of the Cold War. The impact of the dissident movement on the Soviet regime has been illuminated through a series of memoranda of the Central Committee of the Communist Party, stolen and published by Bukovsky in his book Judgment in Moscow [88]. The acts of individuals splayed the stone after all.

I [Anna] was born (in the then-Soviet state of Ukraine) into the luckiest generation in the history of the USSR—the generation that witnessed the fall of the Wall when they were still young. We could escape to the free world, live as free people, and build successful and fulfilling careers in the West. Had the regime lasted another 20 years, my generation would have been yet another of the long list of those whose lives were ruined by the Soviet regime. I feel a personal debt to the dissidents of the day.

Now, it is our turn to be the dissidents and to fight the good fight.

Fighting for what is right is not just the right thing to do; it is empowering. Standing up and speaking your mind is liberating, even exhilarating; while hunkering down in fear, hoping the storm will pass, is a bleak experience. Being honest feels good, while being complicit in lies is dispiriting. Fighting the good fight puts you in control, whereas passive submission leaves you helpless. Whether we ultimately win or lose this fight, those who choose to remain silent will look back and ask themselves why they did not act when they could. As Martin Niemöller wrote after World War II,

First they came for the socialists, and I did not speak out—because I was not a socialist. Then they came for the trade unionists, and I did not speak out—because I was not a trade unionist. Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out—because I was not a Jew. Then they came for me—and there was no one left to speak for me.

Eventually, this illiberal movement, like those of the past, will come not only for the dissidents, but for the silent bystanders as well (and, eventually, for its own vocal supporters).

There are myriad excuses, as old as the history of totalitarianism and oppression itself, invoked to justify inaction, complacency, and collaboration. Bukovsky [84] enumerates a few of the more familiar: “What can I do alone?”; “I’ll be more effective after I get the promotion”; “It’s not my job; I’m a scientist.” “If I don’t collaborate, someone else will anyway (and I’ll probably do less harm).” These reasons may seem logical, even compelling; however, they are self-deceptions. Not pushing back against bad ideas allows them to spread. Not fighting back against illiberalism allows it to grow. Not standing up for truth permits the lies to flourish. Not confronting the CSJ ideologists permits them to advance. And when they advance, we lose. It is a zero-sum game.

The choice to fight in the face of potential consequences is personal [89] and not an easy one to make. But as you contemplate whether to act or to lay low, consider the importance of truth and integrity in your life. To paraphrase Bari Weiss: Worship truth more than Yale. As she says:

[D]o not lose sight of what is essential. Professional prestige is not essential. Being popular is not essential. Getting your child into an elite preschool is not essential. Doing the right thing is essential. Telling the truth is essential. Protecting your kids is essential. [90]

Sure, no one wants to become a martyr for free speech or experience bullying, ostracism, and professional damage [81,91–93]. Cancel culture is real, but the risks are not what dissenters to totalitarian regimes faced historically or face today—cancel culture does not put you in jail. One still can write a dissenting op-ed without the fear of being stripped of their citizenship and expelled from the country, as Solzhenitsyn was for his writings [83]. We still can criticize DEI policies without fear of being put under house arrest, as Sakharov was for his vocal opposition to nuclear weapons and his unwavering defense of human rights [87]. But if we delay, some of the totalitarian nightmares of the past may become a reality. There are already worrying signs of this totalitarian-style repression in America: parents opposing CSJ in schools have been accused of terrorism and investigated by the FBI [94]; a journalist who wrote about collusion between the government and social media was paid a surprise home visit by the Internal Revenue Service [95]; a student who questioned the concept of microaggressions [96] at a mandatory training was expelled and forced to “seek to psychological services” [97]. These incidents in America today are chillingly similar to practices in Russia in the Soviet era, when the KGB routinely investigated dissidents, and dissent from Soviet ideology was considered a psychiatric disorder [84,88]. In the absence of resistance, this illiberal movement, like illiberal movements of the past, will gain ever more power, and we will face ever worse repression and erosion of individual freedom.

Inaction does not guarantee survival, but fighting a successful fight does. The only way to defend yourself against repression by an illiberal ideology is to stop the spread of the ideology.

The dangers of inaction are real, but how much risk one should take must be a personal decision [89]. Above all, it rarely does any good to get fired. Getting fired is playing into their hands. It’s one less enemy in the organization to fight against its ideological capture. Should all the dissidents get fired, the ideology wins. Full stop.

But it’s not hopeless. As we elaborate below, there are ways to maximize the impact of your actions and minimize the chances of negative consequences of resistance.

3. How to fight

Although there is no sure-fire roadmap to solve the current crisis, there are some do’s and don’ts. A recently published handbook, Counter Wokecraft (which we highly recommend), written by an anonymous STEM professor, provides concrete recommendations for staging the resistance [98]. It convincingly explains how small but deliberate actions add up to big change and elaborates on the perils of delaying action. In what follows, we offer our view on how to fight, and we share examples of successful acts of resistance that give us reason for hope. Small contributions add up, so do something rather than nothing. As Gad Saad writes in The Parasitic Mind:

The battle of ideas knows no boundaries, so there is plenty to do. If you are a student and hear your professors spouting postmodern nonsense or spewing anti-science drivel, challenge them politely and constructively. If you are a graduate and your alma mater is violating its commitment to freedom of speech and freedom of thought, withdraw your donations—and let the school know why. If your Facebook friends are posting comments with which you disagree, engage them and offer an alternative viewpoint.... If you are sitting at your local pub having a conversation about a sensitive topic, do not refrain from speaking your mind. If your politicians are succumbing to suicidal political correctness, vote them out of office. [99]

1. Educate yourself; knowledge is power.

To effectively counter the ideology of CSJ, it is crucial to understand its nature and the tactics it employs. As two-time Nobel Laureate Marie Sklodowska-Curie said:

Nothing in life is to be feared, it is only to be understood. Now is the time to understand more, so we may fear less.

Although Curie was referring to phenomena of the natural world, the observation applies equally to the world of ideas. By understanding the origins and tenets of CSJ, we can fear less—and fight more effectively.

