#Dig Berkeley

[recitedemise]

He exits the bookstore, a little hole in the wall like some well-kept secret. It's dark already, the season trudging slow through the claws of winter, and Gale's every mind to scurry to his humble home. He eyes the stars, however—then there, a single man.

"If you don't my saying so, you've the look of wanderlust to you. A beautiful word, that. It may be the sentiments of the hour, but I'd always believed it carried a flavor of nostalgia. An incessant desire to brave those roads untrodden—for what else is a man if not a creature of adventure? Or more importantly still, thrilling discovery?" Huh. Well, for such an unbidden comment, surely, perhaps this stranger minds quite a lot. Goodness. Gale blinks, catching himself after his peculiar spiel. He could fluster for it, blame his gracelessness for that year in solitude, but it'd hardly do now to begin whinging, would it? Almost timidly, he grins and musters a laugh. "But that's merely an observation," he scrabbles together with all the charm of an awkward boy. "There are far better places to gaze onto our cosmos than Dagenham, I can confirm—no offense, of course, though I'd be remiss not to share it all the same." / @cragsnow ♡'d.

[mr-selfdestruct]

Guys the nine inch nails obsession is getting worse

[thoughtfulfiction]

Carpe Diem

Author’s Note: We all miss him. So I wrote the most romantic thing I’ve ever written.

A glass of chilled Savasana California Rosé sat in front of you, its diluted pink hue a stark contrast to the sweet yet crisp taste. With a fork in hand you begin to dig into the chicken parmesan with strozzapreti pasta, the chunky tomato sauce brings a rich and comforting smell that shifts your attention from the constant hum of the plane's engine. Eating dinner on a plane like this—silverware instead of plastic cutlery, wine served in real glass—felt oddly surreal. This whole trip did, like you’d stumbled into someone else’s life.

You hadn’t always pictured yourself in this life—a corner office in Berkeley, managing accounts worth millions and rubbing elbows with executives. The internship you’d applied for during your junior year of college was meant to be a stepping stone, a way to pad your resume and have something cool to look back on the future. You hadn’t expected it to become the foundation of a career at a place ranked 7th among the largest biomedical companies by revenue in the world. And here you were sipping rosé in first class on your way to a solo vacation in Greece. Somehow, it had all come together. Your first year making six figures was surreal enough, but now the freedom to spend it on something like this felt even more unbelievable.

The hotel room you would be calling home for the next few days was stretched out like it came straight out of a travel magazine. Everything about it screamed neutral paradise, highlighting the warmth of the space. Plush pillows stacked neatly atop the Temper-Pedic king sized bed that earned the hotel all five of its stars with just one glance. The open layout gave the impression of a private condo, complete with a sleek mini bar and an espresso machine that practically begged to be used. The view from the top floor was breathtaking, floor-to-ceiling glass windows that made way for the vibrant blue skies that allowed the sun to shine at it's greatest capacity, reflecting off the marble from the streets of southern Athens below. And the colors were so dynamic; olive groves, fields of breathtaking wildflowers and citrus trees brought the city to life. Everything reminded you of a landscape painting, it was all so perfect you almost had to pinch yourself to make sure you were really here.

But before your Athens takeover could really commence, you needed a nap. Or three.

Day one passed in a blissful haze of recovery. After a nap that could have doubled as a small coma, you walked by the hotel’s pool, taking in the sparkling water and the soft chatter of other guests lounging under striped umbrellas. Breakfast that morning was a feast fit for royalty, an omelet folded to perfection, fresh fruit that tasted like sunshine, and Moustokouloura, a pastry so rich and sweet it felt like dessert at dawn. The concierge insisted you try Greek coffee, and when the steaming cup arrived at your door, its strong, earthy aroma greeted you like a wake-up call from the gods. You took it to the patio, sipping as you let the city below slowly introduce itself. This is exactly where you're supposed to be. Athens was filled with color, sound, and possibility. This was freedom, pure and simple.

Feeling refreshed on your second morning after some extensive Tik Tok research about things to do in Athens, you walked around the streets of Plaka, by far the most recommended place on the site. And it didn't take long for you to understand why. The neighborhood was a collection of some of the most beautiful brick buildings, an array of restaurants with uniquely placed outdoor seating. The air carried the mingling scents of fresh pita, grilling souvlaki, and blooming jasmine. Laughter and snippets of conversation floated from café tables spilling onto the sidewalks, where diners lingered over plates of mezes and glasses of ouzo. You walked slowly, admiring every square inch of the place like you were going to commit every detail to memory, stumbling upon a store with random trinkets you figured you could take home to your friends and tell them what they were getting themselves into when you all would be in Greece together eventually. Now that you'd experienced this on your own, you couldn't wait to share this experience with them next time. The first person you spotted when you walked in was a tall man, well over six feet, broad shoulders with his back facing the door. He was sexy from the back which meant...no. You shook yourself out of the daydream about what this man could possibly look like because of course men in Greece looked better. That was some sort of law or something based on every movie you'd ever seen. The book shelf at the front of the store caught your eye first, a Greek guide book with common phrases for tourists to know, things that maybe Duolingo wouldn't think of so you grabbed it, scanning the pages for useful information. You tried to focus on the guidebook in your hands, but your nerves betrayed you. An older man’s gaze prickled at your skin, a quiet warning sounding in your mind. Maybe it was nothing, you told yourself. He could just be a curious local. But by the third lap around the shop and you could still feel his eyes in you, the goosebumps on your arms had turned into a full-blown alarm.

The man was closer now, his steps too deliberate to be a coincidence. By the time he spoke, his voice was low and overly familiar, the kind of tone that made your stomach twist. “Hi. Didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. “I just... couldn’t help noticing you.”

You swallowed thickly, hoping to keep the conversation short, sweet and with as little personal information exchanged as humanly possible. "Yes. Just visiting," you force out a smile.

"Ah I see, those are pretty," he gestures toward the necklaces in your hand, "pretty necklaces for a pretty lady. Does the pretty lady have a name?"

"Um," you wanted to take a step back, you wanted to walk away, but there was literally no way out of this situation because he was standing in between you and the exit. And for some reason you couldn't think of a fake name off the top of your head to give him. "It's—”

“Oh hey, babe. There you are,” a deep voice interrupted. Your head whipped around, and there he was—broad shoulders, a jawline sharp enough to rival a Greek statue. He had the kind of easy confidence that made your heart skip a beat. Mr. Broad Shoulders slid his arm around you, his touch casual but protective, the warmth of his hand anchoring you in place but doubling your pulse rate for a different reason. “Thought you wanted those charm bracelets, but you disappeared on me.”

“I got distracted.” Your gaze flickered upward, caught on the sun-kissed curl falling across his forehead. He smelled faintly of cinnamon, like he’d been leaning over a freshly lit candle moments before swooping in to save you.

The man takes a look at the two of you and apologizes, walking away without a second glance. You let out a sigh of relief, "thanks for the save, I really didn't know what to do and you just-I really appreciate it."

"No worries, I saw him following you around and thought it was weird. Glad I could help."

You look around to make sure the man from before, spotting him circling the back area with the pasties. "It's...very weird. He didn’t seem like he’d back down that easily."

“I’m Joe, by the way. Since I’m your boyfriend now, that seems like something you should know.”

You laughed, the tension in your chest finally easing. “Yeah, probably. Nice to meet you, Joe. I’m Y/N, your very grateful girlfriend.”

Joe leaned down slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper meant just for you. “He’s still watching us. Mind if I sell this a little more?” Without waiting for an answer, he adjusted his grip, his arm tightening around your shoulders like he’d been holding you this way forever. It was seamless, effortless, entirely too convincing. And it left you speechless. All you could do was nod, looking up at him, thinking about how this guy might be the most gorgeous person you've ever seen.

The two of you moved around the store aimlessly, the conversation flowing like you’d known each other for longer than half an hour. Joe explained he’d been in Greece for a few days, taking time to decompress after a grueling work season. “Sometimes, I just need to step away,” he said, his voice carrying a quiet sincerity that struck a chord.

“I get that,” you replied, sharing your own story of navigating your career and this newfound independence. You admitted, almost sheepishly, that sometimes your job didn’t feel like work because it aligned with your passions so perfectly. Joe nodded, his expression softening. “That’s how I feel,” he said. “I mean, this year it really magnified that for me. But sometimes when things don't go the way you hoped or planned, it makes the sacrifices worth more. Like not having as much free time when I'm working. Now, I have endless free time."

There was something magnetic about him—not just the broad shoulders and effortless charm, but the way he seemed so present. Every touch felt intentional, whether it was his hand on your back as you navigated tight spaces or his offer to buy the travel book you’d been thumbing through. You felt a strange sense of familiarity, like you’d seen him somewhere before but couldn’t quite place it.

After carefully deliberating over the trinkets, you settled on matching necklaces for your friends. On your way to the register, a woman approached, her expression warm and animated.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she began, “but I just had to tell you—you two make the most stunning couple. The way you look at each other, it’s just... beautiful. Are you here on an anniversary trip?”

“One year,” Joe answered without hesitation, a sly smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he squeezed your hand.

“That’s incredible! Congratulations!” the woman gushed. “Athens is the perfect place to explore as a couple. Do you have plans yet?”

You chimed in, “Not really. We were just going to see where the day takes us.”

The woman nodded enthusiastically and rattled off recommendations, from must-visit landmarks to hidden culinary gems. You took notes on your phone, her suggestions igniting your excitement for the day ahead. Out of the corner of his eye, Joe watched you with a kind of awe. The way your face lit up when you talked about exploring the city tugged at something deep inside him.

He’d spent the last four days locked away in his room, trying to process a season that had been equal parts triumph and heartbreak. It wasn’t just the physical toll of the game—it was the sting of being so close to the pinnacle and falling short. They had gone from 4-8 to 9-8 in what felt like the blink of an eye. The unmet expectations that he had for the team dulled his personal success a bit and he needed to escape after watching other teams prepare for their playoff runs while he cleaned out his locker. He just wanted to recharge and regroup…alone. And here you were, an unexpected spark in the midst of his self-imposed solitude.

When the woman finally bid you goodbye, you hesitated. Should you ask him to join you? The idea of spending the day with a stranger—no matter how kind and gorgeous—felt bold, maybe too bold. But being alone again felt... unbearable. You decided against asking because the thought of rejection was a step above unbearable, if at all possible.

