#author highlight thursdays

[afeelgoodblog]

The Best News of Last Month

Sorry for being not active this month as I had some health problems. I'll start posting weekly now :) Meanwhile here's some good from last month

1. Widow donates $1 billion to medical school, giving free tuition forever

Ruth Gottesman surprised by her late husband's $1 billion in Berkshire stock, decides to donate it in full to the Albert Einstein College of Medicine in the Bronx, New York City's poorest borough. The donation is intended to cover students' tuition indefinitely, ensuring access to medical education for generations.

A video capturing students' emotional reactions to the news, cheering and crying, circulated after the announcement, highlighting the profound impact of the donation on the medical school community.

2. Electric school buses outperform diesel in extreme cold

In Colorado's West Grand School District, electric school buses outperformed their diesel counterparts, particularly in the bitterly cold temperatures of towns like Kremmling, where morning temperatures can drop below -30 degrees Fahrenheit. Despite common concerns about reduced range in extreme weather, the electric buses maintained their battery charge even in these frigid conditions, providing reliable transportation for students.

This success has been welcomed by the school district, as diesel vehicles also face challenges in starting in Colorado's harsh winter weather.

3. Christian Bale unveils plans to build 12 foster homes in California

Christian Bale has led a tour round the new village in California where he plans to build 12 foster homes, as well as two studio flats to help children transition into independent living, and a 7,000 sq ft community centre.

The actor has spearheaded the building of a unique complex of facilities with the aim of keeping siblings in the foster care system together, and ideally under the same roof.

4. Average lifespan of a person with Down syndrome has increased from 25 years in 1983 to 60 years today

Today the average lifespan of a person with Down syndrome is approximately 60 years.

As recently as 1983, the average lifespan of a person with Down syndrome was 25 years. The dramatic increase to 60 years is largely due to the end of the inhumane practice of institutionalizing people with Down syndrome.

5. Greece legalises same-sex marriage

Greece has become the first Christian Orthodox-majority country to legalise same-sex marriage. Same-sex couples will now also be legally allowed to adopt children after Thursday's 176-76 vote in parliament.

Prime Minister Kyriakos Mitsotakis said the new law would "boldly abolish a serious inequality".

6. Massachusetts police K9 tracks scent for over 2 miles to find missing 12-year-old in freezing cold

A Massachusetts police K9 followed her nose to help find a 12-year-old who went missing in frigid temperatures last week, tracking the child’s scent for over two miles, authorities said.

K9 Biza, a female German shepherd, was called on to help after officers learned the child left their home at around 10:30 p.m. Wednesday and was last seen in the Pakachoag Hill area of Auburn, the Auburn Police Department said.

7. Good News for the Socially Anxious: People Like You a Lot More Than You Think They Do, New Research Confirms

The "Lake Wobegon effect" or "illusory superiority" phenomenon highlights people's tendency to overestimate their abilities, but recent research suggests that in social interactions, individuals often underestimate their likability and charm.

Studies indicate that people consistently fail to recognize signals of others' liking toward them, leading to a "liking gap" where individuals believe they are less likable than they actually are.

Techniques such as focusing more on others during conversations and genuinely expressing interest in them can help alleviate social anxiety by shifting the focus away from self-criticism. Ultimately, understanding that others may also experience similar anxieties can lead to a more relaxed and enjoyable social experience.

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That's it for this week :)

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[astrcmoni]

ᯓ☆ star’s midnight caller II ☆ᯓ

MASTERLIST

☆ series masterpost: I II III

pairing: billie eilish x sex-hotline-operator!fem!reader

genre: smut, fluff, angst (if you squint)

synopsis: in the quiet of the night, you answer a call that pulls you into a world of mystery and intrigue. what starts as a simple conversation with a stranger turns into a connection you never expected, leaving you craving more with each ring.

wc: 19.8k…..chat

warnings: top!billie, bottom!reader, phone sex, guided masturbation (r!receiving), dirty talking, fingering(r!receiving), cunnilingus (r!receiving), r! is described to have tattoos and nipple piercings, cussing, let me know if i’ve forgotten anything.

authors note: if you haven’t read pt 1 i suggest you do to understand what’s going on, it’s linked up above. but y’all don’t understand how long this took me. never doing this again (i say as pt 3 brews in my notes app🧍🏾‍♀️) ☆

phone call style story — reader is in bold italics, billie is in blue italics.

————

thursday 2:25 pm

the room is enveloped in near-darkness, save for the faint glow of the projector casting moving shadows on the walls, the images dancing faintly before fading into obscurity. a grainy forensics case study plays on the screen, the narrator’s monotone voice threading through the silence like a low hum. images of crime scenes flicker: shoeprints etched into mud, a blood-streaked knife gleaming under harsh light, diagrams of trajectories drawn with meticulous precision. the air is thick with a strange stillness, broken only by the whir of the projector.

you’re seated at a lecture table in the middle of the room, the glossy surface cool against your forearms. your notebook lies open, pages crisp and lined with the neat curves of your handwriting—cornell notes style, each section meticulously labeled. the ballpoint pen you’ve been gripping bears faint smudges of ink, a quiet testament to earlier focus. your belongings are arranged with an almost obsessive precision, each item carefully placed to avoid encroaching on your classmates’ space.

but your mind drifts, untethered, as if caught on the hook of a voice that lingers in the back of your thoughts. a certain caller has been invading the quiet hours of your nights, her words weaving themselves into the fabric of your mind. the way she asks questions—casual but deliberate, coaxing details about your life with a quiet intensity. she tells you about herself too, the cadence of her voice shifting when she delves into stories or spirals into laughter, the kind that leaves you grinning like a fool. sometimes the conversations are light, like skipping stones across water, but often they sink deeper, pulling you both into rabbit holes of thought. and then there’s the flirting—her tone dipping just enough to leave you wondering if it’s intentional or simply her nature. either way, it stirs something in you, a warmth that unfurls in your chest, spreading through your limbs like the first sip of hot tea on a cold morning.

subconsciously, your fingers begin to wag the pen back and forth. the faint tapping against the notebook creates an uneven rhythm, a soft staccato that fills the empty spaces of your wandering mind. the sound is muted, almost soothing—the thwack of plastic meeting paper, the rustle of shifting pages. it’s erratic, mirroring the restless energy simmering beneath your surface, your thoughts leaping from one idea to the next before circling back to her voice.

your eyes stray from the projection, sweeping across the dimly lit room. your classmates sit scattered like statues in varying states of engagement—some scribbling notes with mechanical precision, others half-hidden behind their desks, their faces lit faintly by the glow of their phones. the soft rustle of pages and the occasional stifled yawn add texture to the quiet. your gaze drifts to professor talis, who sits at her desk, bathed in the soft glow of her computer screen. the light highlights the contours of her smooth, golden-brown skin, her curls tumbling gracefully over her shoulders. her thick glasses perch neatly on her nose, catching the faint reflections of the video playing on the board. the snug burgundy sweater she wears looks like it holds warmth, hugging her frame in a way that seems almost comforting.

your attention slides to the clock hanging on the wall, its face faintly illuminated by the dim light. the second hand trudges forward in slow, deliberate ticks, each movement stretching time until it feels infinite. the soft hum of distant chatter blends with the faint scratching of pencils, a quiet symphony of distraction. the pen in your hand wavers, the motion gradually slowing as your focus narrows. the countdown begins—seconds trickling away like grains of sand slipping through your fingers. freedom feels close but distant, just out of reach, and all you can do is wait.

suddenly, the vibrations of your phone ripple through the table, a faint hum cutting through the quiet. a few heads turn toward you, their eyes glinting with muted curiosity in the dim light. the attention feels sharper than it should, and you arch a brow, your head jerking slightly forward in disbelief.

“what?” you mutter under your breath, the word laced with a sharpness you didn’t bother to hide. your gaze flicks to the nearest onlookers, daring them to explain their sudden fascination. it’s not like you’re in middle school—and honestly, have they never heard a phone vibrate before?

ignoring their stares, you reach for the device, its smooth surface cool against your fingertips. unlocking it, you glance at the screen, squinting slightly as the glow cuts through the dimness. one notification stands out, breaking through the shield of your do not disturb focus mode:

1 new email notification from: Maggie Baird

tapping on the alert, you’re directed to the email, the words staring back at you in bold clarity.

hello,

i hope you’re doing well! i just wanted to send a reminder about our appointment today at 2:45. please let me know if you’re still able to stop in or not.

have a great day!

best regards,

maggie baird—guidance counselor

your fingers move automatically, the soft taps of your typing blending into the faint rustle of papers and distant murmurs.

hi!

yes, i will still be stopping by your office today to finish our discussion. see you then.

as you hit send, a voice cuts through the haze of your thoughts, calling your name. your head snaps up, eyes scanning the room for the source. the voice echoes faintly, too soft to pinpoint, and you find yourself searching faces, your gaze darting from one corner to the next. then it happens—an unexpected thud against your cheek, rough paper colliding with your skin. your nose scrunches instinctively as your eyes flutter shut, the crumpled projectile falling to the desk with a dull plop.

turning around, you lock eyes with carson, her expression caught somewhere between disbelief and exasperation. her dark curls frame her face, slightly tousled, her sharp green eyes narrowing as if to say, really?

pushing your chair back, you scoot closer to the table behind you, leaning into the shared space until her whisper reaches your ear. the cool touch of her necklace brushes your skin, a fleeting sensation that sends a shiver down your spine.

“why the fuck was that so hard when i’m right here?” she whisper-shouts, her voice edged with teasing indignation.