For me [Anna] and my former compatriots, who were forcibly schooled in Marxist-Leninism and experienced its implementation as Socialism firsthand, it is easy to recognize the current illiberal movement’s philosophical roots [78,79]. We recognize the familiar rhetoric and the Orwellian co-option of the language: the media outlet of the Communist Party, which disseminated its lies, was called Pravda (Правда), which is Russian for “truth”; victims of Red terror were called “enemies of the people” (враги народа); Soviet troops invading other countries were called “liberators” (освободители); and nuclear weapons were developed with the slogan “nucleus for the cause of peace” (атом—делу мира). We are used to looking behind the facade of nice-sounding words and seeing their real meaning to those in power [100]. It is not hard to see that today’s “Diversity,” “Equity,” and “Inclusion” have about as much in common with the noble concepts of diversity, equality, and inclusion as Orwell's Ministry of Love had to do with love or his Ministry of Plenty had to do with plenty. (A more-fitting operational definition of DEI would be Discrimination, Entitlement, and Intimidation.) This linguistic tactic is used because it works. It has fooled many STEM academics and ordinary citizens and has enabled the illiberal ideology to get its foot in the door [3].

As Counter Wokecraft explains, the tactics CSJ employs to gain power in our institutions include the use of liberal-sounding “crossover words” to shroud the illiberal aims of the movement [98]. The concise essay “DEI: a Trojan Horse for Critical Social Justice in Science” by the same author offers insights into the philosophy that undergirds the CSJ movement and clearly elucidates its aims [3]. For a deeper dive into CSJ, we recommend the book by Pluckrose and Lindsay [1].

2. Use all existing means of resistance, but first and foremost, the official ones.

Mechanisms of resistance are available through existing institutions, even if the institutions themselves are failing to protect their mission [101]. These mechanisms can be exploited to change the institution from within.

Bukovsky describes how their dissident group worked within the legal boundaries of the Soviet regime [84]. He contrasts this approach with anarchism and revolutionary destructivism, which, he argues, lead to outcomes that are worse than the original evils. Bukovsky and his dissident comrades structured their activism and resistance within the framework of the Soviet constitution—which many legitimately considered to be a joke. When allowed to speak in court, Bukovsky framed his defense to emphasize the constitutional rights of Soviet citizens, for example, to peacefully demonstrate. Bukovsky attributes their success to this strategy. As an example of an important victory, he describes how he and his fellow political prisoners managed to resist and ultimately eliminate mandatory “corrective labor” for political prisoners. Following legal protocols, they rolled out a concerted effort of filing official complaints. Although isolated complaints never had any effect (they would be registered, duly processed, and dismissed), by flooding the bureaucratic system with a massive number of such complaints (which each had to be properly registered and responded to), they pushed the system beyond its limits. The sheer number of complaints compelled administrative scrutiny of the prison and its officers. And the prisoners won the fight.

Today, we can work within the system of our universities and professional organizations, even if they have already been ideologically corrupted. We can participate in surveys; communicate our concerns to leadership; nominate candidates committed to liberal principles to committees and leadership; vote against CSJ ideologues; speak up against practices that violate the stated mission of the institution [43,102,103]; publish well-reasoned opinion pieces [4,14,15,23,82,83,102]; and insist that our institutions adhere to their stated institutional (and legal) commitments to free speech and non-discrimination, such as being equal opportunity employers. Counter Wokecraft [98] provides concrete suggestions on how to effectively oppose the advances of the CSJ agenda by simply insisting that standard protocols of decision-making be followed—that is, through formal meetings with organized discussions that adhere to a set agenda, vote by secret ballot, and so on. In short, the existing governance structures and institutional policies can still be utilized to defend and even restore the institutional mission, even when the institution’s workings have been undermined by CSJ activists.

The following success stories illustrate the effectiveness of working within the system.

At the University of Massachusetts, a faculty group fought—and won—against a proposed rewriting of the university mission statement, which would have redefined the purpose of the university as engaging in political and ideological activism, rather than pursuing the truth [104].

Faculty at the University of Chicago succeeded in having departmental statements that violated institutional neutrality (by voicing collective support for specific social and political issues in violation of the University’s Kalven Report [105]) rescinded [106].

Also at the University of Chicago, in response to faculty complaints to the institution’s Title IX coordinator and general counsel, at least seven programs that gave preferences to specific races or sexes in violation of Federal regulations were discontinued [106].

The faculty of the University of Washington voted down a proposal to require DEI statements for all tenure and promotion candidates [107]. As reported to us, an email campaign initiated by a single faculty member was decisive in defeating the proposal.

At the University of North Carolina (UNC), the Board of Trustees adopted [108] the Chicago Free Speech Principles [109] and Kalven Report [105]. The former articulates the university’s commitment to free speech and is considered to be a model policy on this issue; the latter ensures institutional neutrality, prohibiting units of the university from taking stands on moral, political, or ideological issues, unless they directly affect the mission of the institution.

Also at UNC, responding to a faculty petition, the Board of Governors moved to ban diversity, equity, and inclusion requirements from its hiring and promotion process. The mandate states that the university “shall neither solicit nor require an employee or applicant for academic admission or employment to affirmatively ascribe to or opine about beliefs, affiliations, ideals, or principles regarding matters of contemporary political debate or social action as a condition to admission, employment, or professional advancement” [110].

In California, mathematicians organized a petition that has, so far, blocked the implementation of radical, CSJ-based revisions to the K–12 math curriculum [18]. At the time of publication, the fight is not over; but they’ve won so far.

A new nonprofit, Do No Harm, has been formed to fight against the encroachment of identity politics in medicine [111]. Among their successes, filings with the US Department of Education’s Office for Civil Rights against two medical schools has resulted in the elimination of race as a requirement for certain scholarships. Scholarships “meant for individuals from disadvantaged backgrounds, [a] worthy goal, can and should be met without racial discrimination,” writes the organization’s founder [112].

Adverse publicity and mockery, too, can cause Universities, which are sensitive to their public image, to roll back woke policies, as the following examples illustrate.

The administration of MIT reversed its own decision and reinstated the use of standardized tests for admission [113], the elimination of which had been mocked by dissidents [114].

The Stanford University “Elimination of Harmful Language Initiative” website, which listed 161 verboten expressions, including “beating a dead horse,” “white paper,” “insane,” and even “American,” was taken down after sustained mockery in the press and on social media. The university’s president ultimately disowned the initiative and reaffirmed the university’s commitment to free speech [29].

At the University of Southern California, the interim provost made a clear statement that “the university does not maintain a list of banned or discouraged words” in response to the mockery [115] of an earlier memorandum the university's School of Social Work announcing the cancellation of the word “field” as racist [26,29].