“Well,” you began, your voice faltering slightly, “I guess this is it. I should probably head to my next stop now that I have a to-do list.” You forced a small laugh, keeping your gaze on the floor.

Joe nodded, his smile tinged with something you couldn’t quite place. “Nice to meet you, Y/N. I hope you check off everything on your list.”

He watched you walk away, his chest tightening with each step. He wanted to stop you, to ask you to stay, but the words wouldn’t come. All he could do was stand there, frozen, as the door swung open.

You paused just before stepping outside. Something tugged at you—a feeling that walking away now would be a mistake.

Turning back, you smiled shyly. “I just realized... how am I supposed to experience Athens to its full potential without my boyfriend? On our anniversary trip, no less?”

Joe’s laugh was warm, easy. “No idea. Luckily, I think I know someone who can help.”

“You’re always so helpful. I feel like I won the dating lottery.”

“Can’t disagree,” he teased, his grin widening.

“Alright,” you said, nudging him playfully, “let’s get out of here before your head gets so big it doesn’t fit through the door.”

He walked out with you, allowing you to lead the way to your first stop.

Fairytale Athens looked like an intense mix between the Garden of Eden and Alice in Wonderland. "This is...wow," Joe quips, the vast array of flowers on the ceiling, the pink bar area and the flamingos. So many flamingos.

You could tell by his tight expression that this place isn't really his scene. "We're not here for two hours of afternoon tea or anything," you reassure him with a smile, "Dimitra said that we should grab drinks before walking around Acropolis and that..." you glance at the menu in front of you, "...strawberry ginger lemonade? That might be calling my name." He shakes his head and orders a mint and cucumber lemonade for himself, your lemonade and two waters as you walk around the princess castle, taking as many pictures as possible before Joe walked back over with all four drinks in hand before heading to the incredibly famous tourist attraction.

The package you paid for allowed you to skip the line and head through a side entrance, your tour guide walking you through the history of the ancient sights along with details about the architectural styles, construction techniques, and the symbolism of the monuments. The faint echo of the voices highlighted the rich history of the place you were standing in, the warm air a stark contrast to the cool lemonade in your hand. It seemed like Joe was hanging onto every word as he helped you up some steep ancient steps, his eyes lighting up as the guide drove you over to the museum, going into depth about the Gods.

"This exhibit is Gods, Worship and Magic, one of the most popular sites this year. You guys can walk around and read about the different deities featured." Artemis' exhibit, caught your eye first.

Glancing down at the steel plaque, "goddess of the hunt, devoted to nature. Were you ever a Percy Jackson fan growing up?"

"I was more of a SpongeBob guy. And Star Wars. Definitely had a dinosaur phase that lasted a lot longer than I care to share," he looks up, wondering why in the hell he just told you that. "Do—do you have any humiliating stories you'd like to share with the class?"

He nudged you as you walked alongside him, his hand so dangerously close to yours. You had the biggest urge to reach out and touch him. So you did. Reaching out maybe an inch, you interlocked your pinky with his, making his heart take a leap in his chest, swinging your hands happily towards the Eros exhibit. "The god of—”

"Love and desire," he finishes for you. Just because he wasn’t a Percy Jackson fanatic, doesn’t mean he didn’t pay close attention to the Greek mythology unit in school.

"Look at the hands," you said softly, leaning in closer. "It's like they're...perfectly fit for each other, you know?"

Joe's breath hitched almost imperceptibly. He was standing so close now, the faint scent of mint and cucumber from his lemonade mingling with the earthy air of the exhibit. "Yeah," he murmured, his voice warm and low, "I know what you mean."

Your pinkies were still hooked, but now the little space between you felt electrified. You didn't dare turn to meet his eyes, afraid of what you might see—or what he might see in yours.

"I do have an embarrassing thing to share with the class," you turn to face him and admire the excited look on his face, like what you're about to say is the most important thing in the world. "When I was little I was obsessed with Mama Mia." He gives you a puzzled look. "It's a musical that they turned into a movie. Anyway...it's about a girl that's getting married in a small town in Greece and the views just..." you pause, smiling at the memory, "...changed my life. I've always wanted that magical movie moment feeling. The music, the views, the…”

"Romance?" he finishes softly, a knowing look in his eyes.

You exhale, your cheeks warming as you nod. "Yeah...the romance. It was nice too." You hesitate, the words catching in your throat. "Doesn’t really compare to the real thing, though," you add, barely above a whisper.

The weight of the moment lingers between you. His gaze searches yours, his expression softening like he wants to say something but can’t quite find the words. Your heart stumbles, and suddenly you feel too seen. You clear your throat, breaking the spell. "I'm, uh, getting kind of hungry. We should grab lunch and head to the next spot."

Joe blinks, a flicker of surprise crossing his face, like he wasn't ready for the shift. "Yeah, sure," he says, his voice gentler now. He watches you for a second longer than you'd expect, then nods. As you walk back to meet the tour guide, Joe finds himself wondering how you’ve managed to unravel him so quickly, leaving him wondering why he already feels so invested in figuring you out.

When you get into the Uber it's like a weight has been lifted off your chest. The museum, which was supposed to be a calm and educational experience was too stuffy and intimate by the end of the visit. In the car, you could have your own space, sitting as close to the door as you could to gather yourself and your thoughts. The driver was nice enough, he had chargers in the car and gave you water bottles, noting that the heat would steadily increase throughout the day. You noticed him stealing glances at Joe in the rearview mirror, his hands tightening on the wheel like he was holding back words. The silence stretched until finally—“I’m sorry, man. I just gotta say…” he finally utters out, "I've been a Bengals fan since I was 8. And I woke up at ungodly hours to watch you play every week. Huge, huge fan."

You laughed at yourself in your seat, the pieces of the puzzle being put together. All of your focus had been on the day, spending every waking minute together and you didn't even fully process why he looked so familiar because the odds of that just sounded too insane to be real. Joe managed a polite smile, his usual ease replaced with a flicker of discomfort. You glanced at him, watching his jaw tighten just slightly as he signed the hat, the faintest blush creeping up his neck. Did he worry you’d see him differently now?

The car stopped near a bustling square lined with food trucks and small cafes. The aroma of grilled meat and spices wafted through the air as you wandered, your eyes drawn to colorful menus. It didn’t take long for the debate to begin.

"Joseph, the mini burgers are definitely better than the souvlaki cones. Be serious."

"No they aren't!" He argues, "you just need to try another one, here."

The souvlaki cone was tender and smoky, the tzatziki tangy and cool against the heat of the pork. But the burger—crispy bacon, the creamy richness of the mayo—felt indulgent, almost sinful. You savored every bite, laughing at Joe’s mock-offended gasp when you declared it the winner. "I hear you and I respect your wrong opinion. But the burger is just better I'm sorry. Do you want another bite?"

He shakes his head slowly, admiring you while you did such a mundane task, silently cursing himself at the fact that he chartered a plane to leave early the next morning. The two of you needed more time together. One day just wasn't going to be enough and the more time he spent with you the more apparent that fact became.

And then you took him on a boat.

It rocked gently, but Joe’s hands gripped the edge of the seat like the waves were threatening to tip them over. His gaze darted toward the horizon, avoiding the churning water below. “You’re really not a boat guy, huh?” you teased, your voice softening when his fingers tightened further. "I'm so sorry I had no idea. But Joe? We're literally in Greece, it's like, treason not to get on a boat here."

"Exactly, so I'm abiding by the law. Doesn't mean I have to enjoy it."

Your hand found his thigh in a quiet attempt to reassure him, and you felt the tension slowly drain from his muscles. He glanced at you, his expression unreadable, but the way his leg leaned ever so slightly into your touch sent a warmth through you that lingered long after. Aegina’s coastline unfolded before you, the white-washed buildings glowing under the sun, expansive trees swaying in the breeze. Joe stepped out first, offering his hand. His grip was firm, steadying you until your feet found the solid ground. You smiled up at him, the unspoken connection between you stronger than ever.

Just as Dimitra had described to you before, the pottery studio was tucked in a quiet corner of the island. Inside, the walls were lined with vibrant pottery, each bowl and vase a testament to countless hands shaping their stories, their glazes gleaming softly in the sunlight as you and Joe grabbed seats toward the back of the room. The instructor's notes were simple, to mold an item of your choice to keep at the end of the session, giving everyone creative freedom to produce a piece of their heart's desire. The clay felt cool to the touch, it's sticky and wet texture balanced wonderfully with the earthy smell that made your experience all the more relaxing and fun. Joe on the other hand, was creating a bowl with a lopsided shape, "it's supposed to look like this," he said firmly, biting back a laugh as you tried (and failed) to keep a straight face.

"Abstract art is still art. I just thought maybe...a quarterback would be better with his hands," you teased.

"Oh yeah? Let's see your work, Picasso." He took a break from his work station to scoot closer to yours, "shit, that actually looks pretty good."

You clean your hands off and move over to his station when he sets his chair back down. "I worked at my uncle's ceramic shop when I was little. It was his passion project so we all had to pitch in as a family and take turns," you helped guide his hand along the bowl, allowing him to smooth over the ridges efficiently evening out some of the misshapen parts. "I'm not saying I’m an expert by any means but I can get you to a point where your bowl can sit up by itself." Your fingers brushed his as you guided his hand, the soft pressure of your touch steadying his movements. Together, the ridges of the bowl began to smooth, though neither of you seemed in a hurry to let go. By the end of the session both bowls were done to the best of your ability, sort of bowl shaped, sort of not and full of personality.

"You’re good at this," Joe says, watching as continued to shape your bowl.

"Good at pottery?" you ask, laughing.

"Good at making things feel...easier," he replies softly. The pottery, he thought to himself, sort of mirrored your time together-unpolished, imperfect, but full of potential and that was both exciting and daunting. After your hands were clean, he grabbed your phone and snapped a picture of the two of you showing off your bowls.

"I was scared when you mentioned doing this at first, but I actually really enjoyed that. This," he gestures to his masterpiece, "is going up somewhere, maybe next to the trophy case at my parent's house. Funny enough, they also live in Athens. Ohio, not Greece," he clarifies.

"You might've missed your true calling," you tell him with a laugh, "here you are wasting your talents on football when the art community needs you."