“shut up,” you reply, your voice low and tinged with amusement despite yourself. “what do you want?”

carson shakes her head, her grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. the familiarity of the moment settles between you, warm and grounding. memories flicker to life—move-in day, your freshman year, the sterile air of the dorm buzzing with unfamiliarity. you still remember walking into the shared space, anxiety twisting in your stomach, only to find her already there. her stuff was unpacked, books stacked neatly on the desk, posters pinned haphazardly to the walls. she sat cross-legged on her bed, her bright green eyes meeting yours with a warmth that immediately put you at ease.

“hey,” she had said back then, her voice steady and inviting. “welcome home.”

something between you clicked that day, an invisible thread tying you together in a way you never questioned. even now, years later, the bond feels effortless—natural, like it’s always been there. you don’t say it often, maybe not as often as you should, but you’re grateful. her presence is an anchor, a quiet reassurance in a world that so often feels unsteady.

“seriously, though,” she whispers, her grin softening. “you’re so dramatic.”

“you’re the one throwing shit,” you counter, your lips twitching into a smirk.

the moment feels suspended, a pocket of light in the dimness of the room, the weight of everything else temporarily forgotten.

it made sense that she was at school on a basketball scholarship. carson had shown you her highlight reels more times than you could count, pulling them up on her cracked phone screen with that same smug grin she always wore when she knew she’d impressed you. her stats were insane—double-doubles, clutch shots, and a level of confidence that could light up any court she stepped on. she was damn good, and she knew it. but it wasn’t just her skill that kept you showing up to every game—it was the way she played, like every shot, every layup, every defensive steal was a conversation she was having with the universe. it was impossible not to get pulled into her orbit.

since the day you two met, you’d been inseparable. carson’s energy was magnetic, and from the moment she greeted you in that shared dorm room, you knew she’d be the kind of friend you could count on for anything. you became her shadow, and she became yours—whether it was late-night study sessions fueled by vending machine snacks or impromptu karaoke performances in your tiny dorm bathroom. you showed up to every one of her games, screaming your lungs out from the bleachers, your voice blending into the roar of the crowd. it wasn’t long before you decided to join the university’s cheer team, if only to have an excuse to be closer to the action—and closer to her.

but it wasn’t all fun and games. you were there when she tore her ACL sophomore year, the anguish etched across her face as she sat on the bench, the season slipping through her fingers. you’d sat with her in the hospital waiting room, holding her hand while she blinked back tears, offering nothing but your quiet presence. and when things got hard for you—when the weight of school, life, and your own fears felt too heavy—carson was there, cracking jokes, pulling you out of bed, and reminding you that it was okay to stumble as long as you kept going.

“so basically after the banquet tomorrow—”

“—seminar,” you interrupt, the corner of your lips twitching into a smirk.

“whatever, same thing. they both serve free food, do they not?” she scoffs, rolling her eyes with exaggerated flair. “anyways, before you rudely interrupted me, are you going to the thing tomorrow?”

“what thing?” you ask, your curiosity piqued as you shift slightly in your seat.

“do you not check the gc?”

“oh… no. i muted y’all forever ago,” you admit, stifling a laugh and keeping your voice low to avoid disturbing the rest of the class.

“my god,” she groans, dragging the words out like a dramatic sigh. “anyway, they wanna go out tomorrow—to some club or whatever—after we get back from it.”

“um… i’ll let you know,” you say, turning back toward the front of the room. “i’m supposed to meet with my counselor today about some ta thing, so i’m not too sure just yet.”

before she can respond, your attention is drawn back to the projector screen. the narrator’s voice cuts through the background noise, monotone but heavy with implication.

“this pattern of blood spatter indicates a medium-velocity impact, likely from a blunt object. note the size and direction of the droplets.”

the words sink into the stillness of the room, the imagery vivid and clinical. you feel a strange sense of detachment as your eyes flicker between the screen and your notebook. the notes in front of you blur slightly, your thoughts wandering back to carson’s offer, the muted buzz of her words still lingering in your mind.

you pause, underlining a key phrase in your notes, the ink dragging softly against the page. your eyes flick back to the screen, narrowing as you try to absorb the image—splatter lines branching out like veins, chaotic but telling a story if you looked closely enough. you force yourself to focus, blocking out the creeping edges of distraction that threaten to pull you under.

outside, a low rumble of thunder rolls, faint but steady, like a distant warning. someone shifts behind you, their chair letting out a sharp squeak that pierces the silence.

“pause the video.”

the screen freezes on an intricate diagram of blood spatter. the jagged pattern is unsettling in its precision, almost artistic in a morbid way.

professor talis speaks up, her voice cutting through the stillness like a blade. “alright, let’s take a moment. can anyone tell me why this particular pattern rules out a high-velocity impact?”

the room falls into an uneasy quiet, the kind that stretches too long and grows heavy. a few students drop their gazes to their desks, avoiding eye contact like the answer might leap off their notebooks and save them. someone in the back coughs, the sound echoing faintly.

your pen stills in your hand. you know the answer; it’s on the tip of your tongue, almost reflexive. and you know she knows you know it. but the thought of speaking aloud—the weight of all those eyes on you—makes your throat tighten. you drop your gaze to your notebook, hoping the moment passes.

professor talis lets out a soft sigh, laced with disappointment. “no one? fine. look at the size of the droplets. high-velocity impacts—like from a gunshot—create a fine mist. what you’re seeing here is much larger, which tells us—”

“—that it’s medium-velocity, probably from something like a bat or a pipe,” you mutter under your breath, the words escaping before you can stop them.

the professor’s head snaps toward you, her sharp gaze locking onto yours. “exactly. speak up next time, ms. you know this stuff.”

you nod faintly, a flicker of heat rising to your cheeks. you glance at carson, who’s leaning back in her chair with an amused smirk, mouthing the word ‘damn.’ you roll your eyes at her, the corner of your lips twitching.

“alright, class dismissed,” professor talis announces, motioning for someone near the door to flip on the light switch. the room is suddenly bathed in a harsh, sterile glow, and a collective groan ripples through the class as everyone shields their eyes. you squint, blinking repeatedly, trying to adjust as the light burns away the comfortable dimness.

“don’t forget your assignments are due next monday. no excuses,” she continues, her tone firm, no room for negotiation. “you’ll thank me when you’re out there solving cases. also, remember that class is canceled tomorrow, and for those of you attending the seminar, be there no later than 11:00 a.m. sharp. dress in business attire. i’ll email your tickets tonight. have a good rest of your day, and i’ll see some of you tomorrow.”

the room erupts into the familiar chaos of end-of-class. chairs scrape against the floor, bags zip shut, and faint murmurs of conversation fill the space. you shut your notebook with a soft thud, sliding it into your bag. as you reach for your phone, the screen lights up with a notification: final notice: payment overdue.

your stomach twists, a sharp pang cutting through you, but you swipe the notification away quickly, jaw tightening. you pull on your zip-up jacket, the hood going over your head almost instinctively, a flimsy barrier against the world. slinging your bag over your shoulder, you make your way down the lecture stairs, your sneakers scuffing lightly against the floor.

as you push open the heavy door, the rumble of thunder outside greets you again, this time closer, louder, like a promise waiting to unfold.

you push open the heavy door of the building, stepping into the dimly lit hallway, your hood falling as you cross the threshold. the rain that had soaked through your jacket still clings to you, a cold, damp reminder of the storm outside. you glance down, swiping your shoes against the coarse floor mat, the sound scratching faintly against the quiet. the hallways stretch out before you, dim and hushed, the flicker of old fluorescent lights overhead casting a muted glow. the rain outside drums steadily against the roof and windows, the rhythm echoing down the empty corridors like a distant heartbeat.

your sneakers squeak softly with each step as you navigate the polished floors, leaving faint wet prints in your wake. the air smells faintly of books and wood polish, mingling with the crisp, metallic tang of rain. as you approach the office, warm light spills into the hallway from the narrow opening of the door, a soft beacon in the otherwise subdued space.

you pause, lifting your hand to knock lightly against the wood, the sound barely audible over the rain outside.

“come on in!”

the voice is cheerful, familiar. pushing the door open, you step inside.

maggie sits behind her desk, her silver hair pulled into a loose bun, strands escaping to frame her kind, lined face. the desk is cluttered with papers, framed photos, and a half-empty mug of coffee, the scent faintly mingling with the room’s warmth. she looks up as you enter, her smile bright and inviting.

“ah, just the person i wanted to see. please, sit down.”

you ease into the chair across from her, the worn leather creaking slightly under your weight. “thanks for seeing me on such short notice.”

she waves a hand dismissively, leaning back in her chair. “you’re fine. i heard you’re looking for a teacher’s assistant position?”

“yeah,” you say, adjusting your bag on your lap. “something flexible, if possible. my schedule’s already packed, but i really need the extra money.”

maggie hums thoughtfully, her fingers tapping lightly on the keyboard as she scrolls through files on her screen. “well, i think i have something that might work. the music department is looking for a t.a. it’s mostly administrative—grading papers, organizing lesson plans. nothing too heavy.”

your brows furrow slightly at the mention of music, a faint unease creeping in. “music? i’m a forensics major.”

maggie lets out a soft laugh, her eyes crinkling. “relax. you don’t need to be a musical prodigy. besides, the professor is great. my daughter, actually.”

you blink, her words catching you off guard. “your…daughter?”

she nods, the pride evident in her smile. “yeah. billie eilish—well, i guess she goes by professor o’connell now. now listen, she’s a bit unconventional, but she’s brilliant and easy to work with. i think you’ll like her.”

your thoughts race, uncertainty tugging at you, but you nod slowly, chewing the inside of your cheek. “well…i mean, if you’re sure…”

“i am,” she says confidently, leaning forward. “trust me, you’ll be fine. she’s expecting you in, oh, about ten minutes.”

maggie scoots her chair back, bending slightly to pull open a drawer. she rummages for a moment before withdrawing a manila folder, sliding it across the desk toward you. “here are all the details of the position. you’ll go over them with billie and make any changes where you see fit. just remember to keep an open mind. and don’t be late—billie’s not a fan of tardiness.”

you take the folder, the paper cool and smooth beneath your fingertips, and slip it into your bag. “thank you so much, maggie.”