At Texas Tech, the administration announced that it was dropping mandatory DEI statements from the hiring process [116], after details of how these statements influenced hiring decisions had been publicized [9].

These examples illustrate the maxim that sunlight is the best disinfectant [117]. We can use social media and the press to shine a light on the excesses of CSJ to bring about change.

Pressure from state governments can also force universities to change course away from DEI ideology. Facing threats from the state assembly to cut funding, the University of Wisconsin system has announced it will eliminate mandatory DEI statements for job applicants. As we are writing this chapter, the state assembly is also threatening to eliminate funding for administrative positions at UW dedicated to DEI [118].

Arizona has also dealt a blow to DEI ideology. The state’s Board of Regents has mandated that public universities drop the use of DEI statements in hiring. The move was in response to a finding by the Goldwater Institute that DEI statements, which were required in over three-fourths of job postings, were being used “to circumvent the state’s constitutional prohibition against political litmus tests in public educational institutions” [119].

Organizations such as the Academic Freedom Alliance (AFA) and the Foundation for Individual Rights and Expression (FIRE) have successfully used institutions’ own governing policies and bylaws as well as the law to defend scores of scholars who have been attacked for their extramural speech and threatened with administrative discipline or firing [120,121].

A move is afoot to strengthen universities’ commitment to academic freedom by encouraging them to officially adopt the Chicago Trifecta (the Kalven report, the Chicago Principles, and the Shils report). The “Restoring Academic Freedom” letter [122], which calls on universities to do so, has garnered 1700 signatures so far.

3. Don't play their game: You can’t win.

We are trained to seek compromises and solutions that bring different groups on board; we seek consensus. That is a fine approach under normal circumstances, when all agents are acting in good faith. But we must recognize that we are up against agents who are driven—knowingly or unknowingly—by an ideology whose goal is to take over the institution. Every compromise with them brings them closer to their goal [1,3,74,98,123]. Therefore, we must stand our ground.

A major advance in the spread of illiberalism has been the establishment of DEI bureaucracies in our intuitions to enforce CSJ ideology through policy [3,8,98,124-127]. It is important to understand the power of this system and to distinguish the system from the people. A DEI apparatchik can be a nice, well-meaning individual, who has been fooled by the movement’s deliberately deceptive language [1,98]; a cynical opportunist who seeks power and career advancement; or a True Believer. A DEI administrator may be completely unaware of the philosophical origins of CSJ, whose goals the DEI machine has been installed to implement. But just as a Soviet apparatchik need not have read Das Kapital to have been an agent enforcing conformity to Marxist doctrine, a DEI apparatchik need not have read the works of the critical theorists Gramsci, Derrida, Foucault, Bell, Crenshaw, and Delgado to be implementing CSJ-inspired ideology. But even participants who are naive of the movement’s history, philosophy, or ultimate goals are furthering its aims; they are still cogs in the machine. Do not be fooled by DEI administrators who may naively or deceptively deny that they are advancing CSJ ideology. They are, whether or not they know it or acknowledge it.

The power of the system—the DEI bureaucracy—and its ideological foundation make the motivations of the individual participants irrelevant. The story of Tabia Lee illustrates this point [128]. Lee—a black woman who directed a DEI program at a community college in California—questioned anti-racist and gender orthodoxy, declined to join a “socialist network,” objected to land acknowledgments and Newspeak terms such as “Latinx,” “Filipinx,” and neopronouns, and supported a campus event focused on Jewish inclusion and antisemitism. Lee describes her non-orthodox worldview as follows:

I don’t have ideological or viewpoint fidelity to anyone. I’m looking for what’s going to help people and what will help our students and how we can be better teachers and our best teaching selves. [128]

This attitude was found to be incompatible with the ideology of DEI. When Lee refused to change her worldview to comply with the orthodoxy, she was terminated from her position [128].

The establishment of the DEI bureaucracy in our institutions represented a tectonic shift from CSJ as a grass-roots movement to CSJ as an official power structure within the university equipped with a massive budget to promote its ideology [124,126,129-132].

A 2021 report by the Heritage Foundation [130], which documented the size of this new bureaucracy, identified 3,000 administrators with DEI responsibilities among the 65 universities they surveyed [124,131]. This number is in addition to the already extensive staff of Federally mandated Title VI, Title IX, and disability offices, who also perform DEI-related tasks. The new diversicrats already outnumber the mandated staffers. For example, the average university examined had 4.2 DEI personnel for every one ADA compliance administrator [124]. Given the sheer number of DEI officials and their generous salaries (one-third of chief diversity officers are paid more than $200,000 annually [132]), it is not surprising that DEI budgets are enormous; for example, in 2021, UC–Berkeley dedicated 41 million dollars to DEI [129].

The DEI bureaucracy is given official status within the university and is empowered to interfere in faculty hiring, to disseminate CSJ ideology by means of mandatory trainings, to infuse the ideology into teaching [10,13,16,25,31], and to curtail academic freedom [42,127]. Khalid and Snyder provide insight into the logic and financial incentives behind the DEI machine:

This attitude was found to be incompatible with the ideology of DEI. When Lee refused to change her worldview to comply with the orthodoxy, she was terminated from her position [128].

DEI Inc. is a logic, a lingo, and a set of administrative policies and practices. The logic is as follows: Education is a product, students are consumers, and campus diversity is a customer-service issue that needs to be administered from the top down. (“Chief Diversity Officers,” according to an article in Diversity Officer Magazine, “are best defined as ‘change-management specialists.’”) DEI Inc. purveys a safety-and-security model of learning that is highly attuned to harm and that conflates respect for minority students with unwavering affirmation and validation.

Lived experience, the intent–impact gap, microaggressions, trigger warnings, inclusive excellence. You know the language of DEI Inc. when you hear it. It’s a combination of management-consultant buzzwords, social justice slogans, and “therapy speak.” The standard package of DEI Inc. administrative “initiatives” should be familiar too, from antiracism trainings to bias-response teams and mandatory diversity statements for hiring and promotion. [127]

The DEI bureaucracy is a categorical enemy. Don't deceive yourself that you can work with it to accomplish good for your institution [128]. This bureaucracy is founded on ideas that are in direct opposition to the liberal enlightenment and humanism [1,3,4,42,79,99,125–128,133,134]. Their goals are not your goals; consequently, you cannot ally or compromise with them. We must, instead, focus our efforts on stripping the DEI bureaucracy of its power, ideally, ridding the institution of it completely. This will not be an easy fight, but neither is it an impossible dream. State legislatures are already taking action against DEI. At the time of this writing, 35 states have introduced bills that would restrict or ban DEI offices and staff, mandatory DEI training, diversity statements, and/or identity-based preferences for hiring and admissions [135]. Recognizing that such bills could go too far and compromise academic freedom, the Manhattan Institute has drafted model legislation that would abolish DEI bureaucracies on campuses while preserving academic freedom [136]. To date, at least one state, Texas, has enacted legislation based on the Manhattan Institute’s model [137].

