#…well until the end of my billing period in two days

[thisonecassie]

Kissing all my mutuals on the mouth. And if you don’t want a mouth smooch you are getting a polite handwritten newsletter on the goings on in my life :)

[nerdykeppie]

Holiday Shopping that fights period poverty for college students? Yep! Read on. :)

After the success of our June/Pride 2024 sales goal, where we managed to eliminate a lot of the debt we accumulated while I was unable to work earlier this year & stock up cash so we didn't have to borrow for payroll during the fall lull and also donate to @queerliblib, we were considering where to focus on this year when a conversation I had with my mom pointed me in the direction of our charity for Holidays 2024: the East Stroudsburg University Warrior Food Pantry, and specifically, stocking menstrual products at the pantry.

Without getting too much into the weeds about the details - which I'll talk about under the cut for those of you who are interested - here's the pitch: we need to hit a gross sales goal of $45K in December in order to pay our bills and payroll basically until Pride starts up. Businesses like ours are very much feast or famine, and we've got to eat and we've got people whose paychecks depend on us having the cash to pay them.

If we hit that goal, we'll donate the equivalent of 1% of our net profit from the month of December in period products -- tampons and pads, specifically, by request of the food pantry, and possibly reusable pads and menstrual cups, if the pantry wants that from us. (At the end of the day, this is about taking care of people the way they need, and we'll listen to the pantry staff about what people are requesting.)

We've currently got our Bottoms & Tops sale going, too, so you can buy 2 tops or bottoms from the linked collection & get 69% off the 3rd item from that collection.

Okay, so for the long version whys and wherefores:

My mom taught math at ESU for 35 years, and she and Dad now volunteer running the food pantry along with a couple of other people. ESU is a state school, and as such is one of the few remaining vaguely affordable schools in Pennsylvania. A lot of its students are self-supporting for one reason or another -- many are "non-traditional"/adult students, have kids, or don't have families that can support them while they go to school. Mom & Dad have pushed to expand what the food pantry offers to personal care items, which has been difficult due to a bunch of boring stuff about money and state entities and also people thinking 'that's not food,' but Mom is stubborn about it, because -- to paraphrase her -- how can you focus on class when you feel gross? This struggle has been especially difficult for menstrual products, and way more so for tampons, because it's a rather conservative area and... yeah. People get weird about it.

I've been really broke, with a young kid, and reliant on food pantries, which rarely, if ever, have any menstrual products, let alone tampons. Period poverty is very real, and it sucks.

Plus, I gotta tell you, if we can send a bunch of boxes of tampons and pads to the food pantry, well... Rumor has it this will help my mom win an argument over whether those items should be carried at all, because what are they gonna do, throw them out? They're here! They've been donated! Wasting them would be terrible. :)

So that's the pitch, guys. Help me make a direct, measurable difference in the lives of people at the school where I went to winter swim team, the school that fed me growing up... and help my mom win an argument about making people's lives better... and get your holiday shopping done while you do. ;) We start counting sales from the minute I hit post. :P

[allison3k0]

MR S UPDATE - Friday (BIG DAY OML) (Last day of school before the winter break)

I F*CKING HUGGED HIM TODAY.

Alright, so, today was chill cuz it was the last day of school before the winter break, and since I was done my animation project tomorrow, during animation (3rd period) I asked my anim teacher if I could go see Mr S cuz I had something to give him, and he let me go so I started going. My anim period is also Mr S' prep so it works out well to give him stuff without him being in a rush to leave or anything.

So I peaked my head into his room cuz he left the door open, and it was dark so I was wondered if he was there, and he was in fact there, so I saw him and said "Hey!" and he said "Hey!" and then I walked in with the mug with the candy canes and said "So, I have something for you" and set the mug down on the desk in front of him and he said "Thank you!" and then I set down the two packets of hot choco I brought him too, and he said "Thank you" again. He picked up the mug and looked at it and said "Oh my gosh, did you draw this?" and I said "Yeah, I drew it myself" and he said "Oh my gosh this is adorable" and I said "Thank you!" and then I said "I also have this" and put a crochet little duck made with grey yarn for the body and green yarn for the accents like the bill and feet and a little tuft of hair on top of its head (it reminded me of him for some reason), and he said "Oh my gosh, (as if he was surprised by the number of things) I didn't know you crochet, I'll have to make sure my dog doesn't get this" and I said "Yeah be careful your dog doesn't get it. Yeah, I don't crochet often, but I learned from my mom" and he said "Wow, thank you so much!" and I said "No problem" and then I was thinking about asking him for a hug but I kept hesitating and then I chickened out, and then he was saying stuff to end the convo like "Well, I hope you have a good break, a good holiday, and I'll see you in the new year." and I interrupted him saying "Wait, I'm coming in after school" and he said "Oh, you're coming in after school?" and I said "Yeah" and then he said "Oh okay" and then I said "I'll see you later then!" and he said "See you later!" and then I left to go back to class.

So then fourth period I was just daydreaming about how to get a hug from him, and what would happen after school, going through every possible scenario and how to word it when I ask for a hug cuz I'd much rather ask than assume he's okay with it and embarrass myself. That period dragged on foreverrrr and then I was finally able to go to my locker and then go see Mr S.

I went to his classroom after school as usual but he was talking with his EA so I was waiting til they were done to say hi, and I did, and they both said hi back. And Mr S said "Hi, how was the rest of your day?" and I said "Great, actually" and he said "Great actually?" and I said "Yeah, psych was really chill, we had a lesson but it was a chill lesson and we had a big class discussion in between too" and he seemed genuinely interested. And then his EA left and we said happy holidays and whatnot. Me and Mr S talked about his plans for the break, and he said "WE'RE going to (town name) to (continues)" like I'm sorry, who tf is WE? He was talking about his fam before that, so maybe he was referring to his fam? But maybe he was referring to a partner? Then he asked me about my plans and I mentioned how I'm going to see a movie tomorrow (still not sure if that's actually happening) but he asked who I'm going to see it with, so I told him "My friend E (Insert first name here, we'll call her Bestie E or E), the one that took me to her cousin's wedding" and he was like "Oh" but like... Why does it matter to him who I go with? Is he trying to figure out if I'm single? Cuz I am 😏.

But anyways, we continued talking a while until he started packing up and I started packing up so I wouldn't miss my chance to hug him while I had it, but holy sh he gets ready fast and he was at the door ready to lock it while it was open, and he was saying "Well, have a great break, don't work too much on school stuff" and I missed the rest cuz I was panicking inside cuz he was about to leave and I wasn't about to let that opportunity go, so I put down my backpack and purse and said "Wait, can I hug you?" in the most frail, barely audible, tiny, lowercase voice ever 😭 and he said "Sure, of course!" AND GAVE ME THE CUTEST MOST GENUINE SMILE I'VE EVER SEEN HIM HAVE. IT WAS LIKE A FACE OF ADMIRATION OR ADORATION. And omg the hug was so short it's so sad but when I first hugged him, I PUT MY ARMS AROUND HIM UNDER HIS ARMS AND HE PUT HIS ARMS AROUND MY SHOULDERS KIND OF- I JUST REALIZED I HUGGED HIS BODY LIKE I TOUCHED HIS BODY OMFG SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP FOAMING AT THE MOUTH- Anyways, he was so nice and warm, AND FOR A SECOND I LAID MY HEAD ON HIS SHOULDER WHILE WE HUGGED, and then I felt the hug was gonna get awkward if it went any longer, but he didn't exactly pull away, I just kinda felt like it was time to let go so I did and the hug was over 😭 it was so short.

When it was over I said "I haven't had a hug in a while" and he said "Oh really?" and I said "Yeah, thank you" and he said "No problem!" with the cutest ahh smile I've ever seen on him before. And we were getting ready to part ways so I said "Alright, thank you so much" and he said "Of course!" and then I said "Bye! See you after the break!" and he said "Bye! Have a great break!" and then I left.

After I left, my hands were shaking so much and so were my knees and I could barely walk so I had to stand outside for a minute before leaving to go home.

[xoxomoonlightxoxo]

Don't Get Attached | Drabble Series

"We're still on break, got it?"

“Y/n?” a female voice is muffled by the sound of the music outside. Fixing my curls, I tighten the strap of my two-piece before turning to Yoona, the host of the nightclub I’m currently working at. Very odd pairing, I know, I’m still not sure how I got the job, but it’s quick money, right? It’s only been a few weeks since I started, but I still cringe over the idea of satisfying the male gaze, so, I try to numb that part of my consciousness at work. As far as I’m concerned, this is temporary, just until I can pay off my mom’s hospital bills. She was diagnosed with Diabetes a month ago and had to be hospitalized for treatment, which unfortunately, as with everything in this capitalistic world was not free. 

Cut scene to the present time, I’ve learned to somewhat navigate this nightlife business, learning a few tips and tricks from the other girls, who are way older than me but are also struggling financially. I guess we are all just trauma-bonded in the end. To be quite frank, money wasn’t the only thing that fueled this decision of mine. Today also marks a month since Jungkook and I decided to take a break from our relationship. Nothing really happened aside from the fact that I was stood up and caught him with another girl, the usual plot, right? Anyway, I think this job came to me as a source of distraction, dissociating myself from reality until the thoughts in my head outscream the DJ at the front. Why didn’t we just break up, altogether? Fair question. Well, based on Jungkook’s words, he was meant to “change” over this period of separation and supposedly “can’t bear to lose me”, or something like that.  We’ll see, he’ll either be my everything or yet another lesson. 

“Someone is here for you. They’ve booked out a VIP room?” Yoona sounds and looks unsure, resting her head on the door frame before letting out a deep sigh. 

“Who? Is it Mark? I told the security not to let him in anymore,” I say almost irritated by the mere thought of that man. Ugh, he was the epitome of a manchild, always whining and demanding everything to go his way. I’m sorry, but my dignity will not be negotiated over money. I would rather die poor than have someone walk all over me because they can. 

“I’m not sure, I’m sorry. It’s so busy out there, you know with Valentine's Day and all,” she sighs, rubbing her temples. Oh, right. It’s also my first Valentine's without Jungkook in about two years. Just more fuel to the fire, I guess. 

“That’s okay Yoona, thanks for letting me know,” I reassure her with a soft smile, taking a deep breath before heading out. She wasn’t lying, the club is full to the brim. Every corner is occupied by a man with a stack of dollar bills in his hands, surrounded by bottles of champagne and naked bodies. 

Knock Knock Knock 

“Hello … what? What are you doing here, Jeon?” I almost yelp, jumping from the sight of his rested form on the velvet couch. Those naked bodies that I mentioned before, well, turns out I wasn’t an exception, covered in nothing but a lacey two-piece bedazzled with fake rhinestones. So, you could imagine the panic in my eyes, as I tried to pathetically hide behind a nearby curtain. Technically, it’s nothing he hasn’t seen already, but now it’s different. 

“I don’t know, what do people usually come here to do?” Jungkook grins, stretching his body before resting his head on his tattooed hand. 

“How did you find me?” I snap, still behind the curtain, too ashamed to come out. 

“Does it really matter if I’m already here?” there is a distinct hint of lure in his tone as his eyes focus on my furrowed expression. 

“Stop playing. I told you we needed a break,” I snap again, only this time with my body fully exposed to his visual field. Crossing my arms over my chest, I walk towards him, determined to prove that I in fact am not flustered by his presence. 

“I am on a break … and it’s pretty relaxing so far if I say so myself,” Jungkook grins, eyeing me up and down before leaning his arms on his knees, moving in closer. 

“Well, I’m not dancing for you if that’s what you want,” I scoff, rolling my eyes at his teasing sense of humour. 

“That’s okay, I don’t want you to dance,” he reassures with a soft smile, except nothing about him or this situation is soft. Suffocating at best. 

“Then what exactly do you want?” 

“Sit on my lap, y/n, and we’ll see what happens next,” he says hushedly, hooded gaze looking up at my scattering eyes as his hands trace up my thighs. 

“Fuck off Jungkook,” I try to walk away until his grasp on my arm tightens, pulling me back onto his lap. Now, inches away from each other, there is virtually no air to breathe. 

“Careful love, you know I only ask nicely once,” he whispers into my ear, softly nibbling on the skin before looking back at my flushed face.  

“Let me go, Koo,” I insist with my gaze still lowered as I try to push myself out of his grip. 

“Mhmm … Koo. I missed your voice. Say it again, y/n,” Jungkook pleads softly, leaning his head closer to meet my eyes. “Please?” he adds, caressing my red cheek with the back of his hand. Feeling my chest heave up, it’s hard to breathe. Unable to break out of his possession, there isn’t much I can do but give in to his desires. 

“Koo?” I say softly, innocent eyes looking up at his darkened orbs as his fingertips traced my lips.  

“Good girl, aren’t you?” he grins with a sly wink, before nuzzling his face into my neck, hugging my form tighter than before. Feeling his hot breath on my skin, I can’t help but succumb to the adrenaline and panic running through my veins. 

“I have to go,” I stutter abruptly, moving his face up to mine. Searching his eyes, there is an evident sense of emptiness behind them. Sadness even. 

“Please stay, y/n. You must be tired, let me take care of you,” he pleads into my palms, placing a soft kiss on the tip of my index finger which was covered by a bandaid. And, although I knew I would regret it later, I stayed. 

“Okay,” I whisper, straddling his thighs as my legs go numb at this point. Nibbling on my lips, I watched as he pulled out a black ribbon out of his jean jacket. 

“May I?” he asks innocently. 

“Oh, do I have a choice?” I chuckle at the way that innocent smile of his quickly turned into a sly grin. Tucking a few curls behind my ear, Jungkook leans closer before tying the ribbon over my eyes, gentle with his touch. Giving up yet another sense to his possession, I feel the panic rush in again. 

“Wait!” I snap abruptly, gripping his arms. “Whatever you do … this doesn’t mean anything. We’re still on a break, got it?” I try to convince both of us, before finally giving in. 