“anytime, sweetheart. good luck.”

you offer a small smile before stepping back into the hallway, the warmth of the office fading as the cool air of the corridor greets you.

wandering through the halls, your eyes scan the doors, searching for the name. the polished brass plaque catches your attention, glinting faintly under the dull light: o’connell. the name sits bold and formal in black lettering, an unassuming prelude to whatever waits behind the door.

you hesitate for a moment, fingers brushing over the strap of your bag, before finally reaching for the handle.

you take a deep breath, the cool air of the hallway settling in your lungs before you raise your hand to knock. the sound echoes faintly in the quiet, the weight of anticipation tightening in your chest.

“come in,” her voice calls out, smooth and measured, carrying an edge of curiosity. your stomach flips as you push the door open, stepping inside.

she stands at the front of the room, her back partially turned as she writes on the whiteboard, her movements fluid and precise. a black pen is tucked behind her ear, and a neat stack of sheet music rests on the table beside her. the room feels alive despite its simplicity—soft natural light pours in through tall windows, painting golden streaks across the floor. a piano sits in the far corner, its polished surface reflecting the greenery of several plants scattered throughout the space.

then she looks up.

blue eyes meet yours, bright and clear, framed by gold-rimmed glasses perched on her nose. her gaze is steady, assessing, but there’s warmth there too—a smile softens her expression as if she’s welcoming you into her orbit. “hello. you must be the new t.a.”

your tongue feels thick in your mouth as you nod, your voice barely audible. “yeah. that’s me.”

it hits you like a tidal wave—her voice. it’s her. you freeze, the realization flooding through you in a dizzying rush. she doesn’t seem to recognize you, doesn’t give even the faintest indication that your paths have crossed before, but that only makes it stranger. surreal, almost, to stand here in front of her.

you’d always wondered what she looked like, your mind crafting endless versions of her face over the past weeks to fill the blank spaces in your memory. but nothing—nothing—could have prepared you for this.

she’s beautiful in a way that words can’t quite hold, like trying to capture sunlight in your hands. her oversized tan button-up hangs loosely on her frame, paired with dark wash jeans that sit low on her hips, the fabric pooling slightly around her ankles. her hair falls in soft, dark brown waves down her back, glinting faintly in the sunlight. she’s both effortless and breathtaking, a contradiction you can’t help but admire.

and her eyes—sharp, yet gentle—trail over you, taking in every detail. they seem to glow, crystalline and piercing, cutting through your casual exterior. suddenly, you’re hyper-aware of your own appearance, of the worn sweater and faded jeans you’d thrown on without a second thought. you feel exposed, wishing you’d cared a little more about how you looked.

“have a seat,” she says, gesturing to the chair in front of her desk as she moves to sit down. her voice is soft, but there’s a firmness to it that tells you she’s used to being listened to.

you slide into the chair, your movements careful, and pull the folder from your bag. placing it on the desk, you watch as she flips it open, her fingers brushing lightly against the papers. the motion draws your attention to the ink scrawled across the back of her hand—delicate lines of black, faint smudges at the edges, as if she’d been too focused to stop and wash it off.

as she begins to explain your responsibilities, you try to focus on her words, but your eyes betray you. they wander over her face, lingering on her lips. they’re full and soft, a natural pink like the petals of a plumeria flower, and you can’t help but wonder what they might feel like against your own. the thought startles you, heat creeping up your neck.

her voice cuts through your spiraling thoughts, pulling you back to reality. “is everything okay?” she asks, her brows knitting together in light concern.

you blink, shaking off the haze. “yeah, sorry about that. can you repeat that?” you force a small, nervous laugh, rubbing your palms against the rough fabric of your jeans before leaning in slightly, hoping to seem more attentive.

she doesn’t answer immediately. instead, she watches you, her fingers idly tracing the edges of the papers in the folder. her head tilts to the side, the movement subtle but thoughtful, her gaze narrowing slightly.

her tongue darts out briefly to wet her bottom lip before she pulls it in, biting gently on the skin as if she’s considering something. the moment feels heavier than it should, the silence stretching thin between you. you shift under her gaze, the weight of it pressing into you, as if she’s trying to read something just beneath the surface.

“what?” your brows knit together as confusion flashes across your face, your eyes darting around the room in search of some unseen answer.

“nothing,” she huffs softly, amusement laced in her tone, though her gaze remains sharp. she leans forward, closing the distance slightly, her arms resting on the desk. her presence is magnetic, drawing you in even as her words send a ripple of unease through your chest. “i’m just wondering… do i know you from somewhere?”

you freeze, the air seeming to still around you. her question hits you like a sudden drop, the ground vanishing beneath your feet. a chill skates down your spine, and for a moment, you forget how to breathe. you inhale sharply through your nose, forcing yourself to collect the fragments of your composure. your voice feels foreign when it finally escapes, a careful balance between indifference and denial.

“no, i don’t think you do. i’m sorry.”

silence unfurls in the space between you, thick and palpable. billie doesn’t move, her blue eyes narrowing slightly as they search yours. there’s a quiet intensity in the way she looks at you, as though she’s trying to piece together a memory just out of reach. her lashes frame her gaze, softening its sharpness, but the weight of it is almost too much to bear.

her eyes shift, slow and deliberate, tracing the curve of your jaw, the slope of your neck. they linger there for a moment too long, and you can feel the heat rising to your cheeks. then, like a current, her gaze flows down your arm, pausing briefly as if something there caught her attention. her movements are so fluid, so unassuming, you barely register them before she straightens, her focus shifting back to the file in front of her.

“hm… well then,” she murmurs, her tone light but her expression unreadable. she leans back in her chair, the black leather creaking softly beneath her. a beat passes, the air taut with unspoken tension, before she continues. “does every monday, wednesday, and friday at five pm work for you?”

you nod quickly, your movements stiff and mechanical, and she doesn’t press further.

she begins listing your responsibilities, her voice smooth and measured as she explains your duties. you force yourself to focus on her words, but it’s a losing battle. your responses are clipped, your gaze fixed firmly on the desk in front of you. if you keep it brief, keep it distant, maybe she won’t look too closely. maybe she won’t connect the threads dangling between you.

by the time the meeting wraps up, your nerves are frayed, each passing second an exercise in restraint. billie leans forward again, extending a hand across the desk. “looking forward to working with you.”

for a moment, you just stare at her hand, your heart pounding in your ears. then, slowly, you reach out, your fingers meeting hers. her hand is warm, her skin smooth but not without the rough edges of callouses. the contrast between your hands strikes you—her strength tempered by an understated softness, your own fingers trembling slightly as you fight to maintain control.

her thumb brushes lightly against your knuckles, whether intentional or not, and the contact sends a jolt through you. goosebumps rise along her arm where your nails graze her skin, the faint gleam of your top coat catching the light.

“thank you,” you mumble, your voice barely audible. you pull your hand back quickly, tucking it close to your side like it might betray you.

with a hurried goodbye, you slip out of the room, your chest tight and your thoughts in chaos. the hallway feels too quiet, the walls pressing in as you all but sprint away. each step echoes, a reminder of what you’ve left behind and the weight of what you can’t seem to outrun.

back in your apartment, billie’s voice lingers like a song you can’t get out of your head, looping endlessly in your mind. you toss your bag onto the couch and make your way to the bathroom, craving the solitude and stillness that only a hot shower can bring.

you tie your hair back loosely, fingers trembling slightly as you strip off your clothes. stepping into the steam, the water cascades over your skin, scalding but grounding, a sharp contrast to the chaos in your chest. the scent of your lavender body wash fills the air, soft and calming, like a fleeting embrace in the midst of a storm. you close your eyes and focus on the sound of the droplets hitting the tiles, willing the tension in your shoulders to dissolve, willing your nerves to spiral down the drain along with the suds.

after a few long moments, you twist the knob, and the water stops, leaving behind silence and steam. wrapping yourself in a towel, you step out, the cool air prickling against your damp skin. you move to your bedroom, the ritual of moisturizing your skin a temporary comfort. your favorite lotion, thick and sweet like vanilla and brown sugar, lingers on your fingertips as you rub it into your arms and legs.

the clock on your nightstand glows 3:47 in vivid red, mocking you with the hours left until your hotline shift begins. you sigh, pulling on a pair of soft, worn pajamas, their familiarity soothing. the silence presses against your ears, heavy and unrelenting, so you turn on your tv, letting the hum of your favorite show fill the void. but even with the characters’ voices playing in the background, your thoughts are loud, relentless.

you drag yourself into the bathroom to begin your hair routine. from under the sink, you gather your tools: the flat iron, heat protectant, parting comb, rollers, and duck clips. the motions are automatic, practiced, almost meditative.

your thumb brushes against the flat iron’s switch, flicking it on. the red light blinks steadily as it warms up. you spray heat protectant onto your hair, the mist clinging to the strands, giving them a subtle sheen. when the iron’s light turns green, you pick it up and run it carefully down each section of hair. the heat transforms your coils into glossy, silken strands, the steam curling in the air like whispered secrets. you follow each pass with your comb before rolling the ends of your hair up to the roots and clipping them in place with a metallic duck clip.

the process repeats, your hands moving on autopilot, but your mind drifts elsewhere. you replay the meeting over and over, analyzing every glance, every word. the way her eyes lingered on you, searching for something just out of reach. does she know? or is this all some cruel coincidence?

your alarm buzzes sharply, jolting you from your thoughts. the clock now blares 6:20. you finish the last section of your hair, securing the roller in place, before turning off the alarm. as you set the flat iron down, another sound cuts through the room—the sharp trill of the phone. it’s the hotline.

your stomach flips as you hesitate, staring at the flashing light. finally, you take a deep breath, slip on your headset, and settle into the familiar rhythm of your persona.

thursday 6:32 pm — incoming call from +1 (310) 807-3956 (los angeles, california)

“hello, and thank you for calling the pulse network. this is star speaking.”