"Yeah...sure," he laughs, holding onto the bags with your now fully dry bowls in them. "Unfortunately, I don't think I'm ready to quit my day job. Quite frankly, I don't think the art world is ready for me yet. Although working that clay could have been really good wrist rehab."

There it was, that can of worms you'd been trying to navigate. You didn't want to push him to talk about the season or his job if he didn't want to. And now the door was open for you to ask. "You don't have to answer if you don't want to but...was it scary? You know, putting your entire life, all of your free time, your dedication to this one thing that you're obviously really good at. Putting in all that work and then one day it's all just...taken away from you?"

He stops walking for a bit and your breath hitches in your throat, fearing that you've pushed him too far. At the end of the day you were still a stranger to him and maybe that was too personal?

You could tell the question was kind of eating at him, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean—”

"No it's fine. I just…yeah. I was terrified for a little bit. No one had been through this before—not at my position, not at this level. I had no blueprint, no one to turn to for advice. It felt like— walking on a tightrope in the dark, hoping I wouldn’t fall.

“The scariest part wasn’t the pain or the rehab," Joe admits. "It was not knowing if I’d still be...me when it was all over."

You tilt your head, searching his face. "You mean, the quarterback?"

He hesitates, then shakes his head. "No. Just...me. Without football, I really didn’t know who that was, how I was going to navigate fame and my private life and everything in between that comes with being me. Whatever that means. And I had an uncomfortably long amount of time to figure it out. Now that the wrist and my health is not an issue anymore and with everything that happened during the season I just felt drained afterwards. Exhausted honestly. And today's been exactly what I needed.”

"Today's been a breath a fresh air for me too. Obviously I didn't have 500 pounds of man laying on top of me but I get it on a smaller scale. Feeling like work is drowning you and nothing you do is good enough so you need to escape. This trip isn’t just a celebration," you confess. "It’s a reminder that I’m more than my deadlines and titles. My boss once called me at 11 p.m. on a Sunday, and I didn’t even blink before picking up. I guess I forgot what it felt like to just...be. I really needed a—”

"Reset," the two of you say at the same time, a comfortable silence washing over you as you continue to walk. "That’s kind of why I came here," you confess. "Not to figure out who I am, but...to remind myself I’m more than my job. More than what other people expect of me."

"Feels like everyone’s always watching, doesn’t it?" Joe says, his voice quieter. "Waiting for you to fail or...prove them right."

"Yeah. But I think we deserve more than that."

Joe sighs, nodding quietly, "We do," Joe says with a small smile. "And one day, when we get it, we’ll look back on this trip as the start of something different." He didn’t say everything he was thinking—some things needed more time to come to the surface.

"Sounds perfect, lead the way."

After you shared the world's greatest chicken gyro, you walked around Aegina a little more, realizing that you had no time to change before dinner and you'd been wearing the same clothes all day long. You walked into a small store, grabbing things off the shelf to try on. Joe was easy, settling for gray cargo pants and a blue striped knit top. Rummaging through clothes and anything that wasn't instant online shopping had become a bit of a chore and you were on a time crunch which made you feel even more rushed. You grabbed three or four dresses and had Joe sit outside the fitting room while you tried the stuff on, only stepping out to show him your favorite.

"What do you think about this?”

The baby blue square neck A-line dress hugged your body like it was created just for you to wear, it's length accentuating your curves in a way that almost had him physically picking his jaw up off the floor. He didn't think you could look any better before but you'd just shattered his expectations. "You look absolutely amazing," he says sincerely, his mouth feeling dry.

You glance at him, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. Compliments weren’t new, but the way he said it—like it was the only thing in the world that mattered—left you speechless. You managed a soft laugh, pretending to study your reflection. "Thanks." After heading back to the fitting room to change, you grabbed all of your items and headed to the front to pay with Joe standing behind you in line. The cashier rung up your items and was getting ready to bag it when Joe added his clothes to the mix.

"Joe what are you doing? You're not paying for my clothes."

He handed over his card without hesitation, ignoring your protests. "I’ve got this," he said, his voice casual but his eyes portraying something deeper, like this was the most natural thing in the world to him. "Boyfriends are supposed to buy things. I think it’s in the constitution.”

"It's definitely not. And seriously, you don't have to do this."

"I got it, don't worry babe." The word slipped out so effortlessly that for a second, you wondered if you’d misheard him. But the way his eyes flicked to yours, briefly widening, told you everything. He realized it too—and yet, he didn’t take it back.You thanked him the entire walk back to the boat, his soft laugh sending warm and fuzzy feelings in your chest.

You were starting to acknowledge the growing warmth between you two, the way Joe’s presence seemed to make every moment feel right. The idea of saying goodbye felt heavier than it should after just one day, but somehow, it seemed inevitable. The next spot was inside a resort, they allowed you to change your clothes and head upstairs to the rooftop bar to watch the sunset. The drinks and the view had nothing on you, he quickly realized, finding himself unable to tear his eyes away. Everything just made sense today, the museum walk, the easy conversation, the boat ride. He didn't want to leave before but now the mere thought of packing his suitcase tonight made him upset.

"What are you thinking about over there?" Your words snap him out of his thoughts.

"Nothing, just how much I'm going to miss it here. The peace, the incredible sunset..."

You. The word hung in the air for a while before he pushed it down and tried to move on.

"We should head over to there and get closer to the view, you can literally see the entire city from glass railing." You stood up first and grabbed his hand, practically dragging him over there. Luckily there wasn't anyone else in the area. "This is the most insane scenery. I don't get how anyone could get tired of seeing this everyday, I'd never be inside. I feel like we’ve been the physical representation of carpe diem."

He looks at you confused, "what does that even mean?"

"Carpe diem? It’s Latin for 'seize the day.' Basically saying not to focus too much on the future and live in the present to the fullest capacity.”

"I like that," he chuckles.

Long after the sun went down and most of your dishes were cleared from the table, the lingering sweetness of caramel on your lips was all you could think about, a fleeting pleasure that only made the impending goodbye sting even more.

"Joe I have to tell you something," he looks at you as you head over to stand in one of the private lounge areas, giving you his undivided attention. "I saw you this morning in the store. Your back was facing me but I don't know, you caught my eye. And I told myself I wouldn't say anything, I wouldn't go up to you and make small talk because I'm here on a solo vacation to be one with myself and-now I'm really glad that I know you."

A smile forms on the corner of his mouth, "I've been telling myself all day that this isn't real. That I could just let my guard down because in Greece, I don't have to be Joe Burrow. I can just be...Joe. You let me be exactly who I am, nothing more, nothing less. And honestly? This might've been the single greatest day of my life. I've had good ones, really good ones. But today is up there for sure." You hadn’t realized how close you’d gotten until you could feel his arm against yours, his breath soft and warm on your cheek. His eyes dropped to your lips again, this time lingering a moment longer, as if the air between you had thickened. You could feel the heat radiating off his body, his breath just a whisper away, as his hand hovered near your cheek. His fingers brushed against your skin, sending a spark through you, and for a moment, you thought he might pull you in.

You couldn't allow yourself to go there. This wasn’t supposed to happen, not now, not like this—but the way he was looking at you, like you were the only thing in the world that mattered, made it hard to think clearly. As much as you wanted this, to feel him close, to taste the sweetness of that kiss, the weight of knowing how fleeting it all was crushed down on you. This wasn’t just a kiss—it was everything you were afraid to want, a piece of yourself that you couldn’t let slip away so easily. If you already felt this strongly about him after a day, how were you going to make it through the rest of the vacation without him knowing how his lips tasted and how his strong hands pulled you in close, holding onto you like he'd rather lose everything than let you go. There was no way in the world you'd recover.

"We can't," you whisper, watching him drop his hand that had just been lightly caressing your cheek. "You're gonna leave tomorrow and I'm gonna be thinking about this kiss for a long time. And I can't," your voice trembles. "I don't want you to go, so I can't kiss you. I'm sorry."

"No don't—don't apologize. I get it." He still hadn't taken a step back, biting his lip to keep his emotions in check. "I can walk you back to your hotel? I haven't packed yet and I need to.”

"Sure, yeah that's fine."

The 15 minute walk felt like three seconds. You didn't want him to go. He no longer wanted to leave. "Y/N I—”

You wrapped him up in a bone crushing hug, silently begging him to stay, just for a few more days. His grip on you was just as strong, his heartbeat thumping rapidly against your body. There weren't enough words in the English, or Greek dictionary to describe how much you were going to miss him. To miss this day. "Bye Joe." That was it. That was all you could manage. The moment you let go of him felt like a piece of your heart stayed in his arms. There was no way to explain the ache in your chest as you watched him turn away, the pull to stay stronger than any rational thought.

Going to sleep that night sounded impossible. The day had started out so innocent and special and the adventure and emotional rollercoaster you'd been on during the day made it feel like you'd experienced a series of days all wrapped into one. You set your bags down on the ground when you got to your room, too tired to change out of your clothes and falling asleep on top of the covers as soon as you laid down.

The next morning you checked the time on your phone, it was 8am. Joe had told you yesterday he was leaving at 10. That meek little goodbye wasn't going to cut it. You didn't even have his number. After your teeth were brushed and your clothes were changed, you rushed out of your hotel and got in an Uber, on your way to Joe's resort. The 46 minute ride allowed you to come up with everything you wanted to say, how this was only meant to be for a day but maybe it could be more? Maybe you could come see him in Cincinnati or he could come to Berkeley or someway somehow you could figure out a way to make it work.

You thanked your driver, opting to speed walk into the lobby. The person at the front desk couldn't give you access to the room without a reason, even when you gave them the name Joe used for his reservation. Pulling out your phone, you showed her the picture of you and Joe that he took at the pottery place and she finally believed you.

"I'm sorry ma'am, he actually left this morning a bit earlier than planned. He checked out at 7am to get on the plane."

Your chest tightened as the words settled in—he was gone. Just like that, in the span of a few hours, everything had shifted. The chance to say what was left unsaid, the connection you had just begun to explore, all slipped away before you could even hold onto it.

It felt like a dark cloud loomed over you throughout the rest of the day. The sun, once so warm on your skin, now felt distant and cold. The flowers that had seemed so alive that morning now appeared dull, their colors muted, as though even nature understood the weight on your heart. While you ate lunch, you tried to people watch, although you quickly discovered that there were only couples surrounding you, sharing meals and laughing at each other's jokes which made you miss him even more. The only real bright spot of the day was your flower garden excursion, taking pictures of the newly bloomed bulbs and taking in their fresh scent. As the hours passed, you allowed yourself to breathe a little deeper, letting the moments of regret slip away as you focused on the simple joys of your surroundings. The beauty of the flowers, the calm of the gardens, it all reminded you that there was still peace to be found in this unexpected chapter of your life.