“Of course, whatever you say y/n,” Jungkook whispers into a needy kiss, nibbling on my bottom lip as his hands unclasp the bedazzled bra. Feeling his kisses go down to my neck, purple hues of desire begin to mark my skin. One thing is for sure, our lust for each other has been desperately fueling the whole of that break. And, as I hesitate to touch him, Jungkook senses my tension before placing my hands on his exposed chest, gliding them up and down his defined abs. 

“It’s still all yours, baby,” he whispers into my ear, laying me down on the velvet couch. Alarmed by the cracking sound in the background, my chest heaves up in suspense before a cold sensation hits my consciousness. Gliding an ice cube down my stomach, Jungkook’s hooded eyes watch in satisfaction as my back arches from the feeling. Licking the trail of melting water, he sucks on the soft skin, leaving a few love bites behind that turn me into a whimpering mess. 

“Koo,” I whine, reaching out to feel his arms. That is until a yelp escapes my parted lips as he glides the melting ice cube under my panties, which are already wet. With my chest heaving up, there was no time to even protest as his grip on my thighs tightened, moving me closer to him. 

“I’ll warm you up, baby,” Jungkook reassures with a raspy tone, helping me take off the lacey fabric before putting it in his pocket. Leaving a trail of kisses up my thighs, he stopped by my throbbing core which was now hot and cold at the same time. 

“Hi, gorgeous,” he grins.

Don't Get Attached Masterlist

[halfagonyandhope]

ignite the stars │ch. 15

first chapter (x); previous chapter (x)

Satine Kryze is an internationally-recognized scholar in genocide studies who recently resigned from the Department of State over her concerns regarding the agency's ethics. Ben Kenobi is a tenured professor at Georgetown University studying the use of religion to justify military conflicts. Once high school sweethearts, the two haven't spoken since parting ways for university. That is, until Satine accepts a research fellowship - at Georgetown.

---

Come Monday morning, Satine is greeted with a knock on her office door. It’s Anakin, holding a garment bag. “Delivery from Padma’s closet,” he announces.

Satine stands, honestly a bit surprised. “She remembered,” she says. “I just…I know she’s working on several bills at the moment. And she’s pregnant! She’s got a lot on her mind.”

“Clothes are one of Padma’s love languages,” says Anakin, handing Satine the bag. “Gifting them, loaning them out, repairing them, upcycling them. If I had it my way, I’d wear the same jeans every day to work, but she’d be scandalized.” He watches as Satine hangs the bag on the coat stand by the door. “She sent a few options,” he adds.

Curious, Satine unzips the bag, realizing that a few is a massive understatement: she’s sent an even dozen. Some are for warmer weather, and Satine suspects she won’t end up wearing any of those - though spring in the District can be beautiful, it likely won’t be mild enough for the thin fabric. One she suspects will be too heavy unless there’s a surprise blizzard, which of course is a possibility. The others will probably be more likely choices, ranging from a bolero-style shrug to a soft, golden infinity-type scarf.

Satine notices the tags. All are designer.

She tries to ignore the way her hand suddenly shakes. The cost of the garments together is probably more than Satine makes during an entire pay period.

“Thank you,” she says, zipping up the bag again. “I really appreciate it. Truly.”

Anakin grins. “This is how Padma likes to make friends. She also said you’re welcome to borrow a handbag or clutch if you don’t have anything that will match.”

Satine looks up at him. “She wants to be friends? With me?”

Anakin crosses his arms against his chest. “Believe it or not, it’s kind of isolating being a Congressional representative, from what I’m told. Obviously she has Breha and Bail, but she’s struggling to find people who aren’t fawning over her or wanting to use her to get a voice at the House.”

“Well,” says Satine, “I can’t promise not to fawn over her - I mean her work speaks for itself.”

Anakin bumps her shoulder lightly with a closed fist. “Hey, she’s familiar with yours as well - she knew your name before you started dating Ben! I think the admiration is mutual. I’ll get Ben to text you her number. And speak of the devil…” he trails off, hearing a key in the lock to the office next door. Anakin spins and calls out to greet his old advisor, diving into an intricate question about military history as he leaves Satine’s office.

Satine takes a last look at the garment bag before smiling to herself and heading back to her desk.

---

That afternoon, Satine and Ben are in the library again. She’s stuck in the middle of the chapter she’s supposed to be proofreading, and she wants a distraction. 

She rummages through her bag to find her notebook, and scribbles a note to Ben.

Why did Anakin call you “Obi” this morning? she writes. Or did I misunderstand him?

And she slides the notebook to Ben. He’s on his laptop, composing an email, but he immediately diverts his attention to the notebook.

He snickers, then gestures for her pen.

Two letters, not three, he writes. O.B. Stands for “Old Ben.” It’s something he began calling me last semester when my beard started turning gray. Coincidentally, it was the first semester I had Ahsoka as a student. He refuses to call her my grad student; instead, he says she’s my grand student.

Satine bites her lip to keep from laughing aloud. Her hand brushes his as she takes back the pen. “Grand” as in “granddaughter”?

Exactly.

Satine pushes the notebook to the side. She turns slightly and reaches up to touch the pad of her thumb to the gray hair that has started to come in around his temple. He watches her with interest as her thumb moves to trace the wrinkles at the corner of his eye.

“I quite like the gray,” she admits, her voice just a whisper. “It suits you. Makes you look distinguished.”

“It’s entirely Anakin’s fault,” Ben responds. “There was no gray at all before I took him on as a student. He’s aging me prematurely.”

But he leans into her hand gently, and she knows he’s joking.

“O.B. Kenobi,” Satine says, smirking. “It’s kind of cute, actually.”

“Oh, don’t you dare take his side. I’m fairly certain Ahsoka calls me that, too - when she’s talking with Anakin. She has the good grace not to say it to my face.”

“We should all be so lucky to grow old. I hope I do.”

He lifts a brow. “Easy for you to say.” He gestures to her hair. “Are you saying you won’t dye it?”

She shakes her head. “My hair has always been thin. Wouldn’t want to risk damaging what I do have.” She laughs, reaching back to remove her hair band. Her ash blonde hair tumbles around her shoulders. Satine reaches for some strands, teasing them apart, and she leans closer to Ben. “There are bits and pieces of gray already, actually,” she says. “But having naturally cool undertones disguises it a bit more than if my hair were auburn.”

Ben studies her hair, almost as if in wonder. “How did I not notice before?”

She grins at him. But then she notices someone who is within earshot, and Satine reaches for the notebook again.

Our eyes have been…otherwise engaged much of the time we’ve been together, she writes.

Ben turns his laughter into a cough. He takes the pen from her and writes below her message. Well, it sounds like it’s high time I took a complete inventory of every surface. What else has changed and escaped my notice? Have you gotten a tattoo?

She shakes her head as he hands the pen back to her. There’s nothing I’ve felt strongly enough about to warrant such permanent modification to my body.

And then she quirks a brow at him, silently asking:

What about you?

He grins. You’ve seen me without a shirt, he replies in writing. 

You can get tattoos elsewhere, you know.  And she passes the notebook back to him.

Ben rolls his eyes, taking the pen. I don’t have a tattoo on my ass. Or anywhere else on my body.

How would I know? I haven’t seen your ass. I was genuinely curious.

He shoots her a glare upon seeing her try to hold in her laughter.

“You’re hilarious,” he says out loud, now that whoever was near has now wandered off.

Ben’s phone lights up as a silent alarm goes off.

“I had to set a reminder,” he explains, “so I wouldn’t be late for lecture again.”

Satine grins.

Ben shrugs into his coat and packs up his laptop. He nods to her own. “Send me the chapter you’re working on. I’ll proofread it this evening.”

She abhors editing, and he knows it. Grateful for the offer, she reaches up to grab his tie, pulling him back down so that she can kiss him tenderly.

He groans softly, pulling back. “Getting sidetracked after the alarm makes the alarm moot,” he says, but he’s smiling as he tucks his tie back into his vest. 

Ben turns to look up at her as he descends the stairs. His smile is still wide.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

---

“Calculus,” Satine whispers.

Ben stills over her, and the next second he’s pulled them both up so that they’re sitting upright on her couch. They’re both still half-dressed: his shirt is off, his belt unbuckled, and her skirt has been pushed up to her hips, her blouse unbuttoned, her blue lace brassiere on display.

Things had escalated quickly after their Saturday afternoon date at the National Portrait Gallery and the attached Smithsonian American Art Museum. While wandering along the exhibits at the latter, Ben had grabbed her hand and whispered, “Imagine my surprise to find they let you touch the art here.”

Satine had blushed at his words, cracked a shy smile at his joke. Those few words had given her courage, and she’d pulled him to the couch the moment they’d arrived home.

But now she’s wondering if her courage was real at all.

“I’m sorry,” she manages to get out.

Ben shakes his head. “Nothing to apologize for,” he says, as though reminding her. “Do you know what it was exactly that triggered you?”

Satine shivers and pulls her blouse back over her shoulder, where Ben had pushed it off to have better access to her neck. “I don’t think it was anything you said,” she responds. She has to laugh. “I mean, we actually haven't said anything since the moment the door was shut.”

“Probably the longest we’ve been with each other without exchanging words,” he agrees with a smirk.

Satine takes a deep breath, willing her blood pressure under control. “Maybe the position?”

He nods. “You felt trapped.”

“I’m sorry,” she says again before she can stop herself.

He gives her an exasperated look. “Don’t - ” he begins.

“I’m not trying to be a tease,” she says, suddenly worried. It’s not the first time in recent weeks she’s left him aroused, without release. She can feel the pent-up frustration.

Ben sighs. “I’d rather be brought to the edge of orgasm every day of my life by you than cum by any other woman.” He reaches slowly for her hand. “If you’re sensing annoyance, it’s because as long as my body is next to yours, I literally do not care if I climax or not, and for some reason I’m having a particularly hard time getting that message through to you.”

Her eyes flicker down to his crotch and then back up to his eyes.

“Poor phrasing,” he admits, but she just laughs.

The next moment, an idea occurs to her. “Can I…can I try something?” she asks.

His expression softens. “You can try anything you like.”

Satine stands abruptly, extending her hand out to him. Without hesitation, he grabs hold, and she pulls him to his feet. “Follow me,” she says, her grip on his fingers tightening. She leads him up the stairs to her bedroom, where she directs him to the bed. “Sit.”

He does, and she flicks on one lamp, setting it low. Then she returns to Ben.

Satine lays a hand on his bare chest and then presses firmly. “Lie back,” she orders.

“Yes, Madam,” Ben says, and he scrambles back so that his head rests against her pillows, shifting to swing his legs on the bed, clearly understanding where she’s going with this.

Satine unbuttons the rest of her blouse and lets it drop to the floor. Then she crawls onto the bed, onto him, to straddle his hips.

Ben’s jaw is tense. “The view is much better from down here anyway,” he says faintly, and then he’s pressing up into her sharply because her hands have moved to pull his trousers down a few more inches.

He groans, and then groans again when her fingers touch him through his boxers. “Fuck.”

“That’s the idea,” says Satine, and she strokes him.

“Not that I disagree,” Ben manages to say, panting, as she removes the last layer of fabric between them. “But are you good with that? You ready?”

“I had my IUD replaced at my annual appointment recently.”

And she seats herself over his hips, gathering her skirt out of the way, grateful they’ve already made quick work of her undergarment.

“Good to know,” says Ben weakly, “but that’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

His hands move to grip her hips, preventing her from sinking down.

“This position is better,” Satine says, her hands covering his own. “I control the speed, the angle. I control everything.” When he nods, trusting her, she says, “I’m ready. Condom?”

He nods, then smirks. “Back pocket of the trousers you just pulled down.”

Satine grins and reaches below him. He raises his hips slightly so she can reach the pocket, and she makes quick work of the wrapper before fitting the condom on him.

And then, together, their hands guide her hips, lowering her to take him into her warmth.

They move her slowly, inch by inch, both breathing heavily. Finally, finally, he’s inside her fully.

“Dear fucking God,” says Ben, and Satine laughs, practically giddy.

“Help me move,” she orders him. “What do you like?”

“You,” he says immediately. “You, just like that.”

She clenches around him, and she can tell he’s preventing himself from bucking his hips.

“Evil woman,” he whispers. “Don’t do that again or this will be over far too quickly.”

“Noted,” says Satine, and she rubs her thumb over his own.

Ben watches their fingers, and then he grips her hips more tightly. “We’ll start slow, okay?”

She nods, and he begins to help move her, even if she’s more in control of her movements than he is. As they find a rhythm, she watches his eyes lock on her breasts.

“Still liking the view?”

He pumps into her, groaning. “It continues to impress,” he grunts out, eyes still on her cleavage.

Satine reaches one hand behind her to unclip the bra, slipping out of it. She drops it behind her. “And how about now?”

Ben’s cadence slips, and his jaw goes slack. “God, Satine,” he whispers, reaching a hand up to palm one breast, his thumb concentrating on her nipple.

She whines, arching into him, and they try to find whatever remains of their rhythm. They succeed, for a bit, moving faster and then more slowly together, climbing, climbing, climbing, and then - 

“So fucking good,” says Ben, his tone clipped. “Satine, I - ”

And suddenly he jerks up, his muscles taut beneath her own, his fingers tight on her hips, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. She knows he’s climaxing without him needing to say the words aloud. 

It’s the most gorgeous thing she’s ever seen.

Satine's mind is blank, and then a moment later, he’s collapsed back on the sheets, breathing heavily, eyes soft and sated. The hand he’d had on her breast moves to her jaw, and he cradles her face. He helps her as she slips away from him, moving her from a kneeling position to being seated more comfortably. “What would you like next?” he asks, still out of breath, looking to her for their next step.

Satine shakes her head. “I don’t think I can climax,” she says, matching his tone. “At least, not right now. That was…a lot. Emotionally.”

Ben nods, trusting her awareness of her body’s limits. He kisses her softly. “I’ll be right back,” he says, going to dispose of the condom.

And he returns a moment later, trousers now zipped, belt buckled, a washcloth in his hand. He leans over her, pulling her gently to the edge of the bed and pushing the fabric of her skirt out of the way. As he wipes her clean, he catalogs the skin of her thighs, sinking down to kneel on the floor so he can press butterfly kisses to her knees.