“star,” billie’s voice flows through the receiver, warm and honey-smooth. “how’s my favorite voice tonight?”

your heart clenches. it’s always like this when she calls, the way her voice sinks into your skin and leaves you aching for more.

“i’m good,” you reply, fighting to keep your tone steady. “you?”

“exhausted,” she admits, a soft chuckle following her words. “it’s been a day. i just got a new t.a., which i’m so grateful for, but she was so quiet. i think i scared her off.”

your breath catches in your throat, and for a moment, you can’t speak. she’s talking about me.

“maybe she’s just shy,” you manage, your voice careful, measured.

the conversation flows, her voice a melody you know too well. she talks about her day, her words curling around you like smoke, hazy and intoxicating. you fall into the rhythm of your usual calls, her laughter tugging a small smile from your lips despite the weight in your chest.

when you mention your new nails, she perks up, her tone playful and teasing.

“tell me everything. what color? shape? i need details, star.”

her curiosity pulls you in, her warmth easing the tension in your shoulders just enough to let you breathe. for a moment, it feels normal—like it always has, like she’s just a voice on the other end of the line. but beneath the surface, you can feel the cracks forming, the weight of your secret threatening to shatter everything.

“baby?” she calls out, her voice soft, low, and dripping with a kind of warmth that sends a shiver down your spine.

the little nickname stirs something in you, a flutter of wings in the pit of your stomach, delicate and chaotic.

“hm?” you hum, your tone nonchalant, though your pulse skips just slightly.

“i’ve always wondered if you had any tattoos or anything.”

her question catches you off guard, and you smile faintly, letting out a soft breath as you lean back in your chair.

“yeah, i have a couple.”

“oh? where?”

her tone shifts—curious but edged with something playful. it pulls a light laugh from you, your fingers idly tracing the edge of your desk.

“um… i have one on my spine, another in the middle of my boobs, like, on my sternum. there’s a few others, but i always forget about them. they’re mostly in places you can’t really see unless… you know.”

“unless what?” her voice takes on a teasing lilt, and you can hear the smirk tugging at her lips, even through the line.

your own lips curl as you lean forward slightly, your tone dipping into something slower, smoother, deliberate.

“unless i’m having sex or something”

the words hang in the air, heavy and electric. you hear her breath hitch faintly before she responds, her voice low, sultry, matching your energy effortlessly.

“just might have to take you up on that offer.”

your side of the line goes quiet for a beat, her words lingering in your head like smoke. you swallow hard, the heat blooming in your chest spreading lower. ever since this afternoon, your thoughts have been consumed by her. seeing her for the first time—her sharp blue eyes, the casual confidence in the way she moved—was enough to get your mind reeling and your body betraying you in ways you hadn’t expected.

you sigh softly, the sound escaping without permission, and lean back in your chair.

“you okay over there?” her voice breaks through your haze, tinged with genuine concern.

“yeah,” you say quickly, then pivot. “do you have any tattoos?”

“just six,” she says, her tone easing back into its usual calm rhythm. “not a lot. i have a back tattoo, one on my hip, two on my thigh, one on my sternum, and then everyone’s favorite—the one on my hand.”

she describes them casually, but her voice is warm, soft around the edges, and it paints vivid images in your mind. your thoughts immediately flash to the tattoo on her hand. you’d seen it earlier, the intricate details trailing over her skin. it had you thinking thoughts you shouldn’t, imagining her hands tracing over your body, exploring every sacred inch of you.

a low sound escapes your throat—something between a groan and a hum—and you don’t even realize it until the silence stretches between you.

“what was that?” her voice is teasing now, a quiet laugh slipping through, and you feel your cheeks heat up.

“nothing,” you murmur, shifting in your seat. as you adjust, your elbow brushes against the desk, and the edge presses uncomfortably into your chest. a sharp pain shoots through you as it hits your nipple piercing, and you wince, sucking in a breath.

“what’s going on over there?” she asks, half-laughing, half-curious.

“nothing,” you say again, trying to brush it off, though your voice is tight. you bite your lip, squeezing your eyes shut as the sting subsides, but your thoughts remain tangled in her—her voice, her hands, her presence.

this is dangerous, you think. and yet, you can’t seem to pull yourself away.

“i just bruised my fucking piercing.”

“what piercing?” her voice perks up, curiosity spilling through the line. there’s something in her tone—teasing, intrigued—that makes your stomach twist, heat curling under your skin.

you hesitate for a moment, then let it slip. “this damn nipple piercing. don’t even know why i got it.”

you didn’t, really. it was one of those impulsive decisions—your freshman year of college, sitting cross-legged on your dorm bed while your ex convinced you it’d be fun and cute. you remember the way she had grinned, her enthusiasm contagious, and before you knew it, you were booking an appointment. carson came with you, holding your hand and laughing the entire time, but she didn’t stop you either.

“you’re full of surprises, star,” billie says, a soft laugh weaving into her words. it’s a laugh that warms you, but it also disarms you, makes you feel more exposed than you intended. “but seriously, take care of yourself. that sounds painful.”

her concern lingers in the air, brushing against you in a way that feels intimate, like a hand on your shoulder or the press of her fingers tracing over your skin. you shift in your chair, biting your lip as her words replay in your mind.

“and how do you suggest i do that?” the question leaves your mouth before you can catch it, hanging there like a thread pulled loose.

there’s a pause on the line, just long enough for your heart to stutter, and then she speaks. her voice drops, soft and deliberate.

“do you trust me?”

your throat tightens, and you nod instinctively, even though she can’t see you. “yeah.”

your voice is quiet, a little unsteady, but honest. and in that moment, the walls of your room feel smaller, the distance between you and billie shrinking with every word exchanged.

“i’mma need you to say it, babe.”

her voice is steady, low, and commanding, the kind of tone that roots itself in your chest and refuses to let go. even though she isn’t physically there, you feel her presence like a weight, tangible and pressing. the air around you thickens, charged with an unspoken tension.

you hesitate, your pulse thrumming wildly against your throat. “i—” the words catch, sticking to your tongue. then you swallow hard and try again. “i trust you, billie.”

“just wanna help you out, okay?”

there’s a softness in her words now, a reassurance that wraps around you like a warm blanket. you nod before realizing she can’t see you. “okay.”

“good. what are you wearing?”

her question catches you off guard, even though deep down you already sensed where this was headed. your fingers toy with the edge of your desk, and your heart kicks up a notch.

“just a t-shirt and some sleep shorts.”

the admission feels simple enough, but the way her pause lingers on the line makes your skin prickle with anticipation.

“can you lift your shirt for me?”

her words come out smooth, velvet-coated, and they sink into you like the slow pull of a tide. the apprehension you’ve been holding onto tightens, coiling low in your belly. but there’s something magnetic in her voice, something that compels you to follow.

“mhm.” your response is soft, barely audible, but you know she hears it.

your hands find the hem of your shirt, your fingers grazing the fabric. the motion is slow, deliberate, like the weight of her voice has made everything else move in molasses. you pull the shirt over your head, the cool air hitting your skin in contrast to the heat that’s creeping up your neck and chest. carefully, you fold it, laying it down on the desk beside you like it’s something sacred.

the room feels quieter now, more intimate somehow. the faint hum of the tv in the background, the occasional creak of the apartment settling—all of it fades as you wait for her voice to return.

“now i want you to rub your tits for me, be nice and gentle to them. touch your nipples and tell me what kind of jewelry you got, baby.”

her voice is like a current, slow and unrelenting, pulling you into its depths. your body responds before your mind catches up, your hands moving instinctively to the soft curve of your chest.

your fingers skim along your skin, warm and pliant, before you focus on the sensitive peaks. a sharp inhale escapes your lips as your fingertips brush over the hardened buds, the sensation sending a shiver down your spine. you tease yourself, tugging lightly, your movements deliberate yet tender.

“they’re, um—” your breath hitches, the words tumbling out unsteady. “they’re hearts, silver diamond hearts.”

you let the image sink in, your hands still working against your skin, and it feels like you’re teetering on the edge of something unspoken.

“mm—i just know they’re so pretty, how does it feel?”

her voice is low, almost a whisper, and yet it feels like it’s wrapped around you, coaxing you to give in.

“feels good, billie.” your voice is barely audible, your words coming out in a soft, breathless rush.

“i know it does, mama.”

the way she says it, smooth and confident, sends a warm flush through your body. it’s intimate, intoxicating, the kind of connection that feels like it exists in its own universe.

your hands falter slightly, your touch growing lighter as you bask in the way her words linger. the heat building under your skin seems to sync with the cadence of her voice, every syllable pressing against you like a soft, unseen touch.

you let out a quiet sigh, feeling the tension ebb and flow like waves against the shore, and for a moment, everything else fades away.

before you know it, her voice shifts, becoming softer, more intimate, like a low hum in the quiet night. her words settle over you, warm and heavy, weaving a haze you can’t escape—not that you want to. the rhythm of her voice is hypnotic, each syllable pulling you deeper into the moment, blurring the edges of your thoughts.

you let your head rest against the cool wood of your desk, eyes fluttering shut as her tone wraps around you like a secret only the two of you share.

billie’s breath hitches on her end of the line. the image of you—at your desk, bare skin glowing in the dim light, your hands exploring what she so desperately wishes she could—floods her mind. it consumes her, making her ache with a longing she’s unprepared for. her free hand trails absentmindedly to her chest, pressing lightly against her own skin as her voice dips lower.