You were just beginning to let go of the weight on your chest, convincing yourself that maybe, just maybe, this was how things were meant to be. But as you laid your phone down beside you, the familiar ping of a message broke the stillness.

It was an DM request on Instagram. The message had two simple words.

Carpe diem.

For a second, your heart skipped, and you couldn’t help but smile. That phrase, so simple and yet so loaded with meaning, sent a wave of warmth through you. It was him. In a way, he had left his mark on you after all, even if he wasn’t here to say the words aloud. Maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t the end. And though you didn’t know what tomorrow would bring or if this connection would ever evolve beyond this brief encounter, in that moment, with his words glowing on your screen, you allowed yourself one final thought: Maybe this was only the beginning.

[newrochellechallenger2019]

mmm imagine punishing art by staying silent during sex.

he loves when you're loud, when you can barely breathe between your moans, only he can make you like this, when his cock slams into the exact right spot that makes your toes curl, or when his tongue flicks over your clit and sends you spiralling into orgasm, moaning his name over and over.

but today he messed up, he blew his match against Berkeley...again, and you can hardly look at him as you both walk back to his dorm.

'Baby please-' he begins, his voice pleading.

'He beat you in straight sets! How does that even-' You cut him off, pissed.

He hangs his head in shame, 'I know, I'm sorry, I just got in my head.'

You fold your arms over my chest, 'I thought you were getting better at not letting that happen.' You say firmly.

'I thought I was too...' he says despondently and your heart aches a little.

He looks up at you then, eyes wide and submissive. 'Can I make it up to you?' he says softly, undisguised hope in his voice.

You consider his request, this normally works, he'll fuck your brains out and you'll forget why you were ever mad at him.

You sit down on the edge of the bed, shifting your thighs apart slightly as an invitation, 'Come on then' you coax gently as he all but scrambles to sit at your feet, gazing at you hungrily as he tugs your shorts down your legs and tossing them aside.

He shuffles forward, kissing your thighs, 'so pretty...so fucking pretty' he murmurs between kisses, before biting down hard on your inner thigh.

You yelp in surprise and he looks sheepish as he licks the bite mark soothingly, returning to kissing up to your panties.

He looks up at you, eyes wild with lust and a devilish smirk spreading across his face, 'all for me?' he teases, fingertip lightly brushing your pussy through your granny panties, since you hadn't planned on fucking him today.

'Funny' you deadpan as he pushes them aside, his nail brushing over your clit and you shudder.

He smirks wider at your reaction, feeling prematurely victorious.

He lowers his head again, hands digging into your thighs as he laps at your entrance teasingly.

You stifle a whimper as he continues, tongue swirling around your clit eagerly.

He looks up at you for a brief moment, confusion growing in his eyes before he slips his tongue into your entrance and you jaw clenches as you fight to stay silent.

He seems undeterred as he tongues your g-spot and you arch your back, still refusing to make a sound.

He starts to fuck you with his tongue more aggressively, eager to incite a single noise from you, but you lips remain firmly pressed together.

He whines then, pausing to look up at you pleadingly. 'Baby...come on...you know i love your little noises'.

He takes his middle and ring finger and presses them into your entrance, watching intently for a reaction, 'Please...I wanna hear how much you're enjoying this' he whimpers as his fingers increase their pace.

'Come on...i can feel how much you're enjoying it!' he whines as your walls clench around his fingers and your head is thrown back.

He adds a third finger, desperate to push you to climax, knowing you'll moan for him then and you inhale sharply.

A slow grin spreads across his face as his fingers curl against your cervix and your eyes flutter closed.

'Baby...I know you want to...' he coaxes, fingerfucking with renewed vigor.

Your legs start to shake, a sign you're reaching climax and his tongue flicks over your clit eagerly.

A moan slips out as you cum, 'Oh fuck...fuck...fuck', gripping his hair as he continues to finger you through your orgasm, slowing until he removes his fingers, a overjoyed look on his face as he licks his fingers clean.

'I'm the only one who can make you moan like that, aren't i?' He says, eager for praise.

You pant as you come down from my high, 'Yeah...yeah you are.' you smile dazily as he stands and captures your lips in a kiss.

'Not cool by the way' He teases playfully.

You laugh, 'It worked...one of the best orgasms i've had.'

[thislovintime]

Photo by Nurit Wilde (screenshot from Laurel Canyon: A Place in Time).

Another look at some late ‘60s solo gigs: “When the guitar fingers start itching, I go and play down at clubs like a troubadour.” - Peter Tork, New Musical Express, July 1, 1967 “Things were pretty grim [at the Troubadour], with nary a very talented performer in the room, when at about 11.30 Peter Tork himself appeared. He was a charming breath of fresh air and assurance.” - Judy Sims, Disc and Music Echo, May 18, 1968 “At the Troubadour […], Peter Tork strolled in, banjo on his knee. Later, in-between ‘Alvin’ and a great banjo finger-picker, Peter yelled a hello to Mike Nesmith, who was standing in the upstairs darkness and the two fell into a hilarious patter routine. Peter climbed out long enough to display great talent, great warmth, great humor and, in general, a great personality. Mike did the same when, later, I asked him how the album was coming. ‘Album? Oh, Uh huh. Nice weather, yes? Album’s gonna be good. How are you. Hi, Pete, how’s the album?’” - Ginni Ganahal, TeenSet Magazine, February 1968 A National Conference on New Politics mass rally at the L.A. Sports Arena on February 2, 1968 featured appearances by Nina Simone, Steppenwolf — and Peter Tork. “PETER TORK of THE MONKEES DAVID CROSBY of THE BIRDS [sic] STEVE STILLS of THE BUFFALO SPRINGFIELD Plus many other guest celebrities will perform at the [Eugene] McCARTHY FOR PRESIDENT RALLY Saturday, May 25, 8:30 p.m. at the Berkeley Community Theater” - ad in The Berkeley Gazette, May 24, 1968 “Peter Tork answered questions and discussed life from the point of view of a 27-year-old television star and entertainer at the Cow Palace Thursday night. About 1,200 persons attended the show, sponsored by the Spirit Movement 1969, and called For What It’s Worth.’ Tork also sang six or seven songs including the popular Giant Step and Can You Dig It?’” - The Commonwealth Reporter, June 20, 1969 “Tork showed good musicianship on the guitar (gained through years of toil in New York coffeehouses) and a strong, interesting voice — something he rarely was given to displaying on ‘The Monkees’ TV show of a few seasons back. At one point he told his audience, ‘We are trying to get happy. There is too much unhappiness in this world.’ He also told those in his audience ‘not to worry so much.’” - ibid

[richarlotte]

more about the collegiate 10?

Each college is going to be very different. Public universities and private universities will attract different types; pricier institutions will show wealth in a way that their less expensive counterparts won’t, and location matters most when it comes to finding the standard.

 

I’ve made a list of colleges with what I feel have similar vibes below. I took location, popular activities, Instagram presence, cost of attendance, Greek Life, and the ethnic/religious diversity of the student body into consideration when creating the matches I made.

Michigan - Indiana - Wisconsin.

Washington - Oregon - Berkeley - Colorado.

Texas - Ole Miss - Georgia - Alabama.

Syracuse - Tulane -/- SMU - Miami.

NYU - Columbia - Barnard.

Southern Methodist - Southern California.

Arizona - SDSU - Arizona State.

Ohio State - Michigan State - Penn State.

Harvard - Penn - Yale - Georgetown.

You have to be able to identify patterns if you're really interested in knowing more about this phenomenon. You can see those patterns in the influencers who blow up and come from the similar backgrounds, you can look at the major influencers from Arizona and SDSU and see that they’re coming from the same sororities and the same hometowns, and if you scroll back far enough and have the time to do a deep dig, you can actually start to see where the glow-up really began.

This isn’t anything new. There have always been popular girls and it girls on campus; new trends and the rise of social media have just given them a bigger platform. I think the most important thing when it comes to recreating this look or glowing up according to plans is to know what will work for you and know what you’re looking for. As I’ve said before, this beauty has been manufactured due to the environment these girls are in; it doesn’t come naturally, and any almost look can be recreated if you’re willing to put in the time and effort needed to glow up physically and socially.

[sterekbros]

Begin Again (1173 words) by Winchesterek Chapters: 1/? (WIP) Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski Characters: Derek Hale, Stiles Stilinski, Erica Reyes Additional Tags: Paramedic Stiles Stilinski, Firefighter Derek Hale, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, True Alpha Derek Hale, Good Pack Alpha Derek Hale, Omegaverse Alpha Derek Hale, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omegaverse Omega Stiles Stilinski, Packless Omega Stiles Stilinski, POV Derek Hale, POV Stiles Stilinski

Stiles’ heart was pounding in his ears as he reached in through the broken window, feeling for a pulse point. He couldn't believe what he’d just witnessed. Not only was it a hit-and-run, but they’d also shot the girl before they took off.

“Hey, hey. Stay with me. What’s your name?” he asked her as she drifted in and out of consciousness. She mumbled ‘Erica’ before she slipped away again and Stiles tried to yank the door open but it was jammed.

Then he saw it. The bullet wound was smoking. He grabbed her shirt and pulled it aside to look at her shoulder. There were black lines surrounding the wound.

“Shit.” He knew then that she was a werewolf and the people that attacked her were hunters. They likely only left her because they thought the bullet would do her in. If she were human, Stiles wouldn't dare move her because of any injuries she might have from the accident.

But she wasn't human. If he could get the bullet out and heal the wound, she would heal any other injuries on her own.

Stiles reached in to grab her under her arms and hauled her out of the broken window. He laid her out on the ground and ripped her shirt open around the collar, then slung his backpack off. “Alright, hang in there. We’re gonna get this out.”

He fished his pocket knife out of his bag, then took a deep breath before digging in for the bullet. Stiles removed it effectively and tossed it on the ground.

“Almost done. Just have to take care of this wolfsbane. You’re doing great,” he told her even if she didn't respond. It was a habit that Stiles had, always talking to his patients as if they were conscious enough to hear him even when they weren't.