Another reason not to attempt to work with the DEI bureaucracy is that CSJ ideology leaves no space for rational dialog. As explained by McWhorter [71], Pincourt [3,98], Pluckrose [1], Saad [99], and others, CSJ is not a rational or empirical worldview, but an ideology whose adherents have accepted a set of unfalsifiable tenets that may not be questioned. Thus, CSJ ideologues are not open to reasoned arguments that contradict their worldview; it is, thus, futile to argue with them. We need, instead, to reason with those of our colleagues who have not yet drunk of the Kool Aid.

Finally, since the goal of CSJ is to take over the institution, small compromises with them ultimately lead to large losses for us. Give CSJ an inch, and it will take a mile. Consider, for starters, the following example, in which the dean of the Duke Divinity School made the mistake of conceding to student activists, which led to ever-increasing demands and personal attacks on the dean herself [138]. “The chickens have come home to roost at Duke’s divinity school,” writes John Staddon. Dean Heath, the dean of the school, fully allied herself with the CSJ agenda, rolled out a variety of DEI initiatives, issued a self-flagellating editorial admitting the “structural sins” of the school, and forced non-conforming faculty to resign. Yet, despite these concessions, the demands of “marginalized groups” only grew stronger, culminating in uncivil acts, such as the disruption of the dean’s state-of-the-school address by “four dissident female students bearing bull-horns and chanting, ‘I am somebody and I won’t be stopped by nobody,’ followed by a rap, a little theatrical performance [of a rude nature].”

Staddon writes:

There is poetic justice in this incident. Despite the dean’s earnest attempts “to provide a welcoming and safe place for students,” even after she designed “a space for the work of Sacred Worth, the LGBTQIA+ student group in the Divinity School”—even after disciplining, and losing—Professor Griffiths [a non-conforming faculty], in spite all this, she has apparently not done enough! The LGBT folk want more, much more, in the form of 15 demands. “We make up an integral part of this community, and yet our needs remain deliberately unheard.”

The demands include:

“To appoint a black trans woman or gender non-conforming theologian” as well as “a tenure-track trans woman theologian” and a “tenure-track queer theologian of color, preferably a black or indigenous person.”

A dissident MIT website, the Babbling Beaver [139], illustrates the same point by a mock resignation statement by MIT’s former President Reif:

You would think giving them a Women’s and Gender Studies Program, hiring six dozen DEI deans and staffers, most of whom couldn’t pass 18.01 [MIT’s introductory math course] if their lives depended on it, and cancelling invited lecturers to appease shouting Twitter mobs would be enough,” lamented the weary lame duck. “But noooo ... The only thing I accomplished by giving in to the incessant demands was encouraging additional demands, each more strident than the last.” [140]

The statement is satire, but the concessions made by the president and the ever-increasing demands were real.

Stories of how CSJ, once it is let in the door, rapidly infiltrates the organization and eventually takes it over are too many to enumerate. We present but one example, where the process has been meticulously documented. The report, spon.sored by the organization Alumni and Donors Unite, explains how CSJ took over University of San Diego “first gradually then suddenly.”

Gradually, over the course of a decade, CSJ-DEI became sown into the university’s fabric through changes in hiring committees and curriculum. Then suddenly in 2020–2021 the administration, outside all normal channels of decision-making, initiated a hostile takeover of USD and adopted a radical woke agenda into nearly all facets of the university’s life. [141]

The devaluation of merit and intellectual honesty in the guise of social justice that we now witness will inevitably lead to the decline of our institutions, if not to their destruction [4]. A case in point is The Evergreen State University, which, in 2017, experienced a notorious CSJ uprising on campus [142]. Since then, the university has suffered a 25% drop in enrollment and has lost 45 faculty through lay-offs and attrition [143].

Learn how to recognize and take on categorical enemies [98]. Remember—it is a zero sum game.

4. Focus on truth, not partisanship. Do not fear verbal attacks.

When you take on CSJ, there is something you will need to come to terms with: you are going to be called names, and your views and beliefs are going to be distorted and misrepresented. These are standard tactics of the CSJ movement. Since the adherents of CSJ have adopted an ideological, rather than a rational, worldview, they cannot rationally defend it; so they use the only tools they have: personal attacks and strawman arguments. They will call you transphobe, racist, misogynist, alt-right, Nazi, etc., no matter what you say or do. They will use deliberate misrepresentation of your expressions to subvert and discredit them [98]. They will use the “Motte and Bailey” trick [144] to derail conversations. Learn about these tactics so that you can anticipate, recognize, and counter them [98]. As Gad Saad explains:

The name calling and accusations are locked and loaded threats, ready to be deployed against you should you dare to question the relevant progressive tenets. Most people are too afraid to be accused of being racist or misogynist, and so they cover in silence.… Don't fall prey to this silencing strategy. Be assured in your principles and stand ready to defend them with the ferocity of a honey badger. [99]

Because you will be attacked no matter what you believe, what you say, or how carefully you say it, there is no point in affirming in your interactions with CSJ ideologues that you are committed to traditional humanistic, liberal values. They don’t care. In her essay “I'm a Progressive, Please Don't Hurt Me,” Sarah Haider calls this practice of hedging “throat-clearing” and explains why it is not effective [145]. She also points out the hidden bigotry of it, that is, the implicit assumption that those on the other side of the aisle are inherently evil. Haider writes:

Before touching on any perspective that I knew to not be kosher among other Leftists, I tended to precede with some version of throat-clearing: “I’m on the left” or “I’ve voted Democrat my whole life.” I told myself that this was a distinction worth insisting on because 1) it was the truth and 2) because it helped frame the discussion properly—making clear that the argument is coming from someone who values what they value. But there was another reason too. My political identity reminders were a plea to be considered fully and charitably, to not be villainized and presumed to be motivated by “hate.” The precursor belief to this, of course, is that actual conservatives should not be taken charitably, are rightfully villainized, and really are motivated by “hate.” But I’m done sputtering indignantly about being mischaracterized as “conservative,” or going out of my way to remind the audience that I really am a good little liberal.