“now i want you to touch the most sensitive parts of yourself,” she murmurs, the words rolling off her tongue like honey. “your lips, your neck. go slow, baby, there’s no rush.”

“okay,” you whisper, your voice barely audible, caught between hesitation and desire.

you start at your lips, your thumb brushing over the softness, tracing their shape as if committing them to memory. the sensation is subtle but electric, and you can’t help but imagine her doing the same—her hands, her mouth, leaving trails of warmth across your skin.

your fingers drift downward, grazing the curve of your neck, lingering where your pulse flutters beneath your skin. your breath catches as you press lightly, letting the heat of the moment seep into every nerve.

you let your hands travel further, down to the valley of your chest, the softness of your skin against your fingertips grounding you even as it sets you alight. every motion feels deliberate, each touch sending ripples of warmth through you. your fingers tease the edge of your waistband, a small gasp escaping your lips as you hover there, caught between restraint and surrender.

“you’re doing so good, mama,” billie murmurs, her voice rough around the edges now, her own breathing heavier than before. “how does it feel?”

you hesitate, swallowing hard before replying. “it feels—good. it feels so good.”

her voice comes again, softer, more urgent, like she’s right there, close enough to touch. “keep going for me, yeah? take your time.”

her words push you forward, her presence on the line the only tether you need. it’s electric, raw, and completely hers.

“take off your panties for me, love.”

her words wrap around you like a velvet ribbon, smooth and enticing, tugging at something deep within you. your teeth catch your bottom lip, nerves and anticipation tangling into one as her voice lingers in your ear, low and commanding.

“oh, well, you see, i’m not wearing…any.”

you pause, letting the words hang in the air, the silence heavy with implication.

“oh?” her response is slow, deliberate, and laced with a smirk you can practically hear. “that makes everything easier then. go ahead and slide your shorts off for me.”

your hands tremble slightly as you hook your thumbs into the waistband of your shorts. you peel the fabric away from your skin, the motion slow, deliberate, almost reverent. the dampness at the center is undeniable, the evidence of your arousal making your cheeks flush. you’re thankful for the black fabric, a small mercy in an otherwise vulnerable moment.

as the shorts fall away, the cool air in the room caresses your exposed skin, sending a shiver through you. it’s like the atmosphere itself is alive, charged with the tension billie’s voice weaves around you.

“are they off?” her voice is soft but insistent, each word settling deep into your core.

“yeah, yes, they’re off,” you exhale, the words barely audible, your breath catching as you shift slightly in your chair. the air presses against your skin, the sensitivity almost too much.

“look at you,” she murmurs, her tone dripping with praise. “being such a good girl for me.”

her words hit you like a warm rush, the praise melting into your chest and pooling low in your belly. a soft moan escapes your lips before you can stop it, the sound vulnerable and raw.

the line crackles with a silence that feels anything but empty, the connection between you tangible even through the phone. it’s as if she’s right there with you, her presence wrapping around you, guiding you, pulling you closer to a kind of surrender you hadn’t anticipated.

“i want you to slowly feel the skin on your legs. stroke your inner thighs, tease yourself a little,” she whispers, her voice like silk unraveling across your skin.

you don’t hesitate, your hands gliding downward, fingers skimming over the smooth expanse of your thighs. the touch is light, tentative, as if testing the waters of your own restraint. goosebumps ripple in the wake of your movements, the coolness of the air mixing with the warmth pooling inside you.

your breath comes out uneven, a shaky exhale that echoes in the quiet room. the ache low in your stomach intensifies, spreading like a slow burn, and you can’t help but press your thighs together for even the smallest semblance of relief.

“like this?” your voice is soft, barely above a whisper, but the need in it is unmistakable.

“just like that,” billie purrs, her tone soothing yet commanding, each word pushing you further into the haze she’s crafted. “take your time. let your fingers linger. don’t rush it, love.”

your hands obey without thought, fingertips trailing along the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. the sensation is electric, every nerve ending alive and sparking under your touch. you let your fingers wander, brushing higher, closer, teasing yourself with a deliberate slowness that borders on torture.

the tension in your body coils tighter with every passing second, and a small whimper escapes your lips. it feels as though the distance between you and billie is nonexistent, her presence palpable even through the thin crackle of the phone line.

“you feel good, don’t you?” her voice dips lower, rich and smoky. “i bet you’re dripping for me already.”

her words make you gasp softly, your body arching involuntarily as her confidence washes over you. she knows exactly what she’s doing, her tone laced with equal parts encouragement and command, pulling you deeper into the moment.

your fingers falter for a second, trembling as the ache inside you becomes almost unbearable. you bite your lip, the metallic taste grounding you briefly as your mind swims in the intoxicating warmth of her guidance.

“god, i wish i could see you right now. i know you look so good, thighs spread apart, pussy all glistening and wet— all because of me.”

her voice is molten, dripping with desire, and it feels like it wraps around you, constricting and coaxing you all at once. her words settle low in your stomach, feeding the fire that’s been building steadily, threatening to consume you.

“billie, please…” the plea escapes your lips in a shaky breath, barely audible, as your body trembles under the weight of her voice.

“want me to fuck you?” she asks, her tone soft yet firm, a tease wrapped in promise.

“mhm.” the sound is a desperate whimper, raw and unfiltered, and your nails dig into the sensitive flesh of your inner thighs, an attempt to anchor yourself as your mind spirals deeper into the heat of her words.

the room feels smaller, the air heavier. every sound, every creak of the chair, every whisper of breath feels amplified, blending into the symphony of your need. your thighs ache from the tension, the pressure of your own touch almost unbearable as your body responds to her commands.

you can picture her smirk on the other end of the line, that knowing, cocky curve of her lips, and it sends a shiver racing down your spine. it’s maddening how her presence can fill a space she isn’t even in, how her voice alone can undo you piece by piece.

“good girl,” she murmurs, her praise sending a jolt through your chest, straight to the core of you. “keep going, don’t stop now. i want to hear all those pretty little sounds you make.”

her words feel like a tether and a push all at once, keeping you grounded even as they push you further out of control. your breath hitches, a quiet moan slipping past your lips, your body moving instinctively, chasing the release she’s guiding you toward.

the way she says ‘good girl’ loops in your mind, a mantra that fuels every movement of your hands, every desperate whimper that escapes your lips. the ache inside you grows sharper, an unbearable tension building and building, and all you can think about is her.

“shit- go ahead and touch yourself baby, wanna hear how wet you are.”

taking your index and your middle finger, you spread your folds apart, before you dip your middle finger to touch your slit. coating your finger in your salivating ecstasy, you swipe up and down on your pussy. the sound of your slick wetness echoing throughout the room. touching your bundle of nerves your rub it in circle motions, pushing down on it just slightly to get the right amount of friction.

billie closed her eyes and tries to steady her breathing as she hears you on the other end, practically begging her to fuck you. and she wish she could do it too, take her time with you to touch you properly and to make you come undone as many times as she wanted to.

“oh my, fuck babe.” a string of curse words slips from billie’s lips, and you can feel her breath hitch through the line. there’s something about hearing her react that sends a shiver down your spine, and you can tell that the sound of your moans and the atmosphere in the room have her completely captivated. every sound you make, every little shift, she’s there with you in it, even if it’s through the phone.

billie shifts, her voice quieter now, like she’s trying to keep herself steady. “i want to feel you so bad… but for now, this will have to do,” she murmurs, her words trailing off with longing. lying on her bed she sat up against her head board, shoving her hands down her sweats and playing with her own clit, the pads of her pointer and middle finger gently rub steady, figure 8's against her nub as she tried to match your pace.

you imagine her lying back, the soft glow of her room casting faint shadows, just the sound of her voice filling the space. you know she’s doing the same thing you are — wanting to be closer, but for now, savoring the distance in the only way she can.

your eyes squeeze shut at the thought, the image of billie crystal clear in your mind. she’s on her knees, her lips slightly parted, her tongue teasing and deliberate. her thumb would press against your most sensitive spot, slow circles coaxing pleasure from you as her eyes stay fixed on yours, sharp and unwavering, like she’s committing every flicker of your expression to memory. you’d tangle your fingers in her soft hair, pulling her closer, feeling the heat of her breath against your skin, every moment searing itself into your mind.

a low moan slips past your lips, involuntary and raw, as you shift in place, letting the image take over. the ache inside you grows, pressing against the edges of your composure, and you can’t help but imagine how her touch would feel—how every word she’s murmured would finally come to life under her fingertips.

“you’re so perfect,” billie’s voice hums through the speaker, her tone soft but rough around the edges, laced with the kind of restraint that makes your heart pound harder. “keep going, baby. let me hear you.”

her own breathing hitches slightly on the other end, breaking the rhythm of her steady voice. it’s as if she’s right there with you, matching the pace, letting the connection between you stretch taut like a thread pulled to its breaking point. the sound of her—soft curses under her breath, the quiet rasp of her voice—sends shivers along your skin, and it’s almost too much.

the room feels charged, the air thick with a tension you can’t name but don’t want to escape from. every word she says pulls you deeper, every second on the line feels like a lifetime wrapped in her presence, and for now, that’s enough.

“holy shit. you sound so fucking good for me. so fucking perfect.”

her words spill through the phone, low and gravelly, threading through the quiet of your room. each syllable feels like a caress against your skin, pulling you deeper into the moment, and your fingers obey without hesitation, working in rhythm with her praise.