Stiles pulled out a vial of wolfsbane from his bag and prayed that it was the right strain as he opened it, dumped some onto the wound, and packed it in. He capped it and threw it back into his bag, then grabbed his lighter and lit it. It sparked and smoked and Erica started convulsing.

His heart started evening out as the black lines disappeared and the wound healed, leaving Erica lying still on the ground. “Oh, thank god.”

Then she breathed deeply and blinked at him, her eyes glazed and confused.

“You’re okay,” Stiles breathed. “I called the ambulance when the accident happened. I know you’re a werewolf and I healed your wolfsbane poisoning. The ambo should be here any minute.”

She tried to talk and Stiles shook his head, stopping her from rising before she passed out again. He looked up to see lights flashing as an ambulance pulled up.

“What happened?” a woman asked as she exited the ambulance, while another went around to the back to get a transfer board and gurney from what Stiles could see.

“It was a hit and run. Her vitals are good and I can't tell if there are any head injuries, but there are no visual fractures. She’s been in and out of consciousness.”

“You moved her?” the woman asked, giving him a judgemental look.

“I made sure to stabilize her neck as best as I could while she was moved,” he lied and there was no evidence that he’d done so.

“Alright, we got it from here.”

Stiles watched as the other medic came and they transferred her onto the board, strapped her to the gurney, and loaded her into the back of the ambulance.

Before Stiles could react, everything was silent. He looked at the wrecked car and sighed, running a hand over his face and packed up his backpack. So much for having a stress-free life in Beacon Hills. He really should have stayed at Berkeley.

***

It had been an hour since Erica had been admitted to Beacon Hills Memorial and Derek was beside himself with worry. He’d gotten there as soon as he could. Erica had been in and out of consciousness even though the doctors told him there was nothing wrong with her. He could smell the wolfsbane on her skin, but the poison had left her system as far as Derek could tell.

He held her hand and sighed, raising it to scent her and press his cheek against it. “Come on, Erica. Wake up.” Please.

As if she heard his please, her voice broke into his thoughts with, “You know me. I survive on drama.”

Her voice was hoarse, but still light and teasing. Derek looked up, relief washing through him. “If you needed some attention, all you had to do was tell me. Really, enlisting the hospital wasn't necessary.”

Erica laughed and then raised her free hand to hold her head. “I feel like I have the worst hangover.” She sighed. “What happened to my car?”

”They took it to the impound lot to inventory it. I think the officer said it was totaled.” He squeezed her hand and assured her, “Well get you another one.”

”Fucking hunters. I swear. They came out of nowhere and rammed me, then shot me with fucking wolfsbane,” Erica grumbled.

“Hunters?” Derek’s brows rose in concern. “I scented the wolfsbane on you, but I didn't see any wounds… how did you remove it?”

Erica paused, looking thoughtful as she held Derek’s hand tighter. “There was a man… he helped me.” She frowned and rubbed at her eyes before she sighed. “I don't remember much… just spots.”

Spots? That made Derek frown more, his thumb idly stroking over the back of Erica’s hand as he tried to soothe her. “So he helped you?”

”Well I’m alive so that’s the only explanation that I have,” Erica replied and rested her head against a pillow.

Derek tried to pick up the scent of whoever it was that helped Erica, but he couldn't find much on her. There was something sweet lingering on her skin, but they’d removed her clothes when she was admitted to the hospital so he wouldn't find it there. “Well, whoever he is, I’ll have to owe him. Hale’s repay their debts.”

”I don't think he’ll feel like you owe him. I mean. Why would he save me if he was expecting something out of it and then not show up to the hospital?” Erica closed her eyes and squeezed Derek’s hand again. “Really, I’m okay. When can we leave?”

Derek glanced at the door, giving Erica another once over before he stood. “I’ll check with the doctors. I brought you a change of clothes since they said the others were ruined in the wreck.”

He released Erica’s hand and stood. “I’ll be back.”

He wiped his hands on his jeans and went to find a doctor. Derek wanted to get Erica out of there just as much as Erica wanted to leave. He hated hospitals.

And whoever saved Erica, Derek knew he owed them. He made a silent promise to find out who it was whenever things were quiet again.

[asteroidtroglodyte]

“Solar Panels! Electric Cars! Techno-Utopianism! Green Citie-”

[grabs them firmly by the lapels and gets right in their face]

Where you gonna get the metals, City Boy?

Tell me.

[growling] Tell me. Where. You’re gonna get the metals. You gonna open a dig pit in Berkeley? You gonna do it here? You willing to sully your own neighborhood with Industry, for the sake of your glittering utopia, pal?

[baring teeth] Who exactly you gonna have pulling that metal out of the stubborn earth? You better not be planning on using kids. You better fucking address that labor issue, friend.

[shaking them by their coat] You gonna pay ‘em? You gonna pay em enough to make their own neighborhood nice? Do they get to participate in your utopia, or will they just be paying for it?

[bearterritory]

Golden Bears Over Fighting Irish

Close Out Season With Thrilling Win

Thomsen, Bartalo Earn Spots In Cal History Books

BERKELEY – The 2024 California volleyball team avenged its September loss to Notre Dame with a four-set thriller against the Fighting Irish at Haas Pavilion Saturday, dropping the first set 15-25 before taking the next three with scores of 25-23, 25-20 and 25-22 to cap off the year with three-straight wins. The Golden Bears finished the season at 15-17 (7-13 ACC) - a respectable first year result in a new conference with a tough schedule. Following the match, Cal celebrated the careers of Gianna Bartalo, Annalea Maeder, Ava Mehrten, Ellie Hamm and Paige Morningstar for Senior Day.   "I'm super proud of the team," head coach Jen Malcom said. "Our words this year were 'adapt and adjust'. It took every one of us to push through this season, and we made it our own."   Bartalo and Sawyer Thomsen anchored a Cal defense that held the Fighting Irish to .133 hitting, each recording program milestones. Bartalo's 17 digs – a match high – brought her to 468 on the year, crushing her previous career best for the eighth-highest total in a single season by any Cal volleyball player. Thomsen's 11 blocks (also a match high) made her just the 14th Bear in history to cross the 10-block mark and the first to do so since 2012, helping the team match a season-high 14 stops on the day.   Xuemeng (Maggie) Li led both teams with 21 kills and notched four service aces, a career high; as a team, Cal knocked down a season-high eight aces. A trio of Cal players – Bartalo, Peyton DeJardin (13) and Natalie Lau (10) – recorded double-digit digs, while Lau also added 44 kills for her 12th double-double of the season and a career-high five blocks. Ava Mehrten posted a career high of her own in her final collegiate match with seven digs as well as a season-high six blocks.   Notre Dame's offense hit .375 in the first set while only allowing Cal to score consecutive points thrice, finally ending on a 6-0 run to take the 1-0 set advantage. The Fighting Irish scored first in the second period, but the Bears gave them a run for their money, forcing eight tie scores – the last at 23-23 – and five lead changes; it took a come-from behind four-point run capped off by a block from Lau and Mikayla Hayden to seal the set in favor of Cal.   Although Notre Dame scored first once again to start off the third, the Bears responded with a 7-point run – including three aces from Li – to take a lead that held for the rest of the set. Cal scored five-straight points in the middle of the set, followed shortly by a powerful kill from Lau, to stretch that advantage to nine points (18-9), but a Notre Dame surge soon cut the gap to two; once again, a Lau block (aided this time by Thomsen) finally clinched the set for the Bears. The final set belonged to Li, who slammed down nine of her kills on .500 hitting to overcome another tightly-contested period with seven ties; after a 3-7 start, Cal scored 16 of the next 22 points before the Fighting Irish scored five straight and eventually forced the match's final draw at 21-21. The last point for the Bears finally came off the swing of DeJardin, whose ninth kill sealed the match.  

[scotianostra]

On November 7th 1974 Eric Linklater, the novelist and playwright, died in Aberdeen.

Although born in Wales, Linklater always considered himself as an Orcadian. Indeed like many on the island Eric can claim viking heritage and his family has documental proof that goes back to the 15th century an 18 generations.

There is a great wee story about his Great- Grandfather that I am sure you will appreciate, he worked on the whaling fleet from Stromness. When given leave he’d walk 10 miles home to Harray. It’s said there were many ale-houses by the road, and he never did the journey in less than 3 days!

Educated at Aberdeen University, Linklater spent many years on Orkney, the birthplace of his father, and even commanded the Orkney garrison during the Second World War.

Linklater was initially rejected by the army because of his poor eyesight, but joined up in 1917, his poor eyesight however meant he was not meant to see any action, he was sent to a Yeomanry regiment stationed in the north of England.

I read he lied about his age to join up, he would have been around 17 at the time, it’s partly true,and if you look at the pic of him in his uniform he does look very young.I did manage to dig up the truth about the lie though . While in England he heard that they were sending a small draft to the Black Watch in France, he made a few adjustments to his own medical record (improving his eyesight and adding a year to his age) and, using his own authority as Orderly Corporal, added his own name to the list of those sent abroad.

From 1919 to 1925 he studied at Aberdeen University, first in medicine and then in English. Between 1925 and 1927 he was an assistant editor of the Times of India, living in Bombay. After a year working at Aberdeen University in 1927-8, he spent two years as a Commonwealth Fellow in the USA, at Cornell and Berkeley.

Eric Linklater began publishing prolifically in 1929: altogether he wrote 23 novels, 3 volumes of short stories, 3 autobiographies, 10 plays, and 23 books of essays and non-fiction, as well as the books mentioned above in the first paragraph. Juan in America and Private Angelo are perhaps his best-known novels. He loved the Icelandic sagas, and wrote his own: The Men of Ness: the Saga of Thorlief Coalbiter’s Sons ; later, in 1955, he published a book about the sagas, called The Ultimate Viking.

On 1st June 1933 he Eric married Marjorie MacIntyre, and after a period in Italy they settled at Dounby in Orkney; they had four children.

Between 1939 and 1941 Linklater commanded the company of Royal Engineers on Orkney. In 1941 he was posted to the directorate of public relations in the War Office, and from 1944 to 1945 served in Italy, where he acquired the experiences necessary for writing Private Angelo, which was dedicated to the Eighth Army. It was a book about courage, but it did not celebrate war. Angelo’s remark “I hope you will not liberate us out of existence” might well have inspired William Tenn’s celebrated science fiction story “The Liberation of Earth” . In 1951 he published a history of that part of WW2, The Campaign in Italy, and, with the temporary rank of lieutenant-colonel he visited Korea.