“You good?” he asks eventually, pulling her skirt back down and making her shiver.

Her answer surprises even herself.

“Yes,” she whispers.

---

She wakes up to his lips on her shoulder.

Satine hums.

“It was much too dark last night for me to fulfill my promise of a complete inventory,” he says against her skin. “May I now?”

She nods, still groggy, still blinking against sleep.

Ben pulls her sleep shirt up and over her head, and she shivers at the brisk air. “Sorry,” he says as she pulls her arms beneath her chest, tucking them in from the cold.

“No, you’re not,” Satine says.

He grins. “I’m not,” he agrees, and he pulls the sheet down to her hips.

His first touch is to the center of her back. “I remember this mole,” he says. “Besides the ones on your neck, it’s my favorite.”

“You have a favorite mole of mine?”

“Oh, yes,” says Ben. “I had a ranking system, back when we were teenagers. It was based on your response to my kissing them. I wonder…will the intensity of your responses to attention to particular moles have changed over the years? Another thing I must inventory.”

Satine chuckles. “For science.”

“For science indeed. The one time that quantitative ranks are actually useful.”

At this she laughs more deeply, and he chooses this moment to press a kiss to the center of her back.

“Hmmm,” says Ben. “I think you’re suppressing your reaction because I told you I was going to be watching it. I’ll have to try another day when I haven’t reminded you. That way the data won’t be biased.”

“God forbid you collect data that are not impartial.”

“The absolute horror,” he agrees, moving his lips lower. “The muscles are more defined here than I remember, more so than I’d expect from natural age-related processes. Yoga? Pilates? Barre?”

Satine nods. “All of the above. I realized I was running myself into the ground with cardio. The running was just too hard on my joints. I switched to workouts that don’t require as much impact.”

“Interesting,” he says. “The Satine I knew wouldn’t have stayed still long enough for a yoga class.”

“Well, twenty-five year old Satine grew tired of the stress fractures that made her do nothing but sit still, and she had to figure out an alternative.” She shrugs. “It’s probably for the best. My long-distance running friends now have the beginnings of osteoarthritis, and my joints seem to be better off than theirs.”

As he laughs, she feels his hot breath against her skin. His lips begin to move up her spine. “No signs of the remnants of a tan,” he says as he plants kisses between her shoulder blades. “Do you not ever go on vacation?”

“Maybe I’m just particularly careful with my sunscreen regimen.”

Ben snorts. “You always did burn at the slightest exposure.”

“One of the reasons I fit right in in Norway,” Satine agrees.

“But you didn’t answer my question.”

Satine sighs. “You know the life of an academic. It’s pretty similar to the life of a State Department employee. Technically I got vacation time, but there really wasn’t time to use it. There was always some other crisis to address.”

Ben kisses her shoulder. “We should go on vacation,” he says.

Satine glances over her shoulder at him. “You mean for Spring Break?”

“As much as I would love to take you somewhere for Spring Break, I actually am flying out to Wisconsin that week.”

Satine has to laugh at this. “Wisconsin in the beginning of April? Not the ideal time for a visit.”

“I’d tend to agree with you. But this trip comes six years too late.”

There’s sadness in his tone, and Satine reaches out to pull one of his hands so that it rests beneath her, bordered by her own.

“My advisor wrote me into his will. I wasn’t in the right headspace to deal with it when I graduated, and I’ve been putting it off ever since. Maybe my way of pretending he’s not really gone? Anyway.”

Satine feels his lips on her shoulder blade, his beard scratching her skin.

“He left me his field notes and his key informant interview recordings. Maybe there was something important in there he wanted me to publish.”

She holds his hand more tightly. “Kind of morbid to include that in his will, don’t you think?”

She feels him shrug. “I thought so at first, too, but…Russia wasn’t a safe place to do field work. He knew that. And Anakin let slip he told you what I thought my advisor was really doing over there, so maybe he had his reasons for being morbid. He had a life-partner, Tahl, who oversaw the will. The two of them were incredibly low profile, so much so that I only learned of Tahl's existence after he died. It'll be the first time I meet her.”

Ben squeezes her fingers.

“At any rate, there’s this incredible woman here in the District whom I’m trying to convince of my emotional availability, and I figure that this trip is a good first step.”

Satine ducks her head to kiss his knuckles, and she feels Ben’s lips return to her scapula.

“But in regard to vacation,” says Ben, “I meant this summer. You’ll have moved in. Now, we didn’t actually talk about this, but I’m assuming that means you’ll give up your apartment, right?”

Satine nods. “If word got around that I still had it, I think it would make people question whether I was fully committed.”

He’s kissing the crook of her neck now. “Well, when you move in, that’s only one location the two of us have to pay rent on, as opposed to two. We should splurge - would you like to go to the beach? I assume you can work from anywhere, and the only class I’m teaching in the summer term is online anyway.”

“You just want an excuse to get me in a bikini and be able to feel me up whenever I need to reapply sunscreen. Which, fortunately for you, is quite often.”

“So is that you giving your approval?” His lips are on the nape of her neck, moving to her other shoulder.

“Perhaps,” says Satine.

His hands suddenly flip her over, and she knows he wants to study her expression. “Perhaps?” he quotes.

But the cold air against her skin makes Satine suddenly hyper-aware that she had neglected to wear a bralette to bed last night. Ben seems to notice at the exact moment she does.

“Let’s come back to this discussion,” he says. “I’m finding myself momentarily distracted.”

Satine quirks a brow. “Oh?”

Ben leans toward her. “Is this okay?” he whispers, watching her eyes. When she nods, he kisses the side of one breast.

Satine closes her eyes, letting herself sink back into the pillows.

He licks her skin, swirling his tongue around her nipple. 

“I told you,” he says, his voice clipped, “back when we met again, that you were more beautiful than ever. And even then, I had no fucking idea how right I was.”

He returns his attention to her skin.

Satine smiles as she feels his fingers move to her other breast, kneading her nipple. “Ben,” she whispers, opening her eyes, and he looks up at her, curious. “Can we just do this? Not go any further. Just this.” She closes her eyes again. “It feels…it feels so good.”

“I’m yours to command,” Ben says, and the reverence in his tone could make her cry.

She reaches out to tangle her fingers in his hair, holding him to her.

[lostloveletters]

And I Lay Right Down in My Favorite Place (Bill "Hoosier" Smith x Reader)

Summary:  The Australian heat has nothing on how you feel when you finally get Hoosier to yourself.

Note: Female reader, but no descriptors are used. Title comes from the song I Wanna Be Your Dog. This is based on the fictionalized characters in the miniseries and not the real individuals. Do not interact if you’re under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 3.2k

Warnings: Light period-typical misogyny. Obviously some historical inaccuracies. Sexually explicit content including oral sex (f. receiving) and some femdom elements. Do not interact if you’re under 18.

Your shadow cast abnormally long over Hoosier, his eyes scrunched shut as he slept in the rapidly setting Australian sun, curled up on his cot like a cat on a windowsill. If he had actually moved from that spot in the past few days, you would have felt bad waking him up. Except he hadn’t unless absolutely necessary, and so you attempted to disguise your selfish request as simple altruism.

“Hoosier, c’mon, we’re in Melbourne—civilization! You can’t just sleep through it. At least spend one night out so you don’t regret it.” He was unresponsive. “Please, for me?”

He snickered. “Even if I wanted to—which I don’t—I don’t have a pass.”

“I swiped an extra one. Look, everyone else ran off with some girl, and I have no one to go to bars with me tonight,” you said, stretching the truth a bit. Chuckler promised he’d look out for you in whatever little local dives you ended up in. For the most part, he had, but after a few drinks, he’d get distracted by a local girl, and you’d have to fend off equally drunk suitors without him as reliable backup.

“Fuck, alright,” he grumbled, pushing himself up from his cot, blanket still wrapped securely around his shoulders.

You shoved the dubiously acquired pass into his hand. “I just need to change, and—”

“Change?”

He stood up, the two of you staring each other down in an unspoken stand-off, waiting to see who would fold first.

“I bought a dress.”

“Don’t take too long or I’m going back to sleep.”

You ran to your cot, grabbing a paper shopping bag you’d shoved beneath it. A local boutique’s logo printed on the front, announcing your purchase of a flowing wrap dress that you couldn’t take your eyes off of in the shop. It didn’t take much convincing for you to buy it, and the unwavering confidence you felt while trying it on in the dressing room made a swift return when you ran into one of the locker rooms in the cricket stadium, changing in one of the stalls.

The plunging neckline had especially caught your attention, far from the conservative attire you’d usually wear as a Marine—though there had been strong opinions among some of the men toward your wearing pants, until Hoosier had asked them how the hell you were supposed to trek through the dense jungles in a skirt, which promptly shut most of them up. 

Still, you bought the dress knowing full well it was an impractical, expensive purchase that wouldn’t make it out of Australia with you. The slip that you wore beneath it was a buttery soft satin that you never wanted to take off, nothing short of heavenly against your skin. You didn’t have much in the way of makeup or perfume, so you’d chosen a dress and some heels that could do most of the heavy lifting for you.

Your name echoed through the empty locker room, Hoosier calling out for you as his boots smacked against the tile floor. “Hey, you in here?”

“In the stall!” you shouted back.

The tap ran along with the sound of water splashing. “You sure there’s no one else around to go with you?”

“Leckie’s playing house with some girl from the trolley the other night, Sid’s with his girl Gwen, Chuckler’s god knows where, and Runner’s got a date with the shop assistant at the boutique I bought this from, so no,” you said, securely tying the wrap dress in place. “Look, if it’s that much of a bother, you can stay.” You shuffled out of the stall, your uniform folded and shoved in the shopping bag the dress had been in. 

Hoosier whistled lowly when he saw you, quickly shaking his head. “Not while you’re wearing that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Means you’re showing about as much tit as the girls in those magazines.”

You straightened your back, giving yourself a once-over in the mirror above the sink. “That’s why I bought it.”

“It’s sure as hell working on me.”

“Really?” you asked, raising an eyebrow as you turned to him.

He folded his arms over his chest. “What made you think it wouldn’t?”

“You’ve seen me covered in mud and blood—I think I’ve even thrown up on you before.”

He grinned. “Gives you character.”

“So I spent my hard-earned money on this new dress for nothing?”

“Not for nothing. I wouldn't mind seeing how it looks coming off you.”

“Maybe somewhere nicer than a locker room?” you proposed.

“Now you’re gonna make me spend my hard-earned money just because you wanna fuck somewhere fancy?”

“I wanna fuck somewhere with a real bed, and privacy.”

“Sounds like you already have a place in mind.”

“I might," you said, taking his hand in your free one and leading him out of the cricket stadium.

Running down the streets of Melbourne with Hoosier sent a rush through you. Your dress flowing in the cool night breeze, the hem flirting around your thighs, each gust of wind threatening to give a peak of what lay beneath to passersby. For the first time in months, you felt like a woman, anticipation building in your gut as Hoosier kept his hand firmly around yours, bringing you closer to the night you’d been hoping for. The fact that it’d be with him was icing on the cake. Even though you were no longer relentlessly hounded for your answer of which member of H Company you would fuck if you absolutely had to—from day one, you’d pick Hoosier.

He really hadn’t been exaggerating about the dress, because when the two of you ran into Chuckler smoking outside of a bar, at least three whiskeys into his nightcap, he didn’t even recognize you. Instead, he shot a wink your way and congratulated Hoosier for ‘getting some.’ He had shouted something else your way when you and Hoosier were halfway up the street, nearing the hotel you’d seen on your shopping trip.

A tall, swanky building with valets outside, you tried not to gawk at the giant chandelier in the lobby, surely worth more than you’d make in your lifetime. You and Hoosier caught some odd glances from the people milling about, but some went out of their way to thank him. You bristled at the perceived slight until you remembered what you were wearing, your uniform hidden in the shopping bag in your hand.

A well-put together man stood behind the front desk, not bothering to pay either of you any mind until Hoosier cleared his throat.

“Good evening, sir. I’d like to book a room for one night for, uh, Lewis Juergens and guest.” 

You nudged Hoosier with your elbow.

The manager looked you and Hoosier over with his lips pursed, as if he were resisting the urge to sneer. “We don’t tend to allow unmarried couples to share a room.”

You put on a charming smile and the best imitation of an Australian accent you could muster. “Just married. We’re honeymooning while we can. Gotta keep this one in line before I hand him back to the Marines.”

“I see,” he said, neither fully convinced by your story nor concerned enough to argue. “Mr. and Mrs. Lewis Juergens for one night, then?”

“That’s right,” Hoosier said. “Honey, why don’t you wait up for me?”

You kissed him, perhaps a bit more passionately than was acceptable in such an upscale establishment, but the desire in his eyes when you pulled away to wander over to the elevator was worth it.

He grinned as he walked over to you less than a minute later, holding up the room key. “Wait ‘til Chuckler finds out he’s married.”

“To a nice Australian girl to boot,” you said, pushing the elevator button.

“Nice girls don’t kiss like that.”

“Oops.”

When the doors opened, Hoosier told the operator to bring you to the seventh floor. You caught a glimpse of the room number engraved on the key’s tag. As soon as the doors opened, you rushed down the ornate hallway in search of the room. He seemed to take his sweet time walking over, amused by the scowl on your face.

"You know, I think I might've forgotten something downstairs—"

"Hoosier, I swear to god."

He snickered as he unlocked the door, ushering you inside.

You pushed Hoosier against the door when he locked it behind him, kissing him with a ferocity that shocked him for a moment before he came to his senses. The kiss was overtaken by the desperate clashing of teeth and tongue, a long repressed primal urge rearing its ugly head as you pressed yourself against him. Before that night, you’d considered the situation you found yourself in little more than a foolish yet pleasant fantasy, doubting he wanted you as much as you wanted him. His vulgar quips toward you had blended with the others you’d gotten used to, learned to take in stride. They were all talk, anyway. The way his hands kneaded your ass through the flimsy material of your dress proved otherwise.

“How much did you spend on this?” he asked, voice husky with desire.

You threw the shopping bag aside, paying no mind to how it fell over on its side. “You don’t wanna know.”