“feels so good, billie, fuck. you feel so good.” the words tumble out of you, shaky and raw, your voice catching on the edges of your breath.

“wish i was there so i could help you, baby.”

it’s then you notice it—her breathing, uneven and rushed, broken by faint, muffled sounds. you hadn’t really picked up on it before, but now it’s all you can focus on. the soft, rhythmic moans slipping through the line, the faint wet sounds beneath her breath, as if she’s right there with you, mirroring your every movement.

your chest tightens at the thought, a spark of heat running through you. the ache builds, sharp and unrelenting, driving your fingers to move faster, each motion more desperate than the last. the air around you feels heavy, charged with anticipation, and every inhale is shallow, quick, feeding the fire that billie’s voice has set ablaze.

“oh baby, billie—i’m gonna—please—just—fuck,” you whine, your voice breaking with the force of it all, your words spilling over each other in a rush. they don’t make sense, but nothing does in this moment except the way she makes you feel.

“that’s it, baby,” her voice trembles, heavy with want and barely contained restraint. “let go for me, love.”

and that was it. the sharp edge of release tore through you, pulling a low, penetrating moan from your lips. your body trembled as waves of heat rolled over you, your fingers working instinctively to draw out every last ounce of pleasure. billie’s name fell from your mouth like a prayer, soft yet desperate, as you made a mess of yourself, utterly unraveled.

your chest heaved, the rise and fall rapid as you tried to steady your breath. the world around you felt hazy, distant, like everything had faded into the background except for the sound of her voice spilling through the line.

“good job, baby, you did so good for me,” she murmured, her tone soft and full of pride. on the other end, you could hear her breathing too, uneven and ragged, her words laced with the remnants of her own high. her praise wrapped around you like a warm blanket, grounding you, until—

she says your name. not just your name but the one that feels heavy, official. the one you thought she didn’t know. it rolls off her tongue like it belongs there, smooth and deliberate, shattering the fragile bubble you’d built between the two of you.

your heart stops. your breath catches. a chill races up your spine. “what did you just say?”

silence follows, thick and suffocating, stretching out like a chasm between you.

“nothing,” she quips, too quickly, the edge of something unreadable in her voice.

your tone sharpens, cutting through the quiet. “billie.” it’s a warning, low and steady, but laced with an undercurrent of unease.

her next words are quiet, almost hesitant, yet certain in a way that makes the floor feel like it’s slipping out from under you.

“i know it’s you.”

the world tilts, panic surging in your chest like a tidal wave. heat floods your face, and suddenly the room feels too small, too suffocating. “i—i have to go,” you stammer, the words spilling from your lips without thought. with shaking hands, you rip the headset off, your pulse thundering in your ears as you end the call.

the silence that follows is deafening, but your heart continues to pound, the realization settling over you like a weight.

you sit there, frozen, staring blankly at the wall as your mind races in a chaotic loop. how could she know? what does this mean? the questions tumble over each other, relentless, leaving no room for answers. leaning back in your chair, your eyes dart around the room, searching for anything to ground you, but instead, they land on the vanity mirror across from you.

your breath catches. there it is. that damn butterfly tattoo etched delicately behind your ear, its wings trailing faintly onto the side of your neck—a design you often forget about until moments like this. the same tattoo she had been staring at earlier today, her gaze lingering just a beat too long.

with an aggravated huff, you reach out and spin the mirror around, unable to look at it any longer. the sight feels accusatory now, a reminder of your slip, your vulnerability. you shove the chair back with a screech and hurry to the bathroom, the need to cleanse yourself and your space overwhelming. the cool water against your skin is sharp, but it doesn’t quiet your spiraling thoughts.

as you clean the chair and pull your clothes back on, the fog in your mind thickens. panic churns in your chest, mingling with an odd cocktail of shame and unease. you know she didn’t mean to make you feel this way, but the weight of it lingers all the same.

then, your phone buzzes, yanking you from the haze. the screen lights up with another call, but your focus is fractured. with trembling fingers, you force yourself to answer, masking your nerves with the practiced ease of someone who knows how to play their role.

meanwhile, across the city, billie is pacing her room, her hands raking through her hair, disheveling the strands until they’re as chaotic as her thoughts. she knows she’s messed up—badly—and the regret is gnawing at her. she grabs her phone and dials the hotline again, but there’s no answer, only an echoing silence that fuels her desperation.

unable to sit with her guilt, she opens the app and sends a payment—your expected earnings for the session she interrupted, plus a tip. the amount is significant, but it feels insignificant compared to the words she can’t seem to say. she types out a brief note to accompany it: “i’m sorry. can we talk tomorrow?” her finger hovers over the send button before she taps it, watching the transaction disappear into the void.

you, however, keep moving through the night, each call leaving you feeling more drained than the last. panic still lingers in the corners of your mind, intertwined with the sting of dejection and the unsettling sense of vulnerability. though you remind yourself that her intentions weren’t malicious, the leftover shock clings stubbornly, refusing to fade.

finally, after what feels like an eternity, you decide you’ve made enough for the night. with an exhausted sigh, you shut down the hotline, the weight of the day pressing heavily on your shoulders. the room falls into darkness as you flick off the lights, retreating to your bed and mindlessly flipping through channels, hoping for distraction.

but then, the soft chime of your phone breaks the silence.

new transactions — 3:15 am

+1 (310) 807-3956 (los angeles, ca) - $350.00 + $550 tip, notes: “i’m sorry. can we talk tomorrow?”

+1 (254) 783-0184 (dallas, TX) - $79.72

+1 (980) 598-7201 (charlotte, NC) - $153.68

+1 (201) 508-3416 (bayonne, NJ) - $220.65

+1 (216) 347-0517 (cleveland, OH) - $37.54 + $35 tip

your eyes skim over the notifications, your attention halting at the first one. you know it’s her. your chest tightens, a mix of gratitude and hesitation washing over you. the tip is generous, overly so, but you can’t bring yourself to reply. not now.

with a sigh, you lock your phone and set it face down on the nightstand, the screen now dark and unyielding. rolling onto your side, you close your eyes and try to will yourself to sleep, but the thoughts keep creeping back in, tangled and persistent.

the night stretches on, heavy and endless.

friday 8:45 am —

the next morning drifts by in a haze, the weight of the night before pressing into your chest like a stone. billie’s slip-up loops endlessly in your mind, her voice saying your name with the kind of familiarity that shouldn’t exist. it feels like a quiet earthquake, shifting everything beneath your feet and leaving you unsteady.

but the day doesn’t care about your turmoil. you have a packed schedule: the forensics seminar in san diego is a top priority, and you can’t afford to let your personal life bleed into your professional one.

the seminar stretches on far longer than expected, the clock’s hands spinning faster than they should. presentations drone, conversations pile up, and you lose track of time between networking and handshakes. by the time you finally make it to your car, you’re already behind. your first day as billie’s ta looms, and you’re cutting it dangerously close.

frustration bubbles in your chest as you toss your heels onto the passenger seat and swap them for your sneakers. the drive back to los angeles feels like a blur, the highway unwinding like a taut ribbon, city lights flickering in your periphery.

when you arrive on campus, you’re out of breath, your sneakers tightly laced, your bag slung over one shoulder. the music department’s doors creak as you push them open, the sound echoing in the stillness of the hallway. billie’s office waits at the end, her name etched on the placard beside the door.

you steel yourself as you approach, forcing your posture to straighten and your expression to settle into something neutral. you can’t afford to let last night’s mess seep into today.

when you step inside, billie looks up from her desk, a polite but cautious smile flickering across her face. she cradles a mug of tea in her hands, the steam curling up in soft tendrils.

“you made it,” she says softly, her voice careful, like she’s testing the waters.

“yeah,” you mumble, your voice flat as you drop your bag onto the chair nearest the door.

she gestures toward the kettle on a side table. “i made some tea if you want.”

you shake your head. “no, thanks.”

the silence that follows is thick and awkward, settling over the room like a dense fog. you take a seat and reach for the stack of papers she’s prepared, diving into the grading without so much as a glance in her direction. your pen moves methodically, the scratching of ink against paper the only sound breaking the stillness.

billie tries to bridge the gap with small talk, her tone light but tentative. “how was the seminar?”

“fine,” you reply curtly, not looking up.

“did you learn anything new?”

“not really.”

then she says something that makes your hand pause mid-motion, the words slipping out so softly they almost disappear into the air between you.

“you look pretty.”

the warmth of her voice lingers, curling around you like smoke, uninvited but hard to ignore. for a moment, your resolve falters, heat rising unbidden to your cheeks.

“thanks,” you murmur, forcing the words out before returning to the papers in front of you. your hand moves faster now, as if the quicker you work, the less you’ll feel.

the air grows heavier with every clipped response, every wall you put up. you feel her eyes on you—watching, waiting—but you refuse to meet her gaze. instead, you pull out your phone, scrolling aimlessly through instagram, letting the stream of curated stories and fleeting glimpses into other people’s lives distract you from the weight of your own.

you wish you’d said yes to carson yesterday. you imagine yourself anywhere but here, laughing over drinks or walking aimlessly through the city, free from this suffocating room and its unspoken tension.

your phone finds its way back to the desk, face down, the screen going dark like the mood in the room. you shuffle through the stack of papers, forcing your focus back to the words in front of you, but your mind keeps drifting. billie’s presence sits heavy, her silence louder than anything she could say.

the papers in front of you blur, the words melting into indistinguishable smudges as your pen moves mindlessly across the page. the ticking clock on the wall grows louder with each second, the steady rhythm grating against your nerves. billie’s presence feels suffocating, her quiet, measured breaths and those occasional glances prickling at your skin like needles. no matter how much you try, you can’t shake the feeling of her eyes on you. still, you keep yours trained on the stack of papers, determined to maintain a veneer of professionalism.

the silence between you is brittle, threatening to crack. it’s billie who finally breaks it, her voice soft but resolute. “are we going to talk about it?”