She goes on to explain that throat-clearing is counterproductive because: (1) it doesn’t work, you won't be spared; (2) it is a tax on energy and attention; (3) it is bad for you; and (4) it is bad for the causes you care about.

So we should stop worrying about our group loyalties and focus on our cause. Truth wears no clothes, so do not try to dress it up in partisan attire. Say what you mean, mean what you say, and move on.

It may be tempting to stay out of the fight in order to preserve friendships. It is true that some people you thought of as friends may turn against you—privately or even publicly. It has happened to us, and it hurts. But it also lets you know who your real friends are—those who stick up for you whether they agree with your views or not. And you will find new friends and allies who share your values. These relationships, forged fighting the good fight, will be enduring and empowering.

5. Do not apologize.

We cannot stress this enough. Your apology will be taken as a sign of weakness and will not absolve you—in fact, it will make matters worse. Apologies to the illiberal mob are like drops of blood in the water to a pack of sharks. Additionally, your apology can be interpreted as an admission of guilt, which can come back to haunt you in the event you need to defend yourself legally or in an administrative proceeding. The Academic Freedom Alliance advises: “If you confess to an offense you didn’t commit, or if you concede to a claim or accusation that is factually inaccurate or not truly an offense, the admission can and will be used against you.” [146] Recognize that the CSJ activists on Twitter do not care about your apology; they care about publicly flaying you in order to sow fear among other potential dissenters [147]. Someone claims to have been offended by your speech? Someone claims it caused them pain? Fine, that's their problem [148]. You know what your views are. And your friends do too. Stay on message.

6. Build a community and a network.

Communities and networks provide moral support and there is safety in numbers. Some groups already exist. The Heterodox Academy (HxA), for example, provides a platform to organize communities (e.g., HxSTEM is a community of STEM faculty) and to connect with colleagues who are open to reasoned debate, as per the HxA statement, which each member is asked to endorse: “I support open inquiry, viewpoint diversity, and constructive disagreement in research and education.” The Foundation Against Intolerance and Racism (FAIR) also provides resources and support to those who push back on anti-humanistic policies, especially in schools, universities, and in the medical profession.

Organizations like FIRE and the Academic Freedom Alliance (AFA) provide educational resources, opportunities to network, and—most importantly—protection, including legal representation. Join and support them. Build groups and act as a group—e.g., write an op-ed piece with a group of co-authors. Ten people are harder to cancel than one. Counter Wokecraft describes how to identify the allies among your colleagues and how to build effective resistance at your workplace [98].

Stand up for others. Next time they will do it for you. When you see a colleague being ostracized for what she said, think first, “Which parts of her message do I agree with?” not “Which parts do I disagree with?” If you agree with the main message, say so, and be charitable about imperfect expression. Way too often do we hear colleagues justifying their silence with excuses like “I agree with her in general, but she should have been more careful about how she said this or that.”

Some communities, including mathematicians and psychologists, in response to CSJ takeovers of their professional societies, have simply started new ones [149,150]. Perhaps we need more of these to send a strong message to the old societies that they need to change course. We see evidence of the effectiveness of this strategy; for example, the American Mathematical Society [151] cancelled its CSJ-dominated blog shortly after the establishment of the new Association for Mathematical Research [149], whose apolitical mission is simply to “support mathematical research and scholarship.”

In 2022, in response to increasing ideological influence and censorship in their profession, behavioral scientists founded the Society for Open Inquiry in the Behavioral Sciences, dedicated to “open inquiry, civil debate, and rigorous standards” in the field [152]. It publishes the Journal of Open Inquiry in the Behavioral Sciences, which commits to “free inquiry,” “rigorous standards,” and “intellectual exchange” [152]. Notably, its terms and conditions state that the journal will base retraction decisions strictly on the basis of the widely accepted COPE guidelines [153]; otherwise, the terms and conditions state, “We will never retract a paper in response to social media mobs, open or private letters calling for retraction, denunciation petitions, or the like....” [154]

There is even a new university—The University of Austin (UATX)—established in response to the current crisis in higher education [155]. The message on the UATX webpage—“We are building a university dedicated to the fearless pursuit of truth”—makes clear what void in the American academy UATX aspires to fill [156]. That the university received over $100 million in donations and over 3500 inquiries by professors from other institutions within six months of the project’s announcement, makes clear the demand [157].

The success of such new initiatives will inspire more educators and scientists to stand up and defend the key principles of science and education. And it will send a strong message to our leadership. Even if we cannot appeal to their sense of duty, the financial considerations (Go Woke, Go Broke [158]) and the effect of negative publicity of the excesses of CSJ (such as DEI loyalty oaths, “decolonizing” the curriculum, renaming everything, and Newspeak [9,23,24,139]) may provide incentives to straighten out their act.

4. Conclusion

Will we succeed? Will we stop the train before it goes over the cliff? We do not know what will happen if we fight. But we know what will happen if we don’t. The task ahead might look impossible. But remember the USSR. It looked like an unbreakable power, yet in the end it collapsed like a house of cards. The Berlin Wall looked indestructible, yet it came down overnight. Recalling his 20 years’ experience in the gay marriage debate, Jonathan Rauch told us: “I can tell you that the wall of received opinion is sturdy and impenetrable...until it isn't. And that it's the quiet people in the room who are the swing vote.... and please illegitimi non carborundum [159].”

We are not helpless. We have agency and we should not be afraid to exercise it. We should fight not just because it is the right thing to do, but because fighting brings results. If we behave as if we were living in a totalitarian society, it will become a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Afterword

A Russian proverb says, “Fear has big eyes” (у страха глаза велики), meaning that people tend to exaggerate danger. Accordingly, it may feel like resisting the mob will inevitably lead to career damage. But this is not the case; the flip side of risk is reward. In recognition of her activism, including her publication of “The Peril of Politicizing Science” [23], which “launched a national conversation among scientists and the general public,” Anna Krylov, co-author of this chapter, was awarded the inaugural Communicator of the Year Award, Sciences and Mathematics, by the USC Dornsife College of Letters, Arts, and Sciences [160]. In “Victory Lap” [161], Lee Jussim, co-editor of the book in which this article will appear, documents how as a result of his public resistance to a mob attack on a colleague falsely accused of racism, his career enjoyed a variety of benefits including additional conferences invitations, massive positive public support for his activism, national attention to his scholarship, and an appointment to a departmental chair (with commensurate increase in salary), which he was offered because he had demonstrated that he could take the heat.