“Five bucks?”

“Higher.”

“Ten?”

“Higher.”

“Shit, I better make this worth your while, then.”

“You will,” you said, catching his bottom lip between your teeth, tugging on it ever so slightly.

Your hand half-wrapped around his neck, you pressed your thumb against the base of his throat while you sucked and bit on a patch of skin just beneath his collarbone. No one would notice unless they really looked for it, like you would over the next few days, your eyes inevitably drifting to where you staked your claim on him. 

He leaned against the door, breathing heavily while you left your mark on his skin, slightly tanned by days in the relentless tropical sun. Your hand drifted up to caress his cheek, your thumb brushing his lower lip. He took the digit in his mouth, and you gasped when he began sucking on it. 

“You’ve got everyone else fooled, you know that?” you murmured, softly kissing the corner of his lips. “Sleeping all day like you’re above it all, when you’re a bigger slut than the rest of them.” You palmed him through his pants, his hard cock straining against the fabric, earning a muffled moan from him. 

When he reached for your hips, you pulled your thumb from his mouth and grabbed his wrists just as quickly, pinning them on either side of him.

“If you want me, you gotta work for it.”

He groaned. “Jesus, you’re mean.”

“I know, but I think you like that,” you said. “Do you like that?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he answered without hesitation.

You released his wrists from your grasp, kicking off your heels as you walked back to sit on the edge of the bed. “Then show me how much you want me.”

He sank to his knees before you without hesitation. He would have looked almost pious if his hands were clasped together instead of pulling your panties and stockings down to your ankles, his tongue darting out from between his lips as you spread your legs. He’d seen you before, though, not this intimately, but close enough. Privacy was a scarce resource, and so modesty packed its bags along with it. You’d conquered shame on those islands, perhaps the first woman to do so. Maybe that could be included in Lady Marines’ recruiting materials—put the church out of business, be naked and unashamed.

With a frustrated groan, you pulled off the wrap dress, hearing it tear as you were too impatient to untie it properly. The soft, patterned fabric pooled around Hoosier’s knees. He pushed your slip up around your hips, his calloused fingers drifting down between your opened legs. His rough touch electrified you, your legs seizing a bit when he started rubbing your clit with the pads of his fingers, watching intently as your face contorted in pleasure.

His hands gripped your thighs as he ducked his head between your legs, slowly dragging his tongue up your leaking slit until his lips reached your clit, sucking it while he slipped his fingers inside you. Leaning back on the bed, comforter balled up in your hands, your arms strained to support you as he ate you out, lust clouding your reason, your climax just achingly out of reach, like he was doing it on purpose.

“Don’t fucking stop,” you ordered through gritted teeth, your hand buried in his hair, keeping his face pressed against your pussy. His teeth grazed your clit, and your pussy clenched around his fingers when he flicked his tongue against the sensitive bundle of nerves. Your back arched, pleasure cracking down your spine like a whip as you came with a moan that echoed in your ears. “Hoosier—Bill—oh my god—” His tongue lapped up your wetness as you rode out your orgasm on his face.

He moved back from between your legs, hair unkempt and face flushed, his mouth and chin glistening in the low light.

“I wish I had a camera,” you sighed, affectionately running your fingers through his messy hair. “You look perfect.”

“Yeah?” he asked, almost dazed.

You nodded. “Like a wet dream.”

He moved to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand, but you grabbed his wrist before he could.

“Don’t,” you said, a little harsher than you intended. “I wanna see how I taste.”

When he stood up, you took his face in your hands, kissing him deeply, taking in the taste of yourself on his tongue, his lips. The sensation sent an irrational, possessive urge through you, greedy for more of him, as much as he’d give you—and only you. 

“You got a condom?” you asked breathlessly against his mouth.

“If I don’t, I’m gonna kill somebody,” he grumbled, searching his pockets for one. 

Salvation in his front shirt pocket, he held one up triumphantly. 

With shaky hands, you unbuttoned his shirt, frustrated by how much he was wearing compared to you—for once. Usually you were the one overdressed, sneaking glances of envy and admiration whenever he was shirtless. He had never caught you, or at least he never let on that he had. You reveled at finally having your hands on him the way you wanted, the way that’d make you curl your hands into fists, digging your broken fingernails into your palms to distract from how frustratingly out of reach he was on those islands.

Your slip came off over your head much easier than the dress, and soon a pile of discarded clothes was kicked to the wayside as he joined you on the bed. 

You stroked his cock, his hips jerking at your touch. 

“It’s been a while,” he offered as an explanation for how his body reacted. As if he needed to, as if you weren’t on the verge of pouncing on him at that very moment.

“I don’t care. I want you inside me, Hoosier. I wanna feel you when you come.”

He groaned, chewing on his bottom lip. “Oh fuck.”

You kissed him, practically swallowing the groan that emerged from his throat when he plunged his cock inside you, your cunt clenching around him as he filled you. 

He pressed his forehead against yours, his gaze locked on your eyes as you struggled to keep them open with each thrust in your pliant pussy, taking him deeper with each stroke. 

“Fuck—I’m close,” he barely managed to force out, his cock twitching as he neared orgasm.

“I got you, baby,” you whispered, your lips soft against the shell of his ear as his thrusts slowed and became erratic as he bottomed out inside you. 

He gave you a sloppy kiss, taking a few moments to catch his breath before pulling out of you. “Fuck,” he murmured, mostly to himself.

You curled up beneath the covers as he got up to discard the used condom.

“Jesus Christ, they’re gonna think someone tried to decapitate me,” he said from the bathroom.

“Sorry!”

“Don’t be. Maybe I can claim some rare jungle illness and get a few extra days off.”

You scoffed, smiling when he got into bed next to you, pulling you against him. “Yeah, you and every other Marine running around Melbourne.”

“Hotel room was a good call,” he said softly, nuzzling his nose against the crown of your head. “Fuck, I’m gonna be dreaming about this on the next shithole island they dump us on.” He was quiet for a moment. “Never thought that’d get me going, you bossing me around and all.”

“Something about you brought that out,” you said. “I don’t know, I feel like I’d go crazy if another woman touched you.”

“I’ll make sure to warn ‘em.”

You barked out a laugh, hiding your face in the crook of his neck before resting your head on his shoulder. “How about you? Most guys think eating out is degrading.”

“Because they’re fucking idiots.”

“I won’t argue with that.”

The two of you talked well into the night before falling asleep, only to be awoken at ten in the morning by a phone call from the front desk, informing you that if you didn’t check out within the hour, you’d be charged extra.

“Can we put it on Chuckler’s tab?” Hoosier grumbled, reluctantly getting out of bed.

“I wish,” you said, hastily freshening up in the bathroom.

“What’re you gonna do with that dress?” he asked. “Can’t take it with you.”

You shrugged, glancing at the torn, wrinkled garment. “I guess I’ll just leave it here.”

And you did, leaving it behind as you slipped out of the hotel room first. Wearing your uniform, far less comfortable than what you’d been wearing the day before, would inevitably draw unwanted attention to you and Hoosier if you left together, especially if you were seen by any number of fellow Marines who were prone to running their mouths. That, or the same haughty manager could have been behind the front desk again.

By the time Hoosier caught up with you at the cricket stadium, Chuckler was already there, sitting on your cot with you as he told you all about his escapades the night before. His attention quickly shifted to Hoosier.

“Hey, who was that cute broad you were with the other night? The one in the slinky dress?” Chuckler asked as he pulled on his boots. “Was she any good?”

Hoosier glanced at you, a smile tugging on his lips. “She was a real nympho. Tore off her dress and everything.” Your eyes widened when he held up a scrap of fabric clearly ripped from your now discarded dress. Chuckler grabbed for it, but Hoosier kept it just out of reach. “Woulda thought she was in heat or something”

You kicked his boot. 

He snickered. 

Chuckler didn’t notice the silent exchange, instead huffing out, “Man, I gotta get me a girl like that.”

“Gonna have to look somewhere else,” Hoosier said, eyes on you as he pocketed the torn piece of your dress. “This one’s mine.”

[misstictart]

Part 2 of the answers! Aaand we'll only have one question this time because question 12 is a big one to tackle. (Realizing my first art of the year is depressing. Oopsie. Next one will be softer, promy!)

Part 1 Part 2 - You're here! Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

(Under a read-more for mental abuse mention)

12 – What are your OC's demons? Are they open about it, or do they prefer to bottle it up?

Oh. She's a mess. She'll be fine but she's a mess.

Not really on her part- if you look at her, she always does her best to pay the bills, to make sure her translation requests are delivered in due time, and that no one gets hurt in the school library! Going to work and seeing friends with a smile! A... strained smile and... dark rings- does she get any sleep...?

It's more past and personal issues that affected her in the long run. Once she and her father moved to Texas, she was (barely) home schooled and he trained her so she'd be ready to join the armed forces (the jerk always wanted a son, and now that he was stuck with a loud and smart daughter, the only way she'd meet his expectations was for her to serve in the forces just like he and his family always did). But she realized later on that perhaps she didn't want to do that, and failed the entry on purpose. Cue a period during which she was sent to nursing school instead to be "useful to the nation" - but from this time on Claryce was nothing else but wasted potential to his eyes. Even if she ended up studying in one of the best schools of Paris!

What about the nursing school, you say? Well, once again, when a father forces his daughter down a career that's not her calling, she ends up with a nasty burnout. This was a turning point for Claryce as she finally built the courage to call her mother for help (until then, her father kept telling her she was too busy with the Italian Mob to care about her). Giulietta D'Amico immediately left the Mafia to support her daughter (both mentally and financially).

All of this brought Claryce anxiety and depression issues she still battles with as the days go. She has been to therapy more than once for this, and she still can rely on one should she need it- but it's quite expensive (thank you USA healthcare!) so she tries to rely on what she has learnt from the sessions she has had so far.

After all, she had moved back to Springfield to start fresh! But then other worries spawned, such as the stress from living on her own or her place in the D'Amico family (was she born to become a criminal, too? Does she have a choice in this? Would they still love her even if she were to be just a regular goodie-two shoes? Was she a good person to begin with?). All of this topped with her concerns regarding her romantic feelings and, unfortunately, her parents moving back to Springfield as well, stirring back some unpleasant memories.

Mix the whole thing together and you get a nasty cocktail called self-hatred! 🎉 But as I said, she did go to therapy, and thanks heavens, because this gal is a champion at bottling up things! Fortunately, she'll quickly figure out that she'll always be loved by the D'Amicos, no matter what- and that she can always trust her closest friends - Sideshow Bob in particular, who turns out to be a great listener whenever he's spending time at her place. (He appreciates helping out- she's one of the few people who won't interrupt him when he goes on his own rambles, so it's only natural for him to return the favor.)

[feiandart]

Posting 'em here again just to boost a bit my motivation today. I made 'em back in december, one of the first drawing I have ever made for myself only.

Will talk 'bout myself and my past from here, can skip it if you don't want my oversharing shit.

So. I used to work as a commission artist for years (5-6 if I'm not wrong), drew bit of anything you could think of and mainly sticked to NSFW art for most of my, uh, let me call that "carreer" even if it's probably the wrong term to use for it. Well, it paid my bills and rent for years, so we may stick to it anyway.

Thing is, I stopped drawing when I was eighteen. People, family first, always told me talent in art was all, practice would never have made it better and I should have kept it as a hobby rather than something to do as a job. Apart from my closest friends, no one encouraged me to practice and study and put real effort on it. I went to an art-based highschool (only because I couldn't focus on studying any subject, and art school is considered one in which you don't actually study at all here, so my parents thought it better to put me there as I wanted "so you can still graduate"), but I couldn't go ahead with art studies in professional comic schools, academies or any artistic department in university. No support on that front. Something like "be Caravaggio or be nobody" mindset was stuck into my head and I started actually believing that it was true. And since I was, and am not, Caravaggio, then what was the point? So I dropped the pencil and just forgot how to draw a fuckin' line for literal years.

Then I turned 22. I moved to another city for my studies. After completing 'em, my parents said me to come back home and I said no. They stopped paying anything for me since that moment, so I had to make things works on my own. Hopefully my rent was really low, so I could afford it with minimum effort, but had to buy groceries with coupons (not a common thing in Italy) and eat a lot less to make 'em last as much as possible. I found a job in a call-center, I cleaned houses and handed flyiers to people. And that's when I found out I cannot really be in social context for too long.

In the end I burned out, left all jobs and was stuck in bed for a month. I was barely 24, without a job, holding tight the little bit of freedom I ever got. I felt helpless and hopeless. I don't remember if my bestfriend or my housemate, but one of 'em said me to come back at drawing and givin' it a shot. What harm could that do afterall, could have been pocket money for a bit if it couldn't stick to something better.

I started from pencil. Then went to digital in a couple months. I practiced, started quite immediately taking commissions and honest to God I don't have the slightest clue of how someone whould spend money on some shit I drew without basic anathomy knowledge and after that much time without drawing. Still have no idea. So I drew. I made some quick animations, never did much there thought. Grew a little fanbase, went on with it for years. I even moved with my bestfriend, living with her alone for two years, got a cat I love that it's my actually support companion right now.

I felt happy for a bit, I believe. Imposter syndrome is always watching me afterall, that never stopped. It's just like there's another person in the room with me all day, whispering me I should do more 'cause I don't deserve any attention. Ugh.

However. I went on with that until 2023. I had to come back to my parent's house in 2022 and got stuck in here since then. Nightmare years. Still a nightmare period, but I'm managing. Thing is, past year I burned out so much I completed all my left commissions in a rush and actually dropped my tablet for months. I used it as a third screen, took away the pen and the glove and swore I would never ever be back at drawing again. Will not go into details of what triggered that burnout, but you got the point, I didn't want to draw again in my life at that time.

This is pretty much when Good Omens entered the room. It was late September, I saw a lot of videos on tiktok and since I watched S1 years ago, I decided to give it a shot to S2 too. It was an istant hyperfocus. Watched all over for weeks, both in italian, in english, in english with italian subs and english with english subs. Never done anything like that in my life before. By the end of October I came back at writing. So I started to arrange things for Up&Down, my first fic after uhm, like 15 years or so. And it felt so good! I went through 42 days of deep writing, posting a chapter a day just for myself. 'cause I wanted to write something I liked for the sole purpose of liking it. And it felt so liberating!