“talk about what?” you respond, keeping your tone as even as you can, your gaze fixed on the paper beneath your pen.

“you know what i mean.”

your fingers tighten around the pen, and you press it harder against the page, the words blurring even more. “there’s nothing to talk about.”

she exhales, and the sound carries frustration, an edge you’re not sure you’re ready to face. “you can’t just pretend it didn’t happen.”

“i can, actually,” you reply sharply, the bitterness in your tone slipping out before you can stop it.

“no, you don’t,” you say, louder this time, your voice firm, unyielding.

the next words that leave her mouth hit like a slap. “quit acting like a dick.”

your pen freezes mid-stroke, the ink bleeding into the paper. your head snaps up, and you glare at her, the tension between you thick enough to choke on. “excuse me?”

billie doesn’t back down. she crosses her arms, leaning slightly forward, her posture tense. “you heard me. we’ve been talking for weeks, and now, after one awkward call, you’re acting like i don’t exist.”

a bitter laugh escapes your lips as you scoff, shaking your head. “it’s not that simple.”

her gaze sharpens, her blue eyes piercing through your defenses. “then explain it to me,” she presses, her tone walking the tightrope between firm and gentle. “because from where i’m sitting, it looks like you’re punishing me for something that caught both of us off guard.”

her words dig under your skin, unearthing emotions you’ve tried to bury since last night. frustration bubbles over, spilling into your voice. “it’s not just that, billie,” you snap, the pen slipping from your fingers as you lean back in your chair. “you called me by my name. my name. you knew who i was this whole time, and you didn’t say anything. do you even understand how messed up that feels?”

her shoulders slump slightly, and her expression shifts, guilt softening the sharp lines of her face. “look,” she starts, her voice quiet now, tinged with regret. “i know it’s weird. i know i screwed up. and i’m sorry for what i did—how i handled it. i should’ve told you the moment i recognized you, but i didn’t know how. i didn’t want to scare you off. but can we stop pretending like this is something it’s not?”

you blink, the weight of her words settling heavily in the air between you. her gaze is steady, unwavering, and there’s something vulnerable in the way she looks at you, like she’s peeling back layers she’d rather keep hidden.

she shifts forward, resting her arms on the desk, the smallest flicker of hope breaking through her hesitation. “let me make it up to you. dinner, my place, my treat. no games. just you and me talking. figuring this out.”

you hesitate, her voice hanging in the space between you like an open door. her sincerity wraps around you, tugging at the edges of your resolve.

your lips part as if to respond, but the words stall in your throat. the clock ticks on, and for a moment, the room is silent again, the kind of silence that feels like it could break at any second.

“dinner?” you repeat, your voice laced with skepticism, narrowing your eyes as if the word itself might betray some hidden meaning.

“yes, dinner,” she replies, her voice softer now, the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her lips, delicate like a promise hanging in the air.

you study her, eyes tracing the lines of her face, the subtle shift in her posture as she waits for your response. it’s a soft invitation, yet you can’t shake the weight of everything that’s been unsaid. after a long, pregnant pause, you finally sigh, the tension in your chest letting out with the exhale. you push back your chair, the screech of it against the floor sharp in the quiet room. “fine. but this doesn’t mean we’re good.”

billie’s smile falters for a moment but quickly steadies, her nodding serious and thoughtful. “fair enough. but it’s a start.”

the silence settles between you, a thick, almost tangible thing as you gather your things. her presence lingers in the room, and though she tries to mask it with the faintest smile, the tension that hangs between you is nearly suffocating. you sling your bag over your shoulder, your hand brushing against your phone before you glance at it absentmindedly, letting it slip back into your bag as you head for the door.

the rain greets you before you’ve even stepped outside—a heavy, relentless downpour that blurs the view through the glass doors, transforming the world into a watery smear. you pause, groaning softly, the cold air that seeps through the doorframe making your skin prickle. you glance at your car parked on the far side of the lot, the distance mocking you. of course, it had to rain today.

“you’re not seriously planning to drive in this, are you?” billie’s voice drifts toward you, a note of concern threading through her words as she steps closer.

“i’ll be fine,” you respond quickly, clutching your bag tighter as if it could shield you from the storm that’s waiting to soak you through.

billie steps into your space, the jangle of her keys cutting through the tension between you like a knife. “i’ll drive you.”

you turn to face her, shaking your head in reflex. “that’s not necessary—”

“it’s pouring out there,” she interrupts, her voice more insistent now, the firm edge of authority slipping through. “you can barely see five feet ahead. i’m driving.”

you hesitate, biting back a retort as the sound of the rain intensifies, slamming against the roof like a million tiny fists. it’s a losing battle. the rain’s not letting up, and as much as you hate the thought of being trapped in a confined space with her, you know she’s right.

“okay,” you mutter, your voice thick with reluctant acceptance. “but this doesn’t mean anything.”

billie chuckles, a low, quiet sound that wraps around the words you’d just said. she shakes her head as she opens the door for you, the soft creak of it almost drowned out by the rain. “whatever you say.”

the ride to billie’s house is quiet, save for the rhythmic patter of rain against the roof, the sound almost hypnotic in its repetition. the low hum of the heater fills the car, but it can’t seem to chase the chill away. you keep your eyes fixed on the window, watching as the city lights smear into streaks, the glow of them soft and distant against the blackened night. billie’s hands rest on the steering wheel, her fingers tapping lightly, a subtle movement that betrays the rhythm she’s hearing in her head.

“you okay over there?” her voice cuts through the silence, soft and tentative.

“i’m fine,” you reply curtly, your gaze never leaving the blurred world outside, unwilling to meet her eyes.

billie doesn’t push, her focus shifting back to the road ahead. you can feel the weight of her unspoken words pressing in the space between you, but she doesn’t say anything more. when she finally pulls into the driveway of her house, the rain is still coming down in sheets, relentless, unforgiving. she parks the car, the engine’s hum dying as she cuts it off. for a beat, there’s only the sound of the rain, a quiet, natural backdrop to the tension that clings to both of you.

she turns to face you, her eyes steady, searching, but she doesn’t speak.

“wait here,” she says, her voice a quiet command as she grabs an umbrella from the backseat. with a swift motion, she steps into the downpour, her silhouette swallowed by the rain for a brief moment before she circles around the car, opening your door. the umbrella hovers above you, a delicate shield against the storm. the gesture catches you off guard, something soft in it that you hadn’t expected, but you mumble a quiet thanks, stepping out and letting her guide you, her presence warm against the cold night, toward the front door.

inside, you take in your surroundings, your eyes tracing the clean lines of the sleek, modern design of billie’s home. every corner seems intentional, every surface polished. the walls are lined with awards, their golden surfaces catching the soft, ambient light, gleaming proudly like trophies of a life lived in the spotlight. you swallow a quiet surprise, suddenly feeling out of place.

“so, you are rich,” you mutter under your breath, the words slipping out before you can stop them, the weight of them hanging in the air.

billie’s soft laugh meets your ears, a musical sound that feels oddly comforting in this unfamiliar space. “i wouldn’t say rich,” she replies with a shrug, leading you further inside. “comfortable, maybe.”

before you can muster a response, the soft pattering of paws against the hardwood floor catches your attention. a gray pit bull pads over, his tail wagging enthusiastically, his nose already working overtime as he sniffs at you curiously, his eyes bright and welcoming.

“shark,” billie says with affection, her voice warm as she crouches down to scratch behind his ears, the bond between them clear in the way she speaks. “he’s friendly.”

you lower yourself to the dog’s level, extending your hand so he can get a proper sniff. when he finally accepts you, his head tilts slightly, and you give him a gentle scratch behind the ears. “hey, big guy,” you murmur, the smile pulling at the corners of your mouth as his tail wags harder, thumping against the floor in a rhythm that feels oddly like approval.

when you stand, you catch billie watching you. her gaze is intense, but there’s something there—something unreadable—that makes your chest tighten. she quickly looks away, clearing her throat as if trying to shake off a thought. “wine?” she offers, her voice casual, though there’s a subtle vulnerability in the gesture, as if the invitation is both a question and a subtle apology.

you nod, and she pours two glasses of deep burgundy red wine, the liquid catching the light as it fills the glasses, a dark promise in each drop. she hands you one before moving toward the kitchen. “i was thinking we could cook something simple. nothing fancy,” she adds, her voice laced with an easy kind of familiarity.

you follow her into the kitchen, leaning against the counter as she opens the fridge. she stares at its contents for a moment, her brow furrowing slightly as if the answer to some silent question isn’t immediately obvious. a defeated sigh escapes her, the vulnerability in it making you pause.

“i honestly don’t know what i’m doing,” she admits, the words tinged with an unexpected embarrassment, her voice soft but sincere.

you smirk, your gaze fixed on her for a beat, before you set your glass down with a quiet clink. “need some help?” you ask, the playful edge to your voice masking the way her admission makes you feel, like you’ve just uncovered something real.

she glances at you, her eyes flickering with something you can’t quite place, before a faint look of relief spreads across her features. “yeah,” she says with a small, shy smile. “that’d be great.”

you gesture to your outfit, feeling suddenly self-conscious in the space. “do you have something i can change into?” you ask, your voice quiet. “i don’t want to ruin this.”

she blinks in surprise, then nods. “oh, yeah, of course,” she says quickly, before disappearing down a hallway. when she returns, she’s holding a pair of sweats and a hoodie, the soft fabric a far cry from the sleek, polished atmosphere of her home. “here,” she offers, her voice gentle, but there’s a warmth in the way she looks at you as if she’s seeing you—really seeing you—for the first time tonight.

you change in the guest bathroom, the soft fabric of billie’s sweats and hoodie carrying the faint, comforting scent of her detergent. it lingers around you, mixing with the quiet hum of the house as you slip back into the kitchen. when you re-enter, billie’s eyes flicker over to you, a fleeting moment of something unreadable in her gaze, but it lingers just a second too long.