Stop saying "nO oNe iS sAyInG aNy oF tHiS!!" They are. You know they are. Dotted throughout the article are references to sources for quotes and claims. For the list of references, see: References.

Liberalism really is under attack. It's always been under attack from the religous right, but its influence has diminished over time, with society becoming increasingly secular and irreligious, or at least indifferent to religious influence. And principles like the US's First Amendment keep it, at least in theory, from breaching the threshold.

But where the religious attack is on the downswing, the attack from the illiberal left is on the upswing, and both more rapid and more successful, having infiltrated everything from government to science and even knitting clubs. And it hides behind nice-sounding words like "equity" and "diversity," people don't recognize it for what it is, and welcome it inside in a way they don't welcome religious intrusion.

This isn't about left vs right. It's about do we want a liberal society, or do we want a rampantly illiberal, or indeed anti-liberal society?

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shankhachil · 1 year

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How did u do 10th grade not even 1 week in and im so tired fuck this shit !!!

Oh nooo 😭😭😭😭 personally I coped with the first half of 10th by immersing myself in all my extracurricular competitions like MUN, quiz and debate and all. After that it's a 12 inch stick up your ass though, regardless of what you did till September

10th is absolutely tiring I agree 100% with you like especially the chemistry, maths, English language and literature in the beginning is SO DRY and for what. I assume you've started An Angel in Disguise, the GST chapter, periodic table and such but if you haven't then it's probably something else similar because they always start with all the dry stuff here for some reason. And when it gets interesting then it also gets heavy so !!!!! never a positive moment in class 10 !!!!

My request to you is Please Do Not Slack in the first half and them cram like anything before exams while wanting to jump off a roof, most of my friends did that and they did not enjoy, instead just keep revising and stuff. It's boring work definitely but in the end it'll ward away the suicidal thoughts before preboards and boards and you'll feel lighter then

But whatever anyone else says, don't fucking study 6 7 8 hours a day just to keep people happy. 2 to 3 is enough. Enjoy life it was made for your pleasure not for your pain. Go out with your friends and read books and watch movies and Netflix and eat good food and stuff, 10th does not equal nose-to-the-grindstone until December/January and even then you should keep time for yourself (look at me blogging in the middle of my boards)

#anyway the basic thing is #yes boards are important but they're literally just annual exams #treat 10th like you'd treat any other year just a bit more serious because these marks will actually Count #and don't lose yourself lol #asks :D

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thaliaisalesbian · 6 months

Text

i get myself twisted in threads

Chapter 17: i sit there silently

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 18

“I hear you have assignments for me?” Steve’s leaning against the Byers’ porch railing. He’s trying to look smooth, but he’s pretty sure it’s not working. Not when Jonathan knows he’s leaning because he’s not supposed to put all of his weight on his ankles too often yet.

At least he’s got good crutches that don’t cause chafing, and Will’s even offered to decorate them when he gets a chance.

Luckily for him, that doesn’t seem to stop Jonathan from kissing him once the door is shut behind them.

“Yeah, they’re in a folder in my room.”

“Really? You’ve just been keeping them here the whole time?”

“Yeah. There are a lot, man. You don’t have to go back, you could just graduate with us instead.” It’s nice that Jonathan thinks he could graduate this year if he went back. He doesn’t even think he could graduate this year.

Jonathan’s probably only saying it to soften the blow a little.

“I think I need something that’s at least a little normal, right now.” That’s what he’s been telling everyone, and for the most part they’re accepting it as an answer.

El always looks suspicious when he says it, but that might be because she doesn’t want him to move out of the cabin.

He’s currently choosing to believe that she can’t actually read his mind, despite some of the things she says and does that make it seem like she can.

“Well, I’ve got homework tonight, we could work on it together.” Jonathan gets the folder—it must have been hidden, because Steve hasn’t seen it before—and then gets himself set up.

Steve stares at the first page; it’s an English assignment from early December, copied down in Nancy’s handwriting.

“Okay, so an essay.” He puts that aside for now. If it’s a book report, he can’t do it right now anyway. He doesn’t have the book with him.

The next one is a math assignment, which he can do—at least some of it. He starts on the standalone questions, not bothering to look at the word problems. He always struggles the most with word problems. They suck, and he kind of wants to rip them off the page and burn them..

By the time Will and Joyce get home, he’s gotten through three assignments total, two for math and one for his ‘arts’ class—since he can’t take gym, he’ll need another class to make up for it. So they’ve just given him a bunch of random art assignments, apparently.

He wonders if there are written assignments for the drama classes. Probably not. And if they were, they’d be about those hard-to-read plays, so he wouldn’t be able to do them anyway.

“Are you at a good break point?” Joyce puts a hand on his shoulder, and he jumps a little. “Looks like you’ve gotten a lot done, after being out of school for so long.”

“Some of the math is pretty easy.” He shrugs. “English, history, and science are gonna be harder.” He likes history, though. It’s just so hard to read the tiny print in the textbook. He did a lot better last year, when his teacher acted out some things and read others to them dramatically. His notes hadn’t been the neatest, but he’d gotten his first A- in a class since middle school.

He’d been so excited when he’d seen that on his report card. Of course, that one A- hadn’t been enough to get him out of trouble.

His teacher this year—Mrs. Click—doesn’t do that; she mostly just assigns reading and then has a quiz on it.

He’s not doing great.

“So you’ve decided to go back, then?”

“Yeah, I think so. I want something a little normal, you know? And maybe people will stop trying to spy on us and stuff.”

He knows that Nancy and Jonathan have tried to hide it from him, but there are people watching them. They’re curious, and he knows it’s only a matter of time before someone says something to them directly—or worse, goes to Will or Mike, or any of the other kids. They might ask Joyce, too, but he doesn’t think anyone wants to try asking Hopper.

“Well, you know you’re welcome to study here anytime. Do you know what you have to get done before you go back?”

He looks over at Jonathan. He hadn’t thought about that.

“Most of it.” He says, apologetically. “Nance and I will help, don’t worry.”

“I can help too!” Will takes the seat next to him, looking way too excited about homework. “I can read stuff to you if you need it.”

How had he known?