Then I thought: will this apply to drawing too, maybe?

Answer is YES. It did. I was inspired from the fandom, from MrGhostRat's art and Gleafer's, and started drawing again. I dug into english fanfictions, fandom artists I love, and the list just gets longer day by day. I started writing Sugar, and with it I started drawing illustrations for it.

I went from the image to the left to the one to the right in two months. Guys, I'll repeat it: TWO MONTHS. I never had such a quick improvement in years, practicing every fuckin' day, drawing my hands out of my bloody body. I drew for 5-6 years and never got to improve this much. I did now. And you know why?

'cause I started drawing for myself. I'm doing something I love. And I'm getting better at it.

And you know what? I'm quite angry now. 'cause if I didn't stop years ago, who knows where I could have been now. If I didn't listen to people saying me "be Caravaggio or be nobody", I could have done so much more by now. Maybe I could have been able to draw fuckin' furnitures by now. Maybe I would have started being able to draw the same face two times in a row years ago insted of now.

Maybe I could have been the comic artist I wanted to be. Maybe not the best in the world, but I don't fuckin' care of being the best one, I want to be one I'm proud of. I didn't get the chance 'cause out there is full of people without a dream who's only purpose in life is destroying other people hopes.

And you know what? I'm done with that. I'm done with people saying me I'm not a gifted child. I'm done with people coming at me saying I cannot do shit I love 'cause they have reason to make me do something different. People thinks to know what's good for me but I'm fuckin' 30 and I think I know it pretty well already, thank you very much.

I'm managing how to get hold of my choices and things I love now that I'm an adult, but dear Lord I keep on thinking of my young self and I want to hug that poor thing so much I can't explain. I'd love to say her everything's going to be hard, but good in some way. That things are difficult, but they will change. That people are shit, but she should be strong and fight back. 'cause I did it too late and I regret now, but she deserved better.

You deserves better. And I'm talking to anyone who's reading this. I don't know if you went all the way 'til here, but if you did: don't make my same mistakes. You know better than me. Don't let people spoil the things you love, don't give 'em power to destroy your will and put you in a closet for the time being. You don't deserve that.

Don't miss your chance 'cause people doesn't want to see you happy to be yourself. Don't do that. They don't deserve that power over you.

Love yourself more than I loved myself. I'm starting just now and it's hell. You can do better, I promise.

[hoenn-hakase]

So I have made it through the first half of the month and wanted to give an update from when I mentioned I'd been having some troubles. It's been more mentally exhausting than anything by this point. I've been building up my Ko-fi portfolio mostly with nature photography I've taken (which I've also been sharing on my side blog because I've been unable to focus on drawing anything, but I hope to change that) but I keep hoping I'll get to more creative things eventually. That said, even if I haven't earned much, I appreciate all of the support I got when I first posted since even just getting a note or a bump made me feel not so alone in that moment.

That said, I am not out of the woods yet, but since I'm in a better state of mind, I feel I can finally explain some of the details.

So long story short, my grandmother has been in and out of the hospital four times since the end of June. On visit two, we honest to goodness thought we were going to lose her, but she's proven to be quite the fighter. Unfortunately, visit two proved that even if she was stabilized, she wasn't okay. So, knowing that she won't be coming home, we've been in and out of three different nursing facilities between each hospital visit. We think the third place we've ended up at is probably the level of care that she needs, so we'll probably go back there after this latest hospital visit, but that's partially why I haven't gotten much of anything done is staying with her (like my family has done shifts in making sure she's not alone so I've had several hospital sleepovers as well) has been stressful. And trying to raise money for her care while trying to keep enough for the monthly bills hasn't been helping, but like I said, we've gotten this far somehow. Which is almost a relief because even if I still don't get paid until September, I'm a lot closer than I was when struggling through July.

Buuuut that's been taking care of bills and food and gas going back and forth to the different locations (and basically moving each time since we had to clean out the rooms after thinking we were moving in.) The actual bill for her care hasn't come in, and while the hospital visits have allowed some miserable level of delay, I'm still waiting for the ball to drop.

To make matters worse, my family has been split between cities because while I've been taking care of my grandma, my older sister (who lives about an hour and half away) had been on watch since she was pregnant after having some complications with a previous child. Because of the complications, we knew when the baby was due since she'd have to do a C-section, and my aunt often tried to encourage my grandma to hold out long enough to see her great grandbaby arrive. The procedure went fine, but it seems our little girl is having complications after coming out, so she's been in the NICU. My parents have been trying to help between hospital visits, babysitting the other kids, food, gas, groceries, y'know. So they can help much on my end, but I haven't really been able to do much for them either. My dad got to come visit though, and I took a day to go see my sister since I thought we were settled but it's while I was away, I got the message about hospital run number four.

It's kind of weird I'm looking forward to going back to work just to get a break from my "vacation". But maybe getting to be with other people in a more lively space with some quiet time in those break periods will give me the motivation to try writing finally. So we'll see. School starts next week so wish me luck!

[storiesbyjes2g]

Remembering my legacy story...

That tag has me thinking about my legacy story and how the story was shaped by my discoveries and ignorance while learning about this game. The first few generations were kind of tragic. I played vanilla and on normal life, and it took me until the day before X's birthday to get married. I was so scared he was gonna die without children, causing me to fail the challenge on the first try lol. He actually was engaged before, but his fiancé showed up the night before the wedding as an elder!! My boy had to start all over. UGH! He eventually found someone, but he had to propose to her three times! FINALLY he got married and had two children before he croaked.

His wife died on their son's teen birthday, leaving both children an orphan! I was terrified social services was gonna come and take them away! 🤣 I didn't know yet that teenagers were just baby-faced adults. 😑 But man, that period was hard. Those poor kids had to grow up way too fast. They got jobs to pay the bills, and they had almost zero free time. They were tired ALL the time because all they did was work. They had their jobs, but they also had a garden they had to take care of because the flowers paid the lion's share of the bills. They stopped doing their homework because it took up too much time. Their grades plummeted, and the principal called every day. But somehow I discovered you could have their birthdays at any time, so I aged the oldest one up like 4 or 5 days early because those poor kids needed a break!

(more generations under the cut)

At the end of generation two and through three, I felt like I had a good handle on the game and what it could do, so my curiosity came out and so did Stories By Jes2G lol. That's when this story started to get real messy LOL. My heir had a girlfriend, but the relationship wasn't really going anywhere so he started seeing this other girl. But he didn't know girlfriend #1 was pregnant! He fell all the way in love with girlfriend #2, moved her in (learned my lesson from gen 1!!), married her, and knocked her up. They had a happy little family for a while. No sooner than he forgot about girlfriend #1, the bastard son showed up at his door all casual like my mama said you're my daddy...nice house! 🤣 That did not go over well. As a matter of fact, his wife was very upset and tried to burn off some steam on the treadmill. But she was an elder and... RIP Adalynn.

Generation four was when I learned just how much you can learn about your characters just by letting them be autonomous and watching them go. The tragedy of this generation was what happens when two horny teens get married out of high school lol. Those two had nothing in common and led two separate lives under the same roof. That was partly because I was focused on making them complete their aspirations, but also they rarely interacted with each other when they were autonomous. The wife was a career woman and was not interested in having a third child. But the first two were girls, and this legacy was a strict patriarchy and I needed a son. That caused a lot of drama in the story, but he found a way to make her give in. But things were never the same, and she eventually divorced him and left the kids which of course affected the next generation.

Every generation up til like...seven had some kind of drama/tragedy, and I didn't realize it until I stopped and read the story myself. I was like WHOA! This is so much! This is what I put my readers through? LOL I made sure to tone things down in the second half of gen 8 because we needed the break. We had peace and happiness for a while followed by a veeery slow burn. Then I kicked the drama back up and ended on a hopeful tragic note, bring back the fall out from the gen 3 mess. It was a great ride!

I used to love building in The Sims 3, but something about this game's building mechanics completely turned me off. To be honest, I don't quite know what it is about building that just infuriates me. So the generations two through like...eight(???), my legacy house was made up of styled rooms lol. I honestly don't know anyone else who even used those things. I'd just piece together those rooms and close them in with walls lol. Needless, the legacy house was very odd and much bigger than it needed to be because of all these oddly shaped blank spaces. 😅 I made use of every single one of them too!

[mariacallous]

Sitting on the South Lawn of the White House on Sept. 13, 1993, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Under a brilliant, cloudless sky, an uncomfortable Israeli prime minister and a beaming Palestinian leader clasped hands in pursuit of peace as an exuberant U.S. president embraced the duo, smiling like a proud parent.

The occasion was the signing of the first agreement of what came to be known as the Oslo Accords, which established an interim framework that, if implemented successfully, might actually lead to final status negotiations between Israel and the Palestine Liberation Organization (PLO). Even with all the challenges that lay ahead, I was convinced that the Arab-Israeli peace process was now irreversible.

Efraim Halevy, who in just a few years would become the head of Mossad, Israel’s intelligence agency, would later write to me questioning my faith in that irreversibility and fearing the confrontation that could follow. Halevy’s analysis proved all too prescient. Today, 30 years after that historic day, what remains of the spirit and much of the substance of the Oslo agreement lies bloodied, buried, and betrayed across an Israeli-Palestinian landscape that seems to leave little room for hope and none for illusions.

The most right-wing and fundamentalist government in Israel’s history sits in Jerusalem, committed to the annexation of the West Bank in everything but name only, as well as expanding settlements and enabling settler terror and violence against Palestinians. The Palestinian national movement is deeply divided, resembling a kind of Noah’s Ark where there are two of everything—constitutions, governments, security services, patrons, and even visions of Palestine. In Gaza, Hamas and Palestine Islamic Jihad plan and encourage terror attacks against Israelis, while in Ramallah, a weak and discredited Fatah-dominated Palestinian Authority is unable or unwilling to control terror emanating from the northern West Bank.

Yet the lessons of Oslo still have some relevance, whatever the future holds for Israelis and Palestinians. Having had a ringside seat during those fateful years, four key takeaways stand out for me personally.

1. Interim can’t be final.

On paper, the Oslo Accords seemed logical and compelling. Territory would be transferred gradually to the Palestinian Authority in exchange for its assumption of security responsibilities. As we’ll see, the perverse dance between the occupier and the occupied would doom this approach. But it might have survived had the two sides been willing to make it clear from the outset what final outcome the interim period was supposed to produce, and then taken mutually reciprocal actions on the ground to prepare for it.

For Palestinians, that final outcome was an independent state with Jerusalem as its capital. For Israelis, it was TBD—to be determined. Driven by domestic politics and their own doubts about the Palestinians’ capacity for statehood and what it might mean for Israeli security, neither Israeli Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin nor his successor Shimon Peres were prepared to commit to any agreed outcome—even as an aspirational vision. You can look long and hard for the term “Palestinian state” in the Oslo documents, but you won’t find it. It would take another half-dozen years before the idea of statehood worked its way into Israel’s negotiating assumptions. Not until 2001, as U.S. President Bill Clinton left office, did the United States formally and publicly articulate support for a two-state solution.

With no clear end goal to work toward, the process floundered. By 1999, not a single Oslo deadline had been met. Negotiations on permanent status had begun three times but produced nothing, and neither Israelis nor Palestinians could see where things were headed. But both had grown weary and wary of a seemingly never-ending interim process punctuated by Palestinian terrorist attacks and Israeli settlement expansion.

The result was the situation we have now: a strategic cul-de-sac in which the two sides are stuck and the gaps on issues such as borders and Jerusalem are as wide as the Grand Canyon, with no shared vision and no faith that one will ever materialize.

2. Leaders—and not just their negotiators—have to be willing to yield.

It seems like another world now given the state of relations between Israelis and Palestinians today, but back then, the negotiators for both sides actually worked hard together to solve problems and manage the ones they couldn’t. It was less so for the leaders who had to deal with the politics of the negotiating process and defend what they could—and punt and parry the issues they couldn’t.

In the early Oslo years before Rabin’s murder in November 1995, the Israelis and Palestinians doing the negotiating laughed, yelled, and cried together against the backdrop of a roller coaster environment that included agreements, missed deadlines, Palestinian and Israeli terror attacks, and continuing frustrations and suspicions. They became friends. I saw security officials from both sides—hard men with blood on their hands—engage with one another with respect and even affection. At one negotiating session at the Laromme Hotel in Jerusalem, an exhausted West Bank security chief Jabril Rajoub laid down in the same bed with Israel Defense Forces’ central commander Shaul Mofaz, jokingly pretending to take a nap.

For the negotiators, Oslo was not about zero-sum advantage but mutual benefit. That view was best embodied by Oslo’s two lead negotiators, Uri Savir and Abu Ala (both of whom have since died), who would become fast friends. Interviewing them both in 2013 on the 25th anniversary of Oslo, that sense of partnership was front and center. Abu Ala, also known as Ahmed Qureia,  opined about the promise Oslo held: After decades of bitter struggle, during which both saw each other only through a barrel of a gun, they realized that it is possible to overcome hatred, misgivings, denial, and their own red lines. Neither man was a dreamer, but both saw the opportunity that Oslo offered to better understand the needs of the other and to humanize the adversary.

I sometimes thought that, had the decision-making been left to Abu Ala and Savir, Oslo would have had a better chance of delivering. But in the hard and cruel world of Israeli and Palestinian politics, leaders had their own personal and political constraints with which to reckon.

For Rabin, dealing with the Palestinian issue was never his first choice. It is true that as defense minister during the First Intifada, Rabin began to understand that the conflict had no military solution, and by the spring of 1993, he had reached the conclusion that no one—not Jordan, not West Bankers, not Gazans—could replace the PLO as an interlocutor. But peace with Syria was his preference because of its strategic character and its avoidance of hot-button issues such as Jerusalem. Then, in August 1993, with the U.S.-mediated Israeli-Syrian channel making progress but with little chance of a dramatic breakthrough, the secret Oslo channel delivered—and suddenly, Rabin was thrust into dealing with the Palestinian issue head on.