In 1945 Eric Linklater was elected rector of Aberdeen University, and in 1947 the family moved to to Ross, and later to Aberdeenshire. From 1968 to 1973 he was deputy lieutenant of Ross and Cromarty.

Diana Gabaldon author of the Outlander books, told National Geographic: she researched for her series of books by reading a Linklater book. "I was reading a research book called The Prince in the Heather. She said. The account of Jamie Fraser surviving Culloden is partly based on a true story in the book where a Fraser of the Master of Lovat's regiment” took refuge in a farmhouse with 18 others and survived the slaughter.

Eric Linklater died in Aberdeen on this day 1974 and was buried in the Harray churchyard in Orkney. His widow, already an active political campaigner, moved back to Orkney, to serve as chairman of the Orkney Heritage Society. She helped to establish the St Magnus festival, and campaigned for the Scottish National Party.

Orkney makar George Mackay Brown wrote in the Orcadian, 14th November 1974,

“Orkney is a poorer place without him; even though for most of the year, he lived outside the islands. It is fitting that his dust should be brought back to lie in Orkney earth.”

[catominor]

Found some books and articles that might help with your research. These come from the bibliographies of Craig Williams' book "Roman Homosexuality," and Kelly Olson's article "Masculinity, Appearance, and Sexuality: Dandies in Roman Antiquity." Good luck!

Olson, Kelly. Masculinity and Dress in Roman Antiquity. Routledge Monographs in Classical Studies, 2017.

Alexandra T. Groom, Roman Clothing and Fashion (Stroud, UK: Tempus, 2002), 31-73; Julia Heskel, "Cicero as Evidence for Attitudes to Dress in the Late Republic," in The World of Roman Costume, ed. Judith L. Sebesta and Larissa Bonfante.

Mary Harlow, "Clothes Maketh the Man: Power Dressing and Elite Masculinity in the Later Roman World," in Gender in the Early Medieval World: East and West., 300—900, ed. Leslie Brubakerand Julia M. H. Smith

Brisson, Luc. 2002. Sexual Ambivalence: Androgyny and Hermaphroditism in Graeco-Roman Antiquity. Translated by Janet Lloyd. Berkeley.

Foxhall, Lin, and John Salmon, eds. 1998a. When Men Were Men: Masculinity, Identity, and Power in Classical Antiquity. New York. Thinking Men: Masculinity and Its Self-representation in the Classical Tradition. New York.

Gilmore, David D. 1990. Manhood in the Making: Cultural Concepts of Masculinity.

Gleason, Maud W. 1990. “The Semiotics of Gender: Physiognomy and Self-fashioning in the Second Century C.E.” In Halperin, Winkler, and Zeitlin 1990: 398–415.

Gleason, Maud W. 1995. Making Men: Sophists and Self-presentation in Ancient Rome. Princeton.

Graver, Margaret. 1998. “The Manhandling of Maecenas: Senecan Abstractions of Masculinity.” American Journal of Philology 119: 607–32.

Gunderson, Erik. 2000. Staging Masculinity: The Rhetoric of Performance in the Roman World. Ann Arbor.

Kleijwegt, Marc. 1991. Ancient Youth: The Ambiguity of Youth and the Absence of Adolescence in Greco-Roman Society. Amsterdam.

Porter, James I., ed. 1999. Constructions of the Classical Body. Ann Arbor.

Walters, Jonathan. 1997. “Invading the Roman Body: Manliness and Impenetrability in Roman Thought.” In Hallett and Skinner 1997: 29–46.

Williams, Craig A. Roman Homosexuality: Ideologies of Masculinity in Classical Antiquity. Oxford.

Wyke, Maria, ed. 1999. Parchments of Gender: Deciphering the Body of Antiquity. Oxford.

YAYY thank you so much!! this is really useful!! my idea is mostly to do with ideas about attractiveness in terms of physical features as opposed to presentation, but as far as i know there's no writing on it yet so all of these are useful as sort of... nearby topics. it'll be really interesting to dig into the masculinity aspect of it as well as like... age/youth too

[galaxywhump]

A Day of Revelations

[SV-240 masterlist]

Timeline: post-captivity, set after Another Arrival.

contents: recovery from slavery whump and forced relationship, hospital setting, past human trafficking, referenced branding and torture.

~~~

"People know that you're alive."

The car is getting closer and closer to the hospital, and Wren digs his fingers into his thighs, not too hard so Nathaniel doesn’t notice. At the dock it was just the two of them, on the ship it was him and the crew, but now there will be so many people surrounding him, and he tries to keep his breathing steady.

"Do the hospital staff know I'm going to be there?" he asks, his throat squeezed tight.

"Yes." Nathaniel nods. "I was told they would do their best to keep your arrival secret for now. We won't walk in through the main entrance."

"Okay. That's good." Wren bounces his leg, but stops himself, not wanting his anxiety to show too much. "But it's not gonna stay a secret forever."

"No." Nathaniel takes a slow, deep breath. "But your return isn't the only thing people are focusing on right now. You've exposed the trade, and that was a shock to everyone. Myself included." He looks at Wren with an almost apologetic smile. "I had no idea that had been going on. It makes sense, a lot of the… slavers worked pretty high in the League so they could manipulate data, but still…" He shakes his head. "It doesn't matter right now. The point still stands: people are being rescued, people are being arrested, really influential ones at that, so the focus won't be entirely on you."

Wren's not sure how comforted he feels after this answer, but at least he's sufficiently distracted by questions forming in his mind.

"How many people have been arrested?"

"A lot." Nathaniel shakes his head. "Hard to say right now. It's weird. It's good that so many people involved have been arrested, but mortifying that there even were that many people. But thanks to you they'll all be brought to justice."

It's an overwhelming thought that makes Wren choke a bit, so he desperately tries to focus on something smaller.

"And the people who kidnapped me? Have they been arrested?"

“Yes. They were among the first ones, in fact. That… division of the trade led us to the others, it was our starting point.”

“So Berkeley… Peter Berkeley, I mean…”

“Arrested. Yes.”

Daniel is dead, and Berkeley is locked up. Wren nods slowly and forces himself to breathe. Too stunned to talk, he doesn’t say anything else, and neither does Nathaniel for the remainder of the drive.

~~~

When the car stops behind the towering building of the hospital, Wren feels his heart skip a beat. He's going to have to leave the car. He's going to have to walk through the corridors of the hospital, see people who are going to see him, and it's way harder than he thought it would be. He's shivering, looking down at his shaking hands, his knuckles white as a sheet. 

"Wren?"

He jerks his head up to look at his father, who's left the car and is now leaning down to look inside with a slight frown. Wren nods, opens the door on his side, and gets out, even though he feels like his legs are going to give out under him.

“Are you feeling okay? Can you walk?”

His jumpiness surprises him, but he can’t help it when all his senses are assaulted by sights and smells and sounds he hasn’t experienced in so long, unfamiliar voices being one of them. People. He looks at the source of the voice, a doctor, and forces himself to nod, averting his gaze pretty quickly when he realizes that there are a few other people standing near the door.

“Yeah,” he says as he looks back at his father, the only familiar person around. “Are you going too?”

To his relief, Nathaniel nods, and the two of them follow the doctor inside, Wren trying not to sway on his feet too much, his body both tense and weak. It didn’t quite hit him back at the dock, but now that he’s still struggling, realization strikes him, so powerful that it makes his ears ring.

The gravity was slightly different on SV-240, and he was used to it.

The difference isn’t even that stark; he must have felt it for the first few days after arriving, but he was usually tied up, dragged from place to place or forced to his knees, so it wasn’t that noticeable. He’s nervous now, and it’s affecting his walk, and he’d spent a few days on a spaceship, but he can swear there’s more to it, that there’s something about Earth that he has to get used to again, something other than the people and the sights and the other stimuli.

It’s not the first time and he’s hardly the only one who has to deal with the readjustment period, but it’s still unsettling.

“Mhm.” He winces when he steps off his ship to join the rest of his squad. “Never pleasant, but it will pass.”

“Sure hope so,” Private Berkeley grimaces, stretching his arms, struggling to readjust after his first longer space travel.

Wren blinks back to reality, and it makes him shiver. He can feel eyes on him - his father looking at him from time to time, the doctor shooting him reassuring glances, but also other people, patients and doctors who can’t stop themselves from staring when they no doubt recognize him. He manages a weak smile, his heartbeat deafening, even though he’s just walking, and he knows nothing scary is going to happen to him.

By the time they stop at one of the doors, Wren can barely breathe.

“Wren.”

“Hm?” His head jerks up and a shiver runs up his spine.

“Do you want me to wait here?” Nathaniel asks, nodding in the direction of a sitting area further down the hallway. “You need to go through an examination, so I can wait until that’s finished or visit you later.”

“Oh, you… you can come back later, I think. You must be busy.”

“A little bit.” He shrugs. “But I could also bring you some things from home. Clothes, food, whatever you need.”

“Okay,” Wren says with a pale smile. Everything he does seems to require inhuman effort.

Nathaniel nods, and he seems to be struggling too, fighting with his thoughts. Eventually he sighs and manages to get more words out.

“Well, after you’re discharged, you’ll need to stay somewhere. Unfortunately your apartment had to be sold.”

“Mhm.” It’s only logical, but it still hurts. He loved that apartment, it was only his, and all his things were there, which means…

He might have nothing to his name now.

It’s clearly a day of overwhelming realizations, and Wren has to try not to sway on his feet.

“I can look for a new place for you,” Nathaniel offers, “or… you can stay with me, if you want.” As Wren stares at him confused, he averts his gaze, looking almost embarrassed. “Your bedroom is still there, and… your things, too.”

“You kept them?” Wren frowns. It’s been over two years, and he assumed everything had been sold or thrown away, that his old bedroom had been repurposed after his staged death. The thought of his father of all people being this sentimental seems absurd, especially when he sees the look of embarrassment on his face.

“I never had time to look through them. I suppose it was for the best. I washed some of your clothes when I found out, so I can bring them to you later.”

“Alright.” Wren cracks another smile. “So, uh, see you?”