“That will help, Will, thanks. But you’ve got your own stuff to do.”

“Will, what do you mean?” Joyce asks.

“He did all the math problems but the word ones.” Will shrugs. “So he can do the math, but maybe the word problems are hard to read or something. And he likes it when El reads to him.”

“El’s a good reader.” It’s a weak defense, and he knows it. He probably should have at least offered to read to her.

“We can talk about that more later. What do you guys want for dinner? Steve, I’ll call Jim and let him know you’re staying the night.”

He wants to ask why, but the last time he did that, Will gave him a weird look, and Joyce just looked sad.

“Can we have pizza? Since Steve’s here?” Will bounces, and Steve grins at him. He kind of wants to bounce, too, but he’s too old for that.

“Don’t expect that to work for long,” Joyce warns. “Steve’s Jonathan’s boyfriend, I think he’s going to be over a lot.”

“But it works for now, and that’s what matters.”

“Oh, so you’re just using me to get pizza? Wow, little Byers, I expected better of you.”

“That’s not what I’m doing!”

“Seems like it is, Will.” Jonathan adds. “Maybe Steve and I should stay in my room, if you’re just going to try and use him like this.”

“Or maybe you just want to make out with him.”

“That’s a benefit, yeah.” Jonathan admits, kissing Steve with… a little flair than he normally would in front of the kids.

“Ew. Mom, tell them to stop making out in front of me!”

“Are there any clothes off?”

“No.”

“Then no, they’re fine.” Steve pulls away a little. He could really get used to this. He and Nancy could never make fun of Mike this way, her mom would have had a fit. But Joyce doesn’t care, and Will doesn’t mean it in the same way Mike had. He’s not rude or mean, he’s only teasing them. Sure, he’s probably a little grossed out, but only because Jonathan’s his big brother. Not because he hates Steve.

“Should we go to my room until the pizza gets here?” Jonathan murmurs. “I’m sure Mom wouldn’t mind.”

“No, stay out here, it’ll be ten minutes.” Joyce knows everything. “Will, grab the paper plates, will you? Jonathan, Steve, clear the table. If you put things back in Jonathan’s room, the door stays open.”

“How much did you get done?”

“Most of two math assignments, and one of the random arts ones.” He’s still got months’ worth of work to make up. He’s starting to see what Hopper went when he said he might want to wait.

It would give him more time to catch up, not that it would matter when he’d just be starting the year over.

“Want me to hand them in for you?”

“Not yet. I don’t think Hopper’s told them either way. Maybe when I look at some more of these, I’ll change my mind.” He won’t. He knows he won’t. He probably should, since even with Nancy and Jonathan’s help he’s not going to make it through even half of this work, but he won’t.

He’s too scared of what will happen if he doesn’t even try.

finish on ao3 or continue reading

The three of them fall into an easy routine, over the next few weeks. Nancy would like to call it a nice routine, but the arguments with her mother that have become part of the routine is not at all nice.

It’s after one of these fights that she’s meant to hang out with Jonathan and Steve at the Byers’. Maybe do homework, but she’s doubting they’ll actually get much done.

“Next weekend.” Steve’s gotten dangerous on his crutches, lately. He and Jonathan are on the porch steps, and she keeps thinking that he’s going to fall. “Next weekend, and I get to go back to my house.”

Nancy’s not so sure that’s a good thing; Steve’s happier than she’s ever known him to be now. But he wants to go back. None of them, not even El’s puppy dog eyes (which, of course, Steve had taught her to use) can sway him.

“What about school?” She’s not a part of getting Steve up to speed on schoolwork, mostly because her mother will try and lock her in her bedroom if she spends any more time with her boys, no matter who else is around.

“I’m going back on Monday, Jon’s been turning in some of my stuff for me as I get it done. I think it’s enough to get me through a couple of classes.”

Some of his work is good, she’s sure, but Nancy’s seen some of his essays. She’s worried about what will happen when he finds out that he can’t graduate this year.

She honestly doesn’t know if he expects to graduate this year. She hasn’t asked.

“Nance,” Steve leans towards her, so much that she’s worried he’s going to overbalance and fall, “How would you feel about spending the weekend with me and Jonathan?”

“We’re going to help him move back and get readjusted.” Jonathan corrects, smiling a little. “I’ve been promised movies and pizza.”

“And kissing.” Steve adds.

“Oh, yes, that’s the deciding factor.” Jonathan wraps an arm around Steve’s shoulders. “Your mom will have a field day with that, though, right?”

“Yeah, she’ll be pissed. She’s already mad at me.”

Nancy hasn’t told either of them what exactly her mom had said the first time she’d rebuked her for spending her time with Jonathan and Steve.

“Still?” Steve asks.

“You know, she’s never needed someone to babysit Holly so often until I started spending more time with you both. She doesn’t like that I’m alone with you, is what I think it is. She never seemed to mind before. At least not this much.”

Nancy can’t figure out what’s set her off this time. She hasn’t heard anything at school, and most of what goes through her mom’s church gets around the high schoolers just as quickly. So she doesn’t think it’s a rumor.

“Want to talk about it?” Steve finally lets Jonathan guide him to sit on the steps, but that’s probably just because he’s distracted with her. He’s got his little worried face on; it’s one he usually tries his best to hide.

“I… don’t know. I don’t know what’s going on.”

“Want to talk about how you feel about it?”

She’s still figuring that out, too. On one hand, it’s really annoying and overprotective of her mom to be acting like this. On the other hand, she doesn’t think she’s had so much of her mom’s undivided attention since before Holly was born.

“You don’t have to!” Steve starts to backtrack after she’s quiet for a minute. Jonathan’s gone inside, probably to grab drinks or something.

“No, I’m just… I don’t know, it’s one of those things where the attention is nice, it’s more undivided attention from her than I’ve had since she was pregnant with Holly,” That’s also around the time her dad checked out. She’s still not sure if it’s because he hadn’t wanted another kid, or if there’s something else at play. “But I don’t like how she’s giving me attention, if that makes sense. She’s being more overbearing and overprotective than anything, and I don’t know what to do about it.”

It feels strange, to admit that out loud. She’s so used to knowing what to do for everything, or at least being able to figure it out. She’s done that with monsters from alternate dimensions! Her mom should be easier to handle than those!

That’s not how things are shaping up, though, and Nancy doesn’t like the pit that forms in her stomach when she thinks about it.