In the Oslo Accords, Rabin made a historic decision with respect to the Palestinians. But translating that to an Israeli bureaucracy and security establishment that held the key to making life better for Palestinians on the ground proved much harder. By 1993, the policies of the Israeli occupation had become deeply entrenched in Israeli politics and day-to-day relations with Palestinians.

Rabin had also locked himself into a public commitment not to dismantle any settlements during the interim period, and to do so only as part of a permanent status negotiations. He would later regret that decision when, in the wake of an Israeli settler massacring 29 Palestinians in Hebron, he resisted pressures from within his own government to remove the 400 settlers living there who required a large Israeli military presence to protect them. Rabin was fearful of reaction from the right-wing opposition and worried that Yasser Arafat, then the chairman of the PLO, would exploit the crisis to push for an international presence in the West Bank. Yet Rabin’s unwillingness or inability to limit, let alone halt, settlement expansion diminished Palestinian willingness to implement their own commitments under Oslo.

As for Arafat, I was never really sure of his motives for accepting the Oslo Accords. They compelled him, at least for the moment, to recognize Israel without achieving any of the Palestinians’ demands—not self-determination, not statehood, not East Jerusalem as a Palestinian capital, not the right of return for Palestinian refugees. My best guess is that for Arafat, Oslo represented Israel’s, the United States’, and the international community’s validation of himself and the PLO as the only legitimate avenue for dealing with the Palestinians. Arafat put up with the interim process because, in essence, the entire world recognized him as the exclusive address for all matters Palestinian. It was the triumph of personal ego over national interest.

But Oslo proved to be the first and last concession that Arafat was prepared to make. In March 2002, during a mission with the George W. Bush administration’s special envoy, Anthony Zinni, we saw Arafat at his headquarters surrounded by Israeli forces. Entrances barricaded, windows blacked out, candles on the table lighting an otherwise darkened conference room, there was Arafat with his black machine gun on the conference table, talking about martyrdom for the cause of Palestine.

He had come a long way, but could never quite make the transition from the mentality of a revolutionary leader committed to armed struggle and the use of violence against Israel to the world of compromise and diplomacy that would have been required, together with a foresighted Israeli leader, to bring about the end of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict.

3. The occupier and the occupied aren’t equals in negotiations.

The good news about Oslo was that Israelis and Palestinians had managed to hammer out a substantive and complex agreement between themselves directly, face-to-face. It’s like that old adage: In the history of the world, nobody has ever washed a rental car. Why? Because folks only care about what they own. Oslo was an example of authentic ownership. Agreement was reached because the parties themselves had a sense of urgency and a need for their own interests to come together without external pressure.

But the Israeli and Palestinian dual act was also bad news because of the power imbalance between the two parties: one the occupier, Israel, and one the occupied, the Palestinians. Given this reality, it was remarkable that anything got done at all in terms of territorial transfer, economic and security cooperation, and building Palestinian institutions.

The asymmetry of power was clear: As the occupier, Israel wielded the power of the strong—the capacity to impose its will on the Palestinians. This took the form of everything from settlement construction, land confiscation, and housing demolitions to closures of the West Bank cities and towns (preventing travel), and targeted killings. Settlement construction was especially egregious, with 115,700 Israeli settlers residing in the West Bank and Gaza at the end of 1993; by mid-1999, that number had risen to 176,973.

Palestinians, on the other hand, wielded the power of the weak: terrorism. As the weaker party in the negotiations, Palestinian leaders rationalized the use of terror and violence and the armed struggle against Israel as an acceptable instrument to fight back against Israeli occupation and the ongoing settlement expansion. Even though most of the terrorist attacks in the early Oslo years were carried out by Hamas and Palestine Islamic Jihad outside of the Palestinian Authority’s control, Arafat—who never abandoned the use violence as potential tool—could or would not do more to prevent terrorist attacks or arrest the perpetrators.

From Israel’s perspective, land was transferred to the Palestinians, yet the terrorism continued, raising questions about the PLO’s reliability. From the Palestinian perspective, Israel had put Palestinians on probation. Israel was appropriating land that Palestinians believed to be theirs, and any confidence-building measures were only offered in return for Palestinian performance and good behavior. These mindsets produced a barrier that, in the absence of a third party that could help balance the power asymmetry and press each side to implement their commitments, proved insurmountable.

4. A mediator must be present—and credible.

In many respects, the early years of Oslo were a U.S. negotiator’s dream. Israelis and Palestinians had finally done what we had been encouraging them to do for years: get together and work through their own problems themselves. Rabin briefed U.S. Secretary of State Warren Christopher on the outlines of the Oslo breakthrough in July, minus the mutual recognition package. But neither Rabin nor Arafat wanted Americans in on the substance—Rabin wanted the United States involved only to pressure the Palestinians but was wary that the Americans might adopt a pro-Palestinian position, and Arafat was concerned they’d side with the Israelis.

And so, in the early years until Rabin’s murder in late 1995, Washington’s role was limited to hosting signing ceremonies, rallying donors, and playing firefighter at critical points when negotiations reached a crisis—such as when a terrorist attack occurred, or when Israeli settlement expansion or other unilateral acts threatened the process. What the United States didn’t—and couldn’t—do, largely because of Israel’s objections, was create the one thing that might have actually given the Oslo process durability: a monitoring mechanism to hold each side to the commitments they had made and, if necessary, impose costs for a breach.

Doing so was a bridge too far. This was partly because of the United States’ traditional special relationship with Israel, which made getting tough with the Israelis, especially on settlement expansion, off limits; partly because of the Clinton administration’s determination to improve relations with Israel after the stormy years of former President George H.W. Bush; and partly because, when it came to Oslo violations, terrorist attacks were understandably viewed as more lethal than settlement expansion and pushed the United States to side with Israel.

From Oslo on, with Rabin’s pro-peace successor Peres and especially with Ehud Barak at the Camp David summit, Clinton didn’t want to jam up Israeli prime ministers. Far too often, Americans—myself included—essentially acted as Israel’s lawyer. What this meant in practice was a disposition favoring Israel on process, substance, tight coordination, and no surprises.

I’ll never forget: On the fourth day of the summit, I saw the late Palestinian negotiator Saeb Erekat on one of the walking paths. He stopped and asked when the Palestinians were going to receive the draft of a paper that we were preparing on the core issues. I said it was taking more time to prepare than we thought. Smiling, Saeb replied, “Aaron, you’ve given it to the Israelis first, haven’t you?” I smiled back and kept on walking.

In the wake of Rabin’s murder, the United States tried to take a more active role. From 1995 to 2000, working with Arafat and two Israeli prime ministers—Benjamin Netanyahu and Barak—Americans were able to keep the process alive, broker three interim accords, and strengthen Israeli-Palestinian security cooperation, with the CIA working directly with the Palestinians. But the same structural factors that made Oslo a long shot even in the heady days of the fall 1993—the absence of an agreed political vision, the perverse dance between the occupier and the occupied, and terrorism and settlements—were simply too much to overcome.

And what proved to be an ill-advised and ill-conceived summit in July 2000 at Camp David, however well intentioned, could not redeem what had already been lost.

In the 30 years since the Oslo Accords, Israeli-Palestinian peace turned out to be anything but inevitable. Looking back, Oslo represented a moment when Israelis and Palestinians came together in hopes of securing a better future.

Paradoxically, talk of potential Israeli-Saudi normalization has revived a key concept of the Oslo process focusing on the so-called Area C, which constitutes 60 percent of the West Bank and is where most of Israel’s settlements are located. There are credible reports of various proposals made by the Palestinian Authority, the United States, and Saudi Arabia arguing that Israel should agree to transfer a significant portion of Area C to Palestinian control as part an agreement between Riyadh and Jerusalem to normalize relations.

Such a proposal will almost certainly be resisted by extremist ministers in Netanyahu’s government, and it’s unclear how flexible Netanyahu—who is desperate for a deal with the Saudis—will be. Still, it would be quite extraordinary if the presumed dead and buried architecture of the Oslo process was resurrected to try to redeem the fast-fading hopes of progress on the Israeli-Palestinian track.

But even with this potential opening, there’s still no clear pathway to end the conflict, and no organizing principle around which a majority of Israelis and Palestinians can rally. Without giving up hope—and we cannot—we also should not succumb to facile illusions and assumptions about silver bullets that can redeem a peaceful future for both peoples. If Oslo demonstrated anything, it’s that even with leadership and partnership, the journey is long, hard, and strewn, more often than not, with failure.

None of this means that the past is inexorably prologue. None of us can see around corners, and abandoning the search for an equitable and durable Israeli-Palestinian peace is neither morally nor ethically responsible—and it’s not in U.S. interests. We need leaders who see peace as critical to their own people and who are prepared to understand and work to accommodate the needs of the other side; a mediator who’s prepared to be reassuring, patient, and tough on both sides when necessary; and an end state that recognizes that a durable and equitable solution depends on a balance of interests, not an asymmetry of power.

None of these things is available now. Yet the United States may someday have another opportunity to pursue Israeli-Palestinian peacemaking, and we should do so without illusion and without believing we can do it alone or abandoning that pursuit if we run into serious challenges. And with right-thinking and courageous Israelis and Palestinians, support from the Arab world and beyond, and a fair amount of luck, one day—who knows—we might just get there.

[butts-bouncing-on-the-beltway]

Mystery chickens arrive Wednesday and I'm so fucking hyyyyyyyype. I'm also nearly done with my week (especially since I have a short day tomorrow) and while I do have some paperwork and cleaning and henhouse set up this weekend (plus birthday shenanigans) I am hoping to relax a little and maybe get myself in order.

I pruned the seed lists down a bit as well so that the initial purchases are more affordable, and hopefully that means I will be able to buy a round with each of the next two pay periods. That should let me sow just in time for the end of the month and the beginning of summer (perfect timing for veggies given our long growing season here). That means we'll be able to have the hens and the garden up and running by the end of the summer, and I can finally start to relax about groceries. I do still need to find a good place to buy our bulk shelf stable goods, but once I do we can buy those monthly, gather our produce and eggs daily with a little biweekly supplement from the farmer's market, and have a weekly butcher trip, and we should be back to an affordable grocery budget again.

The bills are back to being manageable, and are all paid off except for the insurance which I called about today and nearly had a heart attack about but should be able to get paid off next month. I need to find about $400 for it that I'm not totally sure about right now, but I will make that happen.

I want to be able to keep up with my work as best I can, and I also want to start trying to be more proactive about my non-work time so I'm not feeling so overwhelmed and burnt out. We're mostly settled into the house now, and while we're behind schedule (understandably lol) of where I'd hoped to be by now, I think I can make our life plans keep working on a reasonable timeline if I just keep chipping away. For one, I want to get a clothesline so I can start handwashing our and line drying our clothes rather than continuing to spend our money and time at the laundromat. I did pick up septic safe laundry powder I can use in the upstairs bathtub. All I have to do now is buy and run a clothesline. Pretty sure I know where I want to run it too, as wifey and I have discussed that previously. Might look into a vintage washing board too if I can find one, as I HATE having to scrub and spin in the tub by hand. That should keep us until we can save up for our combo unit, or at least a washing machine.

I know wifey wants to look for a couch and a dining table with chairs for us. And I'd like to snag a buikt in sewing table for my office, maybe a small loom if I can find an affordable one. I might even set up a lace making station in my lil alcove I think, it has great lighting for the fine motor work.

The yard still needs trees and bushes planted, but honestly that may just be a next year project. I may have to accept that. That's okay though. Gives me time to better clear out the invasive jasmine and see how the rhizomatics alter the soil composition. Maybe this year we focus on the soil, the chickens, and the basic functions like the couch and sewing machine and clothesline. And then next year we can focus more on trees and bushes, washing machine, and creek rehab. Things that are likely to be more expensive or time consuming/complex.

I am really looking forward to digging into creek rehabilitation when we get to that point. The creek has visibly slowed it's momentum as time passes, and I can see the debris crowding out the water flow, but as we shore up the creek walls, add native water plants to filter and aerate the water, and reinvigorate the ecosystem, I'm hoping that we'll start seeing amphibians and salamanders more often. Right now we get large animals and some wild birds, so I think there must be at least some insect populations, but I know the dynamics of the creek are pretty limited at the moment. With luck that'll change quickly once the right natives are in place. There's an existing creek restoration project in the city I'm hoping to volunteer with and get some tips from on how to implement ours.

Anyway, I'm just really feeling optimistic, even if I know that there's still a lot of work ahead of us. It feels like the work is actually happening. Fingers crossed we're able to keep making headway.

[roadtogracelandx45]

Got To Get Up| Breaking Point scene

full scene will be in Courage Under Fire hopefully by the end of summer.

Also can be used for the angst/heartbreak scene for Day 5 of BoB Week

Got Get Up 

Summary: Bastogne has been hard on everyone including the nurses that were holding together not only themselves but the morale of the company by sheer hope and lipstick. Until the day that Joe Toye and Bill Guarnere get seriously injured and even the strongest of nurses breaks.

Past Bill / Liv 

Joe Toye/ Lily Johns 

Mentions of injuries and death 

Rated M 

Word count 1899

The full scene will be in Courage Under Fire  

*Normally I know girls wouldn’t swear as much during this time period, but due to the stress of being in the active war zones and being surrounded by men who cursed regularly, they would pick up on it.** 

“God damn it, Buck! Get off of me!” Olivia shouted as Buck tackled her to the ground into the half dug fox hole, a shelling had started catching them all off guard. “Not until it’s safe.” He grunted in her ear, the memory of her near tears and cursing the day before during a shelling was still fresh in his mind. The words that they had wanted the girls and the two female paratroopers safe, were true. 

The soft humming of Dixieland, sent Buck back to the pub after their week-long pass to London when Edward, informed the twins that their great-great-grandfather Fredrick, the man, that the twins idolized had finally died, and instead of breaking down in tears, like they had thought Olivia would have done.