“See you later.” Nathaniel mirrors his smile, and for the briefest of moments he looks like he’s considering giving Wren a hug, but in the end he just nods and walks away, followed by Wren’s gaze until he disappears behind a corner. 

He’s not starting with nothing, then. Earth remembers him after all. 

The door is cracked open, and he can hear footsteps inside. The doctor must have gone in earlier, giving Wren and Nathaniel some privacy, which he’s grateful for, and he’s sure his father is too, considering how strange his behavior was, so unlike him.

Knowing Nathaniel, and wallowing in the feeling of being forgotten, Wren had assumed that his father’s reaction to his death had been… nothing. A nod, a sigh, dealing with the funeral and selling his apartment, and then moving on. Maybe that was still the case, but him keeping Wren’s old bedroom unchanged and not giving away or selling his things doesn’t fit into that, and now he seems to care, as stilted and unnatural it is for him.

Nevermind, Wren thinks as he enters the room, closing the door behind him. Maybe it won’t last long.

Now he has to deal with a stranger and let them find out about what he had gone through; confusion swiftly gives way to anxiety.

At first glance he’s fine. The doctor, who introduces themself as Diaz Sandoval, nods with a slight frown every time they write something down and put a checkmark next to it to indicate that the results of the examination are nothing out of the ordinary. It’s as if Wren had never gone through a prolonged captivity - physically, at least.

Then, of course, Sandoval sees the brand.

“Yeah, he was kinda full of himself,” Wren says in as lighthearted a tone as he can muster, which is still overshadowed by tension. “So, um, he left his signature.”

“I see,” Sandoval says, noting it down diligently, immortalizing the burned words. “Do you have any other scars? Wounds?”

“None that I’m aware of.”

And there it is, a feeling of shame and a fear of being belittled. He’s healthy. There are no reminders of the torture he’d gone through other than the brand, and Sandoval knows it now.

“Oh, but…” Wren perks up, almost relieved to remember something else, something that had happened to him, of which there is still undeniable proof. It’s not much, but it’s all he has to paint a picture of his captivity that’s at least a fraction of the nightmare it was for him. “There’s also a chip in my shoulder. Left, I… think. A tracker. So I couldn’t escape.”

His words sound so desperate, a plea for his experience to be taken seriously, and his cheeks burn with embarrassment. He clears his throat and fixes his eyes on Sandoval’s stylus as they write down this new information.

“I can schedule a procedure to have it removed. As for the… scar, it can’t just be removed. It would require a more complicated procedure and a transplant.”

“Oh.” So there is a way, but the revelation is too sudden for him to decide. “Well, I- I’ll think about it. I’d like to have the tracker removed, but I’d also like to get out of the hospital soon, so…” He shrugs with a smile. “But maybe on a later date.”

“Of course.” Sandoval mirrors his smile. “There is no rush. For now I think you should rest, I know how overwhelming this must be.”

Rest. He’s been resting plenty, but it’s true that he’s still tired, constantly assaulted by stimuli he hasn’t experienced in so long, fighting his memories and having to put a tremendous amount of effort into forming his answers to questions, overthinking, concealing facts.

Once he’s left alone, he lies down on the hospital bed and exhales.

I’m on Earth. He doesn’t know when it’s going to stop being a startling realization every single time. And I won’t be hurt anymore.

He won’t be whipped, cut, tortured. After two years of considering pain just part of the routine it’s a thought he can’t quite wrap his head around, but it’s true. The events leading up to his rescue and Daniel’s death, his broken ribs, the knife slipping into his abdomen, the wound reopening, his ears ringing when his head was bashed against the wall… nothing like that will happen again. 

It’s a thought both relieving and intimidating - here he is, a former plaything and pretend partner to a sadist, his mind still somewhat stuck in his old routine, and now that he’s free, he has to learn how to cut himself off from it.