“Yeah, she’s being weird about it.” Steve agrees. “It’s not like you weren’t spending time with me alone, or time with Jonathan alone, before. Why is this so different?”

“I don’t know. She won’t actually tell me, she just keeps saying that I’m in trouble.” Jonathan hands them both a water.

“You could just stay here.” He offers. “Mom won’t mind.”

“Yeah, and that’s going to go over so well.”

“You could tell her that you’re going to move in with Steve, and then pretend to compromise with moving in here.” Jonathan suggests, looking a little too amused by it.

“Oh, she’d hate that.”

Thankfully, Jonathan and Steve steer the conversation away from her mom after that.

She’d never actually move in with the Byers’, Joyce has enough on her plate already without having to worry about her, too. But it’s nice to know that it’s an option, if she needs it.

They sit out there until it starts to rain, just talking, and if anyone is watching to report back to her mom at church, they’re not going to find anything untoward happening.

“Are we actually going to do homework now?”

“No, I’ve got a surprise for you.” Steve says. “I think you’ll like it.”

“Should I be worried?” She looks at Jonathan, but he shakes his head.

“No, it’ll be great.”

Inside, Steve’s ditched his crutches to set up the table; it almost looks like he's made them a fancy meal.

“I didn’t know about it until yesterday.” Jonathan tells her, pulling out her chair for her. “He started then and just stayed the night.”

Nancy pushes down the jealousy that flares up. She’s glad that Steve and Jonathan are getting closer, but she can’t help but be upset that she’s not getting the same opportunities to spend time with them.

“He did say I could make dinner, though.”

The table’s only set for three—for the first time since she’s arrived, Nancy wonders where Joyce and Will are.

“Mom took Will to the arcade and then they’re having dinner with El and Hopper at the cabin.” Jonathan answers before she can ask. “Mom was very insistent on clearing out. You’d almost think she’d been waiting for it.”

“She was!” Steve sets down a large pot—one that’s probably too big to use for canned soup, at least. “Jonathan made us soup.”

“And I have to wait and see what you made us?”

“Yes, you do.”

It’s dessert, then, but what type of dessert? How had he managed to make it so that Joanthan hadn’t known about it until yesterday?

Between the three of them, they manage to eat most of the pot. Since they cooked, she clears the table, washing out their bowls while Steve gets his surprise ready for them.

“Wait, is that…”

It’s not exactly like the picture, but it looks like one of the cakes Mrs. Henderson had shown them when they’d asked her for recipes.

“I wanted you and Jonathan to have the first thing I made from it. I still don’t think I can thank you enough for that. I don’t even know how you figured it out.”

That’s easy. They’d gone to his house to get him clothes and a few other things, and they’d snooped.

Well, she’d snooped. Jonathan had stayed in the living room like a good, boring guy who was pretending he didn’t want to know more about his crush. She’d been the one checking the corners of his room, under his bed, the top shelves of his closet (she’d had to go in there anyway to get clothes), and even opening every kitchen cupboard to see if there was a secret passion she could uncover.

It meant they’d been able to give Steve a thoughtful, personalized gift though, so Jonathan had only complained about it a little.

“He spent all day making it.” Jonathan leans over, not quite whispering. “He wanted to wait and bring it over today.”

“Then I reconsidered, because if I made it at the cabin then it might not survive the trip here.” Steve plates them all big pieces—over half the cake, total. “But Jonathan wasn’t too nosy about it. Will kept trying to steal the batter.”

“Will is a well-behaved child who would never do such a thing.” Jonathan can’t keep a straight face.

“Will is a menace like the rest of his friends, but he’s better at hiding it.” Steve counters. “Even Max is a menace, she just likes to pretend otherwise.”

“Okay, so they’re all menaces.” Nancy jumps in. “But I think we can agree that Mike is the worst.”

“Yes.” Steve points at her with his fork. “He is. He still hates me, you know?”

“Oh, he’s faking it now. At least most of it.”

“You two don’t have to live with Will, you don’t know anything about menaces.” Jonathan takes a bite of his cake, and the expression that he can’t keep off of his face afterward ruins the rest of the bit. “He steals all of my stuff, he’s always hiding things from me.”

“No, he’s not.” Steve rolls his eyes. “Sounds like you’re stealing that line from Lucus.”

“And so what if I am?”

“Then it’s a lie. I’m going to have to tell El about this, Jon. If she doesn’t know already.”

“Yeah, Jonathan. Friends don’t lie.” Nancy leans into Steve’s side.

“We’re not friends, though, we’re dating.”

“That just makes it even worse! I might have to take a page out of Munson’s book and get on the table to explain to you.” Steve only wraps an arm around her, though, so he’s not going anywhere.

“He hasn’t done that lately!”

“Well, it’s usually pretty funny, he should!”

“Aren’t you the target of most of his speeches?”

“Nah, not really. He hasn’t taken a dig at Hargrove yet?”

“No. After what happened to you, I don’t think anyone wants to.” With that, Jonathan effectively ends that line of discussion.

Somehow, though, it’s not awkward or weird when they finish eating their cake in silence—Nancy wants to say ‘fuck it’ and eat the entire thing tonight, but it’s so rich that they’d probably all be sick from it.

After everything is cleaned up, they manage to squish together on Jonathan’s bed, but they’re all full and tired. Neither of them even react when she takes her shirt off. She’s pretty sure if she took her pants off it’d be a different story, but she’s not in the mood for that.

“Naptime?” She could probably make Steve move so she can be in the middle, but that would take effort.

“Why does it feel like we always end up napping when we’re together?” Jonathan grumbles.

“Cause we do. We like sleeping, I guess.”

“Sleeping and cuddling.” Nancy corrects. “We always wake up in the weirdest positions.”

“That’s Steve’s fault, he moves so much. And he’s an octopus.”

“If I were actually an octopus, neither of you would leave this bed ever again.”

“That sounds pretty good, actually.” She’s the only one with her eyes open; the boys are both half-asleep already. “Wait, Jon, is your mom going to wake us up when she gets home?”

“Probably, cause you can’t stay the night, can you?” They can’t see it, but she shakes her head.

“No, she’s staying.” Steve turns a little so he can squeeze her. “See if you can get me to let go.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works, Steve.”

“It’s definitely how it works.”

“Stop bickering and go to sleep.” Nancy closes her eyes.

It’d be nice if that’s how it worked; she knows that Steve really wouldn’t let her go, and she really wouldn’t mind.

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