 She handed over leftover pounds to the bar owner for the bottle of whiskey, they had told stories and the brothers reenacted Fredrick singing Dixieland drunk on the bar at not only the twins’ sweet 16 but their younger sister Marla’s. With coaxing from her brothers, Bill, Lewis, Bull, and even Lipton, who was notorious for being well reserved, Olivia joined in the singing and laughter. 

“Oh, I wish I was in Dixieland,” He muttered softly causing her to pause and turn her head slightly to look at him. “Sorry, that always helps, you should have heard me after I went out of the plane, I sang it all the way down and was still singing when Lip found me.” 

Buck nodded his head with a humorless laugh and started pushing himself off of her when the shelling stopped.

 “Can I move now or are you going to push me down again?” She asked. “Stay there.” He ordered, “Keep singing if you must.”  

“Not that bad of a singer. That would be Ed.”  

“I gotta get up,” Joe Toye’s voice rang through the quietness and Olivia pushed herself up from the ground ready to push up and take off if needed. 

“I got to get up. I need my helmet.” 

That time Olvia pushed herself all the way up and was next to Buck.

 “I got to go him, Buck.”  

“Oh, I gotta.”  Tears filled her eyes and she started forward and Buck grabbed a hold of her and started pulling her back. “I got him Liv, you stay here.”

 “No god damn it, Buck! This is my goddamn job! I have run through how many artillery attacks since fucking D-Day to be by someone’s side! This isn’t going to stop me. Let me go!” He started hauling her back towards the foxhole that had been in, “Olivia, god damn it! Listen to me!” 

Her cold hand swung across his face shaking him out of his thoughts. The surprise in Olivia’s blue eyes matched the ones in his. 

“Buck, I am,’ She started, “so, sorry.” He waved her off as Bill appeared in their line of sight, pulling Joe with him, her brother Edward came out of the woods to help. 

“Come on Bill! Eddie! You got to hurry!” She shouted, her surprise at smacking Buck forgotten.

 “You got to hurry Guarno!” Buck’s voice added as he succeeded in pulling her back into the foxhole. “I’m coming.” He said just as the next shelling started throwing him back into Olivia knocking her back hard into the ground, “NO!’ 

**

Everything went dark around Olivia as Buck’s larger frame covered hers again, the singing and humming didn’t come to her as quickly as it did before. She was too scared to do anything right then other than pray that her brother was okay, that Joe was okay and that Bill was okay. As much as she hated Bill for hurting her as much as he did, she still loved him and she didn’t want him to die. 

Especially not in the cold like this. 

The shelling stopped as quickly as it started and the blinding white light surrounded her again, then through the ringing in her ears, she could her brother’s voice calling for her and for Bobby. Then Buck’s voice called for a medic. 

“Medic!!”  

“Fuck.” She muttered as she pushed herself and scrambled past him ignoring the pain in her ribs and head. She stopped first by Bill and Joe. “Billy? Joe? You okay?” She asked pushing Bill over, “Oh please, please don’t be dead.” She whispered. “Will take more than a shelling to take me out, sweetheart.” He muttered, “Go to Edward, we will hold.” He touched her cheek and offered her a pain-filled smile “You know, that I,” Bill nodded his head and motioned for her to go to her brother, she brought his hand up to her mouth and pressed a kiss against it before turning to  Joe  who waved her off before she could say anything, “Go Livvy.” 

She paused quickly and pressed her cold lips against his forehead before going over to her brother and dropping her helmet on the snow next to her. “Oh god damn it Eddie.” She breathed seeing the blood rushing out of his stomach and his own legs were mangled. “Okay, I can fix this.” She started pulling bandages, morphine, and sulfur out of her pockets. “BOBBY! GENE!” She shouted, “Hey Edward, you keep your eyes open.”  

“Bossy little sister.” He muttered, his trembling hand catching hers, “Olivia stop. Please. Nothing is going to help.” “No, no, don’t say that, I can fix this. PawPaw and Uncle Finn taught me. Please let me help you.’  

There was crunching of snow next to her and Gene dropped down next to her, his own hands pulling hers away from the wounds, his voice giving out directions to the other nurses and Spina to start helping Bill and Joe.  “BOBBY!”  Her voice came out shrill and tear-filled and she hated it, she hated that she was showing these emotions. The emotions she had been trained to do since she was 6 to hide behind the tough southern belle facade.

 “You’re going to have to write home and tell Samantha,”  Edward’s voice brought her back and she grasped his hand between hers, “That I love her and the baby.”  “Baby?” She mouthed, her eyes going to Bill whose mouth was moving to form the same word. “Yeah named her after you and Marla. I insisted. Wanted her to be named after her two tough aunts. Was going to tell ya, but always busy.” “Damn Kruats, always ruinin’ everything.” She muttered as her twin finally appeared and dropped down next to them. 

“You,” Edward pointing a shaky finger at him, “Keep pulling her out of trouble.”  “Always, the only time I won’t is when it's our turn to go.”  “I will write to Samantha, I promise.” Olivia said, “We will both make sure that little girl knows how much of a good man you are.’  The older sibling nodded his head and with one shuddering final breath that was almost reminiscent of Hoobler’s last one, he slipped away. Bobby put his arm around his sister’s neck and pulled her into him, whispering softly to her.  

There were tears in his eyes but he wouldn’t shed them. He never did. 

After a few seconds, Olivia pulled away and sniffed back some tears, “What do I need to do Gene?” “Liv.” He started, his bloody hands resting on her arms. “Please, please let me work. I can’t fall apart. Not now.”  Roe looked thoughtful for a second and directed her over to Bill who was now sitting up against a tree trunk. He didn’t have the heart to point out that she was a higher rank than him and technically only had to listen to Buck or one of the other higher-ups.  “Liv, I am,” he started trying to get her attention but she was busy assessing what she had missed when she first rolled him over. “Olivia.” He started as the jeep drivers came into the clearing with a stretcher.

 “Bill, you’re going first.” The Cajun doctor ordered he was now by Joe Toye, leaving Bobby to tend to his brother. Something he insisted on doing,  Roe had offered to come back and do it but was refused.  “I am going with him.”  She couldn’t save her brother or save her sister-in-law from all the hurt she was going to be going through but she could make sure that Bill would be okay.  Olivia didn’t trust herself not break down around anyone other than her brother, Lewis or Bill. Sure she loved Liebgott but she didn’t want to burden him with the extra hurt, he was already struggling.  It was her job to be strong and not break down, if she wanted that she would have stayed back in Charleston or gone to Nixon, New Jersey to work. Like had been offered many times before. 

“Should have stayed home.” She muttered as Bill’s free hand caught hers and he gave it a squeeze before the two boys carrying stretchers put him on top of the Jeep.  “Ma’am, if you are coming with us.” The one man commented as he started up the Jeep.  The girl had met the eyes of not only Lewis Nixon but Winters and they both wanted to say something but she shook her head, “Yeah I am coming. Got make sure this one makes it to where he can go home to his mom. And stay alive for Evelyn.”

 “Don’t start that Livvy,’ Bill groaned as he laid his head back on the stretcher, his arm covering his face. Shaking her head, the nurse finished out a syrette of morphine and leaned over and put it in his thigh to help him with the pain, she knew him well enough to know that he wasn’t going to ask for it. “You know I love ya right?” He asked, “Like honest to god love ya.” “Bill, you are hurt and the pain meds are taking effect, don’t say stuff that you don’t mean.” “It’s the truth Liv, I know I fucked up.” “Bill, please for the love of god, shut up and rest until we get to the aide station.” She ordered as she grabbed a hold of his hand and squeezed it. She could have murdered him right then and there for bringing this up, first she had feelings for Liebgott that she didn’t know how to handle, and there those fucked up feelings she had for Nix, that she couldn’t understand nor did think she ever could. And to put on top of it, they had lost Hoobler, and now her oldest brother, then this fool, starts spitting out his feelings for her like it was going to be his last chance too. “I should have stayed home in Charleston.” 

[dimiclaudeblaigan]

I can't believe it's been a week without Little Man... When he first came home he was so happy and excited. He would play for two to three hours straight. He loved his food time but then he would go back to playing, with naps in between before his regular nighttime sleep.

Seeing him decline from that to never playing, always starving and wanting food because of his illness (the poor thing had no fat at all to keep him warm by the end...) and otherwise just sleeping really hurt. It hurt even more to see him after a deworming process want to play. He was attentive and alert, and when he heard his toys he would look with wide eyes like he wanted to play, but he was in too much pain to be able to.

During the deworming we had to keep him separated from my other cat, so he was in another room and we visited him throughout the day (and night) repeatedly and spent long periods of time with him. At night that room would get a bit cold because of its size, and sometimes I'd go in there and it was cold and I was worried he was also feeling cold... but recently I realized he really probably was because he had no fat to retain his body heat. I'm so glad I put a little blanket over him on his bed and tried my best to keep him warm. I would keep my door open so the heat could get out and keep coming back on or just stay on so it would heat up the room he was in.

His real name was Cumulus because my mom named him after that type of cloud, but I started to call him Little Man and it stuck. He knew that was what I called him, too! He started to respond after a little while!

By the end he could barely eat or even meow because it hurt to move his mouth. His jaw must have been deteriorating, and we were told his gums looked terrible. When he did eat, he could only eat wet food and even that was hard. We would hear a hard crunching sound when he ate wet food, so I'm pretty certain something was very wrong with his jaw. That was why he was always so hungry at the end - he couldn't eat enough to sustain himself.

We only had him for two months but he was so happy, sweet and precious before that illness really started to kick in. It's hard losing a cat, but it's even harder losing a five month old kitten who had so many years of life left to live. He was so sweet and playful that I can't believe how fast his illness destroyed his body from the inside out. He was bright and loving and he didn't deserve what happened to him.

Frankly, I do put some blame on the guy who sold him to us. He claims to be a rescue operation and that's fine, but he knew the mother was sick and didn't make it, yet he didn't think to check for dangerous illnesses on this cat or his sister who was adopted at the same exact day and time as he was? When we adopted him, we've now realized he was showing at least three signs of his illness already (breathing speed, heat/temperature and wobbly eyes that he often couldn't keep still). He had other issues so we didn't know what was wrong until the day the vet did an ultrasound and said he wasn't going to make it to a year old even with medication.

Imo the guy who runs that business should know the signs of illness in a cat. If you work in that profession you should know what to look out for - especially if the mother was sick before giving birth. As the shelter, it's his responsibility to know the signs and take care of health issues before adopting out. His negligence and lack of knowledge/awareness cost my family a lot of heartache and many vet bills of us just trying to find the problem. If you're working in a field with animals and adopting them out to others as a business, for the love of fuck, know all the details involved in your profession. I understand he rescues cats from kill shelters which is wonderful, but he takes in sick cats as well but then somehow doesn't notice the signs of them or their offspring being ill? It makes me think he didn't interact with them enough to notice, so again - negligence. If anyone knew what the kitten had, they might have been able to save him by medicating him before any damage could truly be done to him. Unfortunately the medication is not yet legal and is essentially on the black market and can cost thousands of dollars that we couldn't afford, but god I would've started a fundraiser to save his life if we had known. This sweetheart did not deserve the pain and suffering he went through.

I'm sad and I'm angry at this man's lack of awareness. If you're going to adopt out cats, know that you're adopting out a sick cat or potentially sick cat so you can inform and warn the adopters. "I never would've sold you a sick cat if I had known" isn't going to cut it. You should know if that's your business. That knowledge could've saved this kitten's life, or even just helped him to get on medicine to make his last months painless.

I miss you, Little Man. I love you so much. I hope we gave you the best life you could've possibly had in the time that you had. I hope all the craziness and play and love was just how you would've always lived your life. You were too sweet and you should've never had to be taken from us that young.

[hismercytomyjustice]

I will say, unfortunately (from personal experience), to have the same or a similar mindset when it comes to family. Never loan out more than you’re willing to permanently lose.

I don’t regret helping family, but I wish I hadn’t been so convinced I’d be paid back because, lol, that never fucking happened.

Keep that kind of thing in mind when letting others (family or friends) crash at your place too. I’ve done this 3x now (once family and twice friends) and it ended badly 3 out of 3 times. It is wild how people you’ve known for 10+ years and think you can trust are capable of abusing that trust.

Obviously I’m not saying everyone is like this or that you shouldn’t help others, but make sure you have some hard and fast rules in place (ex. contributing to rent/bills, whether or not guests staying over for multiple days at a time are allowed, cleaning responsibilities, what’s considered communal, etc).

And, even more importantly, have an end date or (bare minimum) a check in/renegotiation date in mind. One night can easily turn into two weeks or 3+ months. Ask me how I know. (ㆆ ᴗ ㆆ)

Same in situations where you’re offering extensive moral support or other forms of assistance/care for prolonged periods of time. Be sure to take care of yourself too because caregiver fatigue/butnout is fucking real.

Make sure your own cup is full before you start filling everyone else’s. You can’t help others if you don’t help yourself first. And don’t be afraid to set boundaries if you need to, whether it’s “you cannot call me and expect me to talk to you on the phone for 2+ hours a day every day for a year,” or “I can help you look after your pet, but not forever” (that one lasted 9 months and would’ve been longer…), or “you need to speak to a professional about this because I am not qualified to be your therapist, though I’m happy to listen as a friend/family member.”

Or you too can enjoy the excitement of a complete and total mental breakdown you’re still recovering from years later! Yay! •ᴗ•

God I wish all of the above were not real personal examples…

I mean, I hope you don’t wind up with people in your life who take advantage of your help/generosity, but it doesn’t hurt to be cautious, realistic, or clear when offering to provide assistance. Just in case.

And even with so many terrible experiences under my belt, I still want to help my family/friends when I can. But I’m now much more self-aware of what I can and can’t do as well as should and shouldn’t do.

And lemme tell ya, it would’ve been much easier to set boundaries like that up front rather than feeling like you’re slowly sinking into quicksand until your brain literally fucking breaks!

It is just absolutely fucking miserable and if I can save anyone else from winding up that far in the deep end by sharing all this, it will have been well worth it.

You want some serious old fart advice? Never, ever lend your friends more money than you think you can lose permanently. I don't fucking care if they say they'll pay you back. I don't care how small the amount is. Write that shit off as gone in your mind. It will eat at you forever if you don't.