No matter how hard it will be, he can’t wait to get started.

~~~

[next]

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[jeannereames]

Hello Dr. Reames! When you decide to read a history book on your free time - and a book completely unrelated to your area of expertise - but you know nothing about said topic, you're only interested in learning about it. How do you choose which book you'll read?

FANTASTIC question. Thank you for asking it.

Let’s Talk How to Evaluate the Quality of a Book NOT on/in Your Specialization or Field

I’m going to start with some general bullet points of advice with discussion. Then I’ll give a concrete example of a book (or set of them) that I decided not to buy after a little rummaging.

The Basics

(These may seem obvious, but a lot of folks ignore them, like they skip over reading the introduction. Always read the book’s introduction!)

Who’s the author?

Most books have, on the back cover or inside, a note about the author. Also, google the person. Do they have a professional degree or some form of special training/ experience (e.g., say, they worked on a dig)? If they’re a professor, where do they teach? (But don’t put too much on that; the state of academia today means highly respected scholars could end up in Podunk Mississippi just to find a job.)

What type of book is it and who’s the intended audience?

Is it an academic book meant for other specialists? A book intended for use as a textbook? Something marketed to general audiences: “pop” history, or creative non-fiction? These may all be well-done. Yet if I’m wanting to learn about a topic I’m not familiar with, I specifically seek out a textbook, as they're geared to teach the topic to non-specialists. They won’t go down a research rabbit hole. Specifically in ancient history, those “Companion to…” collections are great, as you get multiple experts weighing in on what they know the most about. And they're intended for interested readers but not specialists in that particular topic. Also they’re curated by an editor who IS a specialist, so you know the chosen authors are respected in the field.

When was it written?

If the publication date is 50 years ago, it’s been superseded. It might be out of date even if it’s 20 years ago—or 10. But newer is not necessarily better.

What press published it?

Princeton, Cambridge, Brill/DeGruyter, Berkeley, Peeters, Harvard, Chicago. Any would be a good sign. But the University of Oklahoma does not mean it’s a bad book. (Beth Carney’s important first monograph on Macedonian women came from UOk.) University presses can corner the market on a particular topic: Univ. of Nebraska does a LOT of native history. Also, it may not be a university press at all. Routledge is perfectly respectable, as are Bloomsbury and Penguin. For local histories or something niche, you may get publication by a historical society, not a major press at all. (I picked up a perfectly fine book about ghost stories in the city of Savannah done by the local historical society.) BUT IF IT’S SELF-PUBLISHED, that’s a big ol’ Red Flag.

Going a Little Deeper

Ask somebody you know, who IS a specialist in the field, if they’ve read the book and what they think

Depending on your personal circle, this may not be possible.

Find a review (or three)

I regularly teach my undergrads (and grad students) to look for reviews.

Look at the bibliography

Probably more important for academic books, but how long is the biblio? Yes, topics can have more or fewer publications, but it should go on for some pages. Also, is it all in just one language? Some fields may tend that way (much American history), but a well-done monograph in, say, Greek or Roman history should not be monolingual in the research.

Actually check (don’t ignore) footnotes

They tell stories. Again, this largely pertains to academic books, but you can find fun (and occasionally catty) scholarly quarrels in them. Very early in my reading on Alexander, I became fascinated by the back-and-forth in footnotes between the “Three Bs” (Badian, Borza, and Bosworth) plus Green and Hammond. BUT some red flags: 1) the author disproportionately citing themself, especially if it’s because 2) the author seems to have quarrels with a large number of colleagues. Maybe the author is just original! But sometimes that tells you their conclusions are questionable. Use your common sense.

Now, for a concrete example … as some of you know, I have American indigenous ancestry, specifically Peoria-Miami (Myaamia). While I know some things about our tribe, I’m far from an expert. On our Facebook page, one of the other members recently dropped mention of a series on the early history of Indiana, and the conflicts between settlers and natives during the French-Indian Wars—including St. Clare’s Defeat, effected by the Myaamia and led by Little Turtle (Mihshihkinaahkwa), the worst defeat [proportionally] ever suffered by American troops.

I thought, Oh, cool, maybe I should pick these up and read them in my “copious” spare time. E.g., probably years from now.

I followed the provided link, and immediately thought, This doesn’t look good. Page ran on forever, not well organized, and I had to hunt for info about the author. Although he was a retired schoolteacher, he didn’t seem to have any specific training in doing historical research; I don’t think he was even a history major in college (probably did education). Additionally, the book-covers and purchasing info made it clear all the books were self-published, and the provided text snippets contained grammar errors.

Yeah, I left that page bookless. Maybe the info in them was perfectly fine and he just couldn’t find a publisher who wanted creative non-fiction about an event most people have never heard of led by a chief with a name most can’t pronounce…. But I’m going to bet the research matched the grammar: slap-dash.

Now, that was a relatively easy one to figure out; I spent all of 10 minutes on the page. (And no, I’m not naming the author nor linking to the books, as this is an example, not an attempt to humiliate the person.) But it gives you some idea how I evaluate books in a field very far from my own specialty.

———————

* Although that said, they’re starting to scrape the bottom of the barrel to come up with new topics for Yet Another “Companion to….” Some I’ve seen would be better just sold as a collection on X topic, not “Companion to….”

[rjzimmerman]

Excerpt from this story from Anthropocene Magazine:

Nearly ten times as many people in America now work at Starbucks than dig for coal. Coal mining has long been a canary of America’s energy transition—it lost hundreds of thousands of workers in the 20th century, and has shrunk in half again since 2012. 

Losing dirty, dangerous coal jobs is one thing, but the wholesale dismantling of our fossil fuel economy promises to be far more disruptive. True, but there’s a huge caveat. The bright light on the horizon is that most estimates of new clean energy jobs dwarf even the largest oil refineries and auto plants. 

Winners

1. Everyone (on average). 2021 was a big year for energy jobs globally—it was the first time that more people around the world were working in clean energy jobs than fossil fuels, according to the International Energy Authority (IEA). While the US is still lagging behind that curve, clean energy jobs here are growing at twice the rate of the rest of the energy sector, says the Department of Energy (DOE). And the future looks rosy. Researchers at Dartmouth College calculate that a low carbon economy in the US would create two or even three green energy jobs for every fossil fuel job lost. (That fits with an earlier study out of Berkeley, which found that renewable and sustainable power sources inherently require more people per gigawatt hour of electricity generated, compared to fossil fuel plants).

2. Solar installers and battery makers. Photovoltaic and energy storage companies have been on a tear, adding tens of thousands of workers last year in the US. When considered along with wind, EVs, heat pumps and critical minerals supply, solar power and batteries accounted for over half of all job growth in global energy production since 2019. And the IEA expects these sectors to add tens of millions more jobs by the end of the decade.

3. Some surprise hires. Don’t count out Big Oil and Big Auto just yet. Both the IEA and the DOE expect the fossil fuel industry (particularly natural gas) to hire more workers in the immediate future, albeit at slower rates than clean energy jobs and tailing off in years to come. The IEA notes that if fossil fuel companies could successfully transition to hydrogen, carbon capture, geothermal and biofuels processing, they could almost offset decreases in core oil and gas employment all the way to 2030. It also expects car makers to pivot to EV production, retraining workers and safeguarding many jobs.

Losers

1. Oil workers. Changing careers means more than just a quick retraining session. Morgan Frank at the University of Pittsburgh went down the rabbit hole of what transferring US fossil fuel employment to green jobs would actually mean, and the answer isn’t pretty. His team’s paper in Nature found that green energy jobs are not co-located with today’s oil and gas workers, leading them to predict that almost 99% of extraction workers would not transition to green jobs. And any workers that do make the change face a financial hit. The IEA notes that workers moving from oil and gas to wind, solar and hydrogen today would see pay cuts of 15 to 30%.

2. Petro-states. The shift to green energy will be difficult for economies that rely heavily on fossil fuel extraction and processing. Consultancy EY has an illuminating, interactive webpage allowing you to compare employment in regions around the world, under different decarbonization scenarios. Spoiler alert—oil producing nations in the Middle East and Australia are likely to see employment slump, and even Africa could experience a destabilizing wobble unless it accelerates production of green hydrogen and EV battery materials. “Due to the transition, socio-economic sustainability risks will likely increase as the employment rate drops,” warns author Catherine Friday.

3. Homer Simpson. Some low-carbon energy sectors aren’t exactly booming. The US Bureau of Labor Statistics (BLS) expects the employment of nuclear technicians to decline 6% from 2023 to 2033. The US hit peak nuclear power stations in 2012 and has been declining ever since, as facilities age into decommissioning without being replaced. Meanwhile, a planned new generation of safer, cheaper and more efficient fission reactors continues to suffer cost overruns, red tape and delays, and commercial nuclear fusion remains a decades-distant dream. D’oh!

What To Keep An Eye On

1. Labor shortages. Workers skilled in green energy jobs won’t just appear from nowhere. Projects are already facing delays in the EU and the US from labor shortages. Biden’s omnibus Inflation Reduction Act included incentives for partnering with apprentice programs and other funding that could be used to train maintenance workers, and installers for clean energy projects. But millions of workers will be needed, and in short order.

2. Carbon capture. The IPCC estimates that between 350 and 1200 gigatons of CO2 will need to be captured and stored this century. No one really knows yet what the technologies needed to achieve that will look like, but they will likely involve a lot of new workers. Climate research firm Rhodium Group estimated that each gigaton captured could translate to 1.5 million construction and 500,000 operation jobs.

3. Chat (and other) bots for hire. Any predictions about the future workplace should be taken with a large pinch of AI and robotics. The BLS just issued a report that shows dozens of occupations employing hundreds of thousands of Americans are likely to shrink in the years ahead. Top of the list are clerks and supervisors, but there are plenty of manufacturing and production roles at risk, too, that could affect the green energy roll-out.

[odinsblog]

When the Supreme Court’s decision undoing Roe v. Wade came down in June, anti-abortion groups were jubilant – but far from satisfied. Many in the movement have a new target: hormonal birth control. It seems contradictory; doesn’t preventing unwanted pregnancies also prevent abortions? But anti-abortion groups don’t see it that way. They falsely claim that hormonal contraceptives like IUDs and the pill can actually cause abortions.

One prominent group making this claim is Students for Life of America, whose president has said she wants contraceptives like IUDs and birth control pills to be illegal. The fast-growing group has built a social media campaign spreading the false idea that hormonal birth control is an abortifacient.

Reveal’s Amy Mostafa teams up with UC Berkeley journalism and law students to dig into the world of young anti-abortion influencers and how medical misinformation gains traction on TikTok, Instagram and YouTube, with far-reaching consequences.

Tens of millions of Americans use hormonal contraceptives to prevent pregnancy and regulate their health. And many have well-founded complaints about side effects, from nausea to depression – not to mention well-justified anger about how the medical establishment often pooh-poohs those concerns. Anti-abortion and religious activists have jumped into the fray, urging people to reject hormonal birth control as “toxic” and promoting non-hormonal “fertility awareness” methods – a movement they’re trying to rebrand as “green sex.” Mother Jones Senior Editor Kiera Butler explains how secular wellness influencers such as Jolene Brighten, who sells a $300 birth control “hormone reset,” are having their messages adopted by anti-abortion influencers, many of them with deep ties to Catholic institutions.

The end of Roe triggered a Missouri law that immediately banned almost all abortions. Many were shocked when a major health care provider in the state announced it would also no longer offer emergency contraception pills – Plan B – because of a false belief that it could cause an abortion. While the health system soon reversed its policy, it wasn’t the first time Missouri policymakers have been roiled by the myth that emergency contraception can prevent a fertilized egg from implanting and cause an abortion. Reveal senior reporter and producer Katharine Mieszkowski tracks how lawmakers in the state have been confronting this misinformation campaign and looks to the future of how conservatives are aiming to use birth control as their new wedge issue.

—The Long Campaign to Turn Birth Control Into the New Abortion

[strangerficsxx]

Epilogue | season three

story: Midnight Rain wc: 1k jennifer says her goodbyes to steve before she makes her way to california for college.

{ August 1, 1985 }

Jennifer walks away, forcing her tears back as she steps toward the door, grabbing her coat that laid against the peg of the coat rack. She slides on her jacket before picking her keys from her pocket before walking out the door, shutting it behind her. Hot tears pour from her eyes. Jennifer puts the keys in the ignition as she starts the engine. Driving, she wipes away droplets of salty water, but the tears keep coming, staining the delicate skin of her cheeks.

Jennifer stops beside Steve's house, eyeing his driveway as she pulls herself together and enters the pavement. She puts the car in park, stepping out as she closes the door behind her. Jennifer approached his front door, hesitant to knock before going through with it. She knocks then stood there as she waited, the door opening to reveal Steve. He stood wearing his Family Video attire, concern plastered on his face when he saw Jennifer's tear stained cheeks.

"What brings you here, Jen? I thought you left for UC-Berkeley."

"I'm heading there now, I got my car back and now I'm driving there. But first, I wanted to see you and say goodbye."

Steve's shoulders dropped, a certain expression forms as it's unreadable to Jennifer. He almost avoids eye contact with her, glancing towards the ground then back at her, concerned. Without saying anything, she steps forward, planting her lips on his. After a few seconds, she pulls away. He quickly brings Jennifer's lips back to his, picking her up and closing the door.

Steve brings her into his kitchen, sitting her on the counter top and using his hands to unbutton her blouse, sliding it off her shoulders. He lips then collide with Jennifer's neck, making her lean her head back slightly. She quickly pulls off his vest, throwing it to the floor before moving to the hem of his tucked in shirt.

They break apart long enough for Jennifer to slide Steve's shirt over his head, letting go of the fabric. Her hand runs down his bare chest, the hair pricks at her fingertips. He kicks his shoes off, bringing Jennifer to lay on the counter so he can pull her shoes off in one tug. He proceeds, sliding his hands up her covered legs, tugging at the button of her jeans. He basically slips them down with no problem, letting go. She wraps her arms around his waist before feeling her legs move under her, following Steve to his couch.

Jennifer pulls away as she pushes him against the fabric seat. She climbs on top of Steve, straddling his lap as she grinds against him. He lets out a deep groan, resting his hands on her hips. 

“Ah, shit.” Steve curses before grabbing your waist and effortlessly throwing you lightly on the sofa before he hovers over you, looking you up and down.

He leans down and presses his lips against hers, grinding against her center. Steve pulls himself away, sliding his underwear down. His finger hooks the hem of Jennifer's panties, swiftly sliding them off within seconds before entering her. She bites on her lip and grips his back, digging her nails into the flesh of his toned back as he bucks his hips, causing friction. Steve’s lips brush against the curve of Jennifer's neck, pampering her with soft kisses. He pulls away to adjust himself, bringing her closer, leaning forward as his hands rest on both sides of her head. He places a couple kisses on Jennifer's lips and cheek before burying his head in the nape of her neck before looking down then moaning softly.

The pressure inside begins to build as Jennifer begins to whimper under him, moaning his name. He goes deeper as her head leans back, closing her eyes and enjoying the penetration between her legs. Steve groans as he scrunches his nose, biting lip. Jennifer stares at his eyes then lips and begin to sit up and kiss him, but she feels the knot in her stomach loosen rather quickly.

The two of them quickly move positions, him pulling out before sitting bare on the seat. She sits oppositely on his lap, slowly sliding it inside her. Steve grabs her hips and begins grinding them against his. Their moans mix together, creating a symphony as she feels herself getting closer, knowing he likely is too. Steve presses his lips against her bare shoulder, removing one hand and snaking it around. He gropes her breast.

"S-Steve, I think,"

"Me too,"

Within seconds, they come together as her thighs tense up before jerking slightly. Jennifer's head falls back, leaning on Steve's shoulder, panting. His hands rest against her thighs before she moves, basically falling on the couch. She quickly finds her clothes before dressing herself whilst Steve does the same. They walk toward his front door as she opens it, stepping out before Steve stops her.

"Jennifer,"

"What?"

"Are we still together?"

"Yeah, we are. No cheating, okay Harrington?"

"Sure, yeah. Got it. No cheating."

"Steve,"

"I won't cheat, I promise."

Jennifer stops in her tracks, glancing back at Steve. She turns and presses her lips against his.

His hands cup her face, staying there longer than a few seconds. After a while, they lean their faces against each other as Jennifer bites her bottom lip nervously.

"I love you," She whispers.

"I love you too," He murmured.

Jennifer pulls away, and steps toward her vehicle as tears prick at her eyes. She flashes him one last smile. However, it was a sad leer. She opens her door and slides in the driver's seat, shutting it before starting the car before driving off. She makes her way down the road, speeding past the sign that says now leaving Hawkins, Indiana.

Keeping her eyes on the road, she sobs quietly as the song Every Breath You Take by on the radio. It makes her even more sad as she shuts it off, not wanting to hear anything that reminded her of Steve or anyone else she was leaving.