Some people say the same thing about family, but I think it applies more to friends. Family is (usually) held together by obligations the way friends aren't. And money is a huge stressor in all kinds of relationships, not just romantic.

I'm not saying this to bum you out. I'm telling you because this is not something you want to learn on your own. Because it fucking sucks to realize it's one reason you're no longer friends, whether you were necessarily aware of it or not.

[alba8688]

Chapter 1

New place

Word count:3099

Story Warnings :talk about death,suicide ,drugs,eventual smut and if I missed anything let me know .

The smell of the beach invaded my nostrils, the waves calming my nerves .The water looked beautiful and clear , the seagulls flying over the water singing slowly to each other .

The sand on my feet it's big piles of small cubes hugging my feet and comforting my tired and sore broken sole And yeah sure, the sand wedges itself up into my toenails,, and coats the bottom of my feet like butter on toast.

Yeah it's just like Heaven.

"Aria." I opened my eyes and suddenly I was back in my classroom. I fell asleep again during my free period .

"How long was I out? "I asked Clarissa, my best friend who always seems to save me while I was drifting away .

"40 minutes ." She tells me putting a coffee on my desk in front of me .

And that's why I love her .

"At least you rest ,you haven't slept well in weeks .Have you even looked for an apartment yet?" She asked me ,I've been living in my car for a month now.

Claire had offered me to stay with her but I didn't want to for the simple reason that I knew my ex would go looking for me there and I didn't feel like seeing him, not even after two years .

The reason I was living in my car was because my last apartment where I trusted my roommate to pay the rent and the bills while I was busy working or at school meetings.

She wasn't actually paying anything, she was keeping the money for herself and I never noticed that because I was always too fucking busy working and I trusted her .

Until one afternoon that I got home and there was a notice in the front of the door that I had a week to get out .

But when I tried to open the door with my key, the key wouldn't fit .

I knocked on the door but nothing, then I went downstairs to the main office and they gave me my bags with my clothes ,makeup ,shoes ,jewelry ,purses while my roommate stayed with everything else I own .

My luck.

"Yeah I'm looking at one today after work ." I tell her taking sips of my hot coffee to wake me up .

"Just one more class Aria." Claire tells me walking out of my classroom to her classroom that was next to mine .

We were both high school English teachers.

The bell rang signaling my next class was about to start and the students would be coming in in less than 5 minutes so I got ready for my last class of the day ..

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The whole week I've been to so many apartments that I lost count and nothing was of my liking some where too expensive some where to fancy .

Some didn't allow pets ,well I didn't have pets. What if I wanted one?

And now here I was in my last apartment of the week. I was outside the last apartment with my realtor looking through my phone while Diana kept talking about how amazing the apartment was . I was about to give up .

When I saw a post on the marketplace on facebook of an apartment for rent at a cheap price .

I told Diana my realtor thank you and left her there and called the number .

That's how I ended up here parked outside the apartment complex. It was close to downtown Hawkins and I liked that it was close to all the stores and restaurants because I never had time to cook so it was better for me .

The apartment was actually upstairs a coffee shop and it had its own entrance through the side .

That's at least what the ad said .

I got down locking my car to meet Steven at the coffee shop, he was the one renting me the apartment.

I walked in the coffee shop and it wasn't something I expected to be .

It was also a record shop/coffee shop with a very metal aesthetic .

The walls were covered in band posters and others with lords of the rings posters as well.

There was a stage at the far end and on the back of the stage it said "Karaoke." In large red letters.

It was something different but I love the ambiance here.

"Hello ,welcome to Hellfire ." A cheery

Teenage girl Greeted me .

"Hi, I'm supposed to meet Steven ." I tell her

"Oh ,Steve is right over there in his usual

Table ."She tells me pointing to where Steven is sitting down typing on his laptop .

I approached him and cleared my throat before talking .

"Steven ." I said shyly ,he looks

At me and me smiles.

"You can call me Steve ." He stands up and shakes my hand .

Oh,wow he has soft hands .

"Babe ,I'm gonna show the apartment I'll be back ." He says looking over his shoulder to a

Girl who was fixing some records .

"Ok."she responded she was a beautiful girl shorter than me, her hair was curly and just above her shoulders .

She smiles at me politely and I smile back at her.

I followed Steve outside the coffee shop and to the alley where there were some stairs leading up To the apartment .

"There's also an entrance through the coffee shop ." He tells me .

"Oh,ok." I respond,I wonder why ?

Maybe the owner used to live upstairs ..

"I can give you the keys to that side too the coffee shop is open 24 hrs so you can come out through there as well ."he tells me

"Whatever, I mean if it's fine with you ." I tell

Him .

But honestly I just needed to see this apartment. Apparently it came fully furnished and that was a big win for me because my old roommate stayed with all my old Furniture .

"Ok,this is it ." He tells me opening the door to the apartment .

It wasn't big or anything, it had big windows, a small kitchen and everything Was open space.

I walked around the loft.Taking in my surroundings it looked like a man's cave.Maybe a guy used to live here. What got my attention was the black brick wall that was by the entrance of the apartment. I walked closer to it and saw in small letters written "Munson." I traced them with my fingers .It looks like it was carved with a knife.

I wonder if that's who lived here before me.

I wanted to ask Steve but I saw he was too lost in thought walking around the apartment smiling. Maybe it was a friend's apartment or maybe he used to live here.

I walked upstairs to where the room was. It was just a queen bed and a recliner and on top of the bed there was a handmade banner with the words Corroded Coffin written on it.

I walked around the room looking at the things on the wall. There were some posters of metallica and other bands ..

Whoever used to live here must have love music .

I really liked the apartment .It gave me this sense of peace it was so calm in here.

Just what I need .

I smiled and gave one last look at the bed but from the peripheral of my eye I thought I had seen someone sitting down in the recliner but there was no one there but there was an acoustic guitar that said "this machine slays dragons."

I must have missed it because of how pretty the apartment is.

I spun around and watched Steve sit on the couch. It looked like he was sniffling.

"I'll take it ." I said walking down stairs ,Steve got up from the sofa and looked at me .

"Really?" He asked unsure of my answer

"Yes ." I smile,"I can give you the deposit and two months of rent ." I tell him getting the money out.

"Ok." He said he seemed surprised that I actually wanted the apartment. I mean come on it was a steal .

It included all bills so it was a catch and it was so cheap .

Now I wonder why it was so cheap.

"Ok, we can go downstairs and sign the lease ." He tells me

"Ok awesome ,my Name is Aria by the way ."

"Nice to meet you Aria ." He smiles

After doing all that we had to do I parked my car on the alleyway of the coffee shop where the stairs to the apartment were and started getting my luggage down .

I opened the door and I actually felt happy. I was finally going to be able to sleep well in bed .I was finally going to be able to rest .

I closed the door to the apartment and headed to the bathroom to shower.

Turning on the water just like how I like it. I take my clothes off and get it in .

The water was so warm .

I needed this so much .

I was tired of getting up early to go to school and showering in the girls locker room before anyone got there .

Now I could take my time showering .

I got out of the shower and looked around the bathroom. It really was beautiful and what I loved the most was the walk in closet that had a washer and dryer .

I wrapped the towel around my body and before walking out I take one last look at the bathroom

"It really is beautiful ." I whispered and walked out to the kitchen to make myself something. I ended up making instant spicy noodles with mozzarella cheese with Tteokbokki.

I grabbed myself a beer from the fridge and spun around and bumped into someone spilling the beer to the floor .

I blink twice, maybe four but then I scream because there's a man right in front of me with his arms across his chest looking at me .

"What are you doing here ?" He asked

"W-what ?" I asked, looking around the apartment.

Where did he come from?

I looked at the front door and it was still locked .

"Did you come here to steal from me ?" He asked me, looking me up and down m.

"What? I'm not stealing anything ." I answered,I wrapped the towel more tightly around my body feeling a bit under dressed .

"I'm not stealing anything, I live here ."I tell him grabbing a towel and cleaning the mess from the floor .

"Yeah ,no you can't live here, this is my apartment." He followed me around while

I clean the mess.

What is he talking about ?

Am I going crazy ?

Yeah that's probably it. I haven't slept in weeks and I finally went crazy .

"Since when ?" I asked him

"Since I first bought this building years ago ." He tells me

"You bought it ?" What is he talking about ?

"What is this ? Is this some rent scam bullshit because I gave two months rent already and I'm

Not moving out !!"

"Rent scam, what are you talking about ?"

"Don't you get it? Maybe there's other people who paid the deposit and also got the keys ."

"No, because I never put my apartment to rent ." He tells me walking away to sit on the couch with his feet up on the table .

"Ok." He stands up "how can you be living here Huh ?This is my stuff ." He signals around me "this is my couch ,my coffee table and that's my bed up there .If you look under that rug you'll see a burn from when I fell asleep with a cigarette in my hand."

I move the rug slowly with my foot and see that there is infact a burn stained under the rug .

"I told you ,how would I know that ?"

He looks around the apartment and starts walking away from me looking around .

"I-I have never seen the apartment so clean before." He says softly, I stared at him standing in shocked in the living room ,not knowing what the fuck is happening until my legs decide to move to followed him upstairs and when I reached upstairs he wasn't there anymore.

"Umm hey ." I said softly looking around .

I rushed downstairs. I checked everywhere around the apartment and he was nowhere to be found.

"Hello ." I walked in the bathroom and into the closet but he wasn't there. How could he disappear just like that?

Yeah I must be going crazy, I told myself .

The next morning I woke up early and headed to the hardware store to buy another lock to put it on the door in case someone might try to get in.

I made sure the lock was put properly on the door and locked it and went to change in the bathroom for my lunch with Claire .

I had called her this morning to tell her what was happening to me ..

She was the only one that could understand me .

I started brushing my teeth and doing my makeup, just something simple.

After I was done with that I took off the clothes I was wearing leaving me in a bra and panties .

I walked around the apartment looking for my red skirt .

When I felt someone staring at me .

I looked up and there he was. He was wearing a black Metallica shirt black ripped jeans with a handcuff belt and his hair was in a low bun .

Why didn't I notice this before ?

Maybe because I was so scared.

"I told you to get out but I don't mind the view ." He tells me, winking at me, he was laying down on the sofa with his hands behind his back .

"H-how ?"I looked at the lock door. There's no way he could have opened it .

Then I turned back and he wasn't there anymore .

"Ok,I'm going crazy ."I told myself ..

I hurried up and got ready ..

At lunch

"Ok, what was so important that we had to meet up?" Clarissa asks, taking a piece of my nachos from my plate .

"I don't know ." I tell her ,how was I supposed to tell her that I'm seeing things or someone or a man in my new apartment .

"So you call me for nothing ."She tells me, munching on the nachos .

Ok here goes nothing ..

"I-I been sort of saying someone." I see her smile grow on her face .

"That's what i'm talking about finally after Jason you just decided not to date anymore I mean you need to get laid ." She chuckled

Oh Claire it wasn't like that .

Trust me I know I need to get laid .

But I have that pink vibrator Claire got for me Valentine's Day .

I mean that's all I need for now right ?

"So what you think is a good thing ?

"Absolutely." She tells me

"Claire is not like that ."

"Who is he ? Tell me all about him please .Is he good in bed .Oh My God Did you finally find someone that fills you up well if you know what I mean ." She wiggles her brows at me, cackling at her own joke .

Because I told her ,Jason was big but not big enough .

"Jesus Christ Claire and to think you're a teacher ." I chuckled "what I meant is I'm seeing someone that's not there ."

"Like emotionally unavailable?" She asks, raising her brow .

How do I explain to her that I'm seeing a ghost ?

Was he a ghost ?

I mean he is a cute ghost .

What ? No, why am I thinking like that of a dead person?

I've gone crazy, that's what it is..

"Nooo Claire, not like that ." I pinched the bridge of my nose. This sounds so stupid I tell myself .

"Oh shit like a hallucination." She makes a weird face at me .

"Yes ,I've seen him twice in the apartment I just got." And I looked upstairs to the apartment .We were sitting outside the coffee shop on a table eating our lunch .I looked up the big windows and I thought I caught a glimpse of him looking down at me .

But how if there's no possible way for him to stand where the windows are ?

I'm going crazy .

"Is he hot?" Claire ask munching on my nachos

And getting me out of my thoughts .

"What I don't know maybe ." Yes he is!! But it's weird thinking like that of a ghost .

Is that like a kink?

Jesus Christ !

"Ok so when you saw this guy were you drunk or high ?" She ask

"Claire !! Noo!! I've just had like two beers and that's it ." I can't believe she thought I was drunk .

"Well maybe because you were so tired the beers hit you hard and that's why you thought you saw a maybe hot guy in your apartment ." She tries to explain to me what happened to me .

But I know what I saw, I'm not dumb .

I saw him .

"Claire, I know what I saw. He was wearing a Metallica shirt with black ripped jeans and a low bun ." I whisper looking around me afraid someone would hear and think I'm crazy .

I sounded crazy to be honest .

"Look, you haven't been sleeping well all this month. Maybe you are just tired and need dick , that's why you are seeing the hot guy ." She whispers

"Claire please ." I giggle. I can't help it with this girl always making me laugh. That's the reason she was my best friend and my ex-boyfriend's sister .

"Hey,not because I'm a Carver, it doesn't mean I have a stick up my ass ." She chuckled

"Yeah I guess you're not like your brother because your parents send you away to an all girls school in Europe to cleanse you for your gayness ." I chuckled, making her laugh .Claire came out to her parents when she was in high school and her parents saw it as an act or revealing against them or Satan had gotten to her so they sent her to this Christian school in Europe to cleanse her and exorcize her .It didn't work. She was still so gay and loved boobies more than any other guy I knew .

"My brother has been a kiss ass since we were small ,I guess I'm just chill , I'm the black sheep of the family ." She chuckled "so let's go see that new apartment of yours with your ghost boyfriend .She gets up picking up the trash and my now finish nachos she ate and throw it into the trash .

"Let's go meet that ghostie of yours ." She says holding my hand .

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