“you clean up nice,” she teases, a playful smile tugging at the corners of her lips, her voice light but edged with something you can’t quite place.

you shrug, rolling up your sleeves, the fabric brushing your forearms. “shut up and start chopping those veggies,” you reply, a hint of challenge in your voice, but there’s a softness to it, too.

as the two of you work, the tension from earlier seems to dissolve, like fog lifting under the morning sun. easy conversation flows between you, and the kitchen, with its warm lighting and rhythmic sounds of chopping, feels more like home with each passing moment. you tell her about your ups and downs as a college student—the late-night study sessions, the sneaky runs past your RA’s when you had to hide things you weren’t supposed to have. you share how you were a cheerleader only because of your best friend, and how, despite your excitement to graduate, there’s a gnawing fear deep down—because school, for all its stress and chaos, is all you’ve ever known.

billie listens intently, her eyes fixed on you, absorbing every word as she watches you bring a pot of water to a boil, adding a pinch of salt, and then sprinkling in the penne noodles with practiced ease. her gaze flickers from your eyes down the line of your nose, tracing the curve to your lips—glossy, slightly parted as you speak—and then to the tattoo peeking out from behind your ear. she finally makes out the design—a swirl of blue and black butterflies etched into your skin, delicate and intricate.

it’s funny, but in that moment, she realizes she’s feeling like those butterflies—fluttering around in her chest, her stomach tight with something she can’t name. watching you in her kitchen, making dinner in her clothes, feeling like you belonged in this space, made her feel… domesticated. it was a feeling she wasn’t used to, something scary but good.

“are you just gonna watch, or are you gonna help too?” your voice breaks the quiet as you turn to look at her. your eyes catch hers, a spark of mischief in the air between you, before she crosses her arms over her chest, leaning casually against the corner countertop to the right of you.

“nah,” she smirks, her gaze flickering over you with a softness that doesn’t quite match the playful tone of her words. “you seem to be doing just fine.”

her hand reaches for her glass, bringing the wine to her lips. it’s a moment of indulgence, a slow sip that fills her senses with its velvety smoothness. there’s a burst of ripe, dark fruit on her tongue—blackberries, plums, black cherries—interwoven with subtle notes of red currants and raspberries. the taste, rich and elegant, almost too perfect for this moment, feels like it’s been made for her.

with a dramatic roll of your eyes, you grab a knife, holding it out playfully. the tip points at her, aimed at her stomach. “chop,” you say, a teasing edge to your voice as you wave the knife between her and the cutting board sitting on your left. “go on.”

with an exaggerated huff, billie snatches the knife from your hand and moves over to the chopping board, a flicker of defiance in her eyes. you turn your attention back to the sauce, rifling through her spice cabinet with a sense of purpose until you find the seasonings you need. you set them on the counter, the familiar weight of the bottles grounding you in the task at hand, but you can still feel her presence—like a quiet hum in the room.

turning on the burner, you grab a smaller pot and set it on the stove, tossing in the ingredients for the pasta sauce, the scent of garlic and tomatoes filling the air as you give it a gentle stir.

“shit—” you hear billie say, her voice tinged with frustration. glancing over, you see her holding a knife the wrong way, hovering over a green bell pepper like it’s some sort of adversary she’s unsure how to defeat.

“okay, stop,” you say, setting your spoon down and walking over to her. “you’re going to hurt yourself.”

billie chuckles, stepping back with her hands up in mock surrender. “i told you i don’t know what i’m doing. you’re the one who offered to help.”

you roll your eyes, but the faint smile tugging at your lips betrays the irritation you’re trying to suppress. “hand me the knife.”

she obliges, her fingers releasing the blade with a soft sigh as she leans back against the counter. you take it from her, the cool handle fitting easily in your hand, and begin slicing the bell pepper with practiced ease. her gaze is unwavering, like she’s studying you—watching every movement you make, as though your hands hold some kind of secret she’s trying to unravel.

“stop staring at me,” you mutter, without looking up from your work.

“can’t help it,” billie replies lightly, her voice almost like a tease. “you’re kind of fascinating.”

you pause mid-slice, glancing up at her. the look in her eyes is softer now, less playful, more… something else. something that makes your stomach twist in ways you’re not sure you like, a fluttering feeling that you can’t quite place.

“focus,” you murmur, turning your attention back to the vegetables, hoping the distraction will keep your mind from wandering.

billie chuckles softly, her presence like a quiet hum behind you. she moves closer, her body edging up to yours until she’s standing just behind you. her hand brushes against your waist—delicate, light, but enough to send a small shock through you as she leans in closer to watch you work. you slice the pepper into thin, even pieces, the knife gliding through with ease. you reach for a piece and turn slightly, offering it to her.

instead of taking it from your hand, like you expect, billie angles her head down. her lips brush against the tips of your fingers as she slides the pepper into her mouth, her eyes holding yours in a quiet challenge. you freeze, heart skipping a beat, watching the way she lingers just a second too long.

“is it good?” you ask, your voice quieter than you mean it to be.

“yeah, thank you.” her voice is soft, a low hum that sends a thrill down your spine. at this point, her hands have found their place on your waist, steadying herself as she lingers close. before you can process it, she presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, the brush of her lips light but warm. the world seems to slow, and you freeze, the knife hovering mid-air over the cutting board.

“i—” billie starts, pulling back quickly, her breath catching as she realizes what she’s done. “shit, i’m sorry. i didn’t mean—”

“no, it’s okay,” you interrupt, your voice soft, almost a whisper. the words come out before you can stop them, and there’s an honesty in your tone that surprises you. “i… kinda liked it.”

billie’s eyes search yours, her gaze searching for something you’re not sure you’re ready to give. there’s hesitation there, a quiet storm of uncertainty in her expression. after a beat, she nods, her hands lingering on your waist for just a moment longer before she steps back, her touch slipping away like water through your fingers.

you continue making dinner, the soft sizzle of the sauce simmering filling the kitchen as you stir occasionally. the rhythm of the task is soothing, the casual clink of utensils against the pan blending with the low hum of conversation. you find yourself laughing at billie’s dry wit, and for the first time, it doesn’t feel forced, just two people sharing space and time.

dinner is served shortly after, and the two of you settle at the small dining table, the warm light overhead casting soft shadows around the room. the atmosphere is relaxed, easy—surprisingly so. billie is funny, her sarcastic quips balanced by moments of genuine curiosity about you. her questions are casual, but there’s something deeper beneath them, an earnestness that feels refreshing.

“so,” she says, taking a sip of her wine, “why forensics?”

you shrug, twirling a piece of meat on your fork, contemplating your answer. “i’ve always liked puzzles. figuring things out, piecing them together. plus, it’s practical. there’s always work for someone who can solve problems.”

billie nods thoughtfully, her eyes narrowing slightly as she considers your words. “makes sense. seems like you’re good at that—figuring things out.”

her words hang in the air for a moment, and you can’t tell if she’s talking about more than just your career. her gaze softens, and you look down, focusing on your plate, suddenly aware of how close she is, how much weight is in that quiet compliment.

“what about you?” you ask, finally breaking the silence, your voice steady but curious.

“what about me?” billie tilts her head, a playful edge to her tone.

“why did you become a teacher? you clearly don’t need the money, so tell me.” you pause, laying your fork down and resting your elbows on the table, folding your hands together and propping your head up on them. “don’t hold back.”

billie huffs out a light laugh, twirling her fork slowly on her plate, the motion almost absentminded as she takes her time answering. “uh… well, music’s always been something i’ve loved. and i will love it till the day i die. but the fame that came along with it…” she trails off with a deep sigh, her eyes flicking down to her plate. “that wasn’t something i necessarily loved. don’t get me wrong, i love my supporters and i’m forever grateful for them, but at times it would get overwhelming. i suppose…”

her gaze shifts away from you, her focus distant as she stirs the food on her plate. it’s as though she’s not just talking to you but to herself, too. her words are soft, laced with a kind of exhaustion that speaks of a life lived too quickly. “just kinda got burned out too quick and i wanted to disappear for a while. but i still wanted to actively share music with others—besides, you know, my friends and family and such. so i took some online classes, got my teaching license, and my mom told me a job was open at the university, so i took it.”

a beat passes as you take in her words, and you can’t help but wonder what it must be like, having to leave behind something that once lit you up because the world took too much from you. it’s hard to imagine, but you get it, in a way.

“would you ever publish music again?” you ask, the question floating between you two like a breath.

billie leans in slightly, her voice dropping as if she’s about to reveal a secret. “i’ve actually been working on something,” she says, her smile contagious, her eyes lighting up. “i can show you later.” she clears her throat, sitting back in her chair and crossing her arms, trying to play it off as no big deal. “i mean, if you want. it doesn’t matter.”

you roll your eyes but can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips. “i would like that. a lot.”

the conversation moves easily after that, with billie washing the dishes while you dry them, not letting her refuse your offer. you laugh at her protests, the rhythm of it a kind of unspoken dance you both slip into. there’s a comfortable silence between you, broken only by the occasional clink of glass or the soft hum of the running water.

once the dishes are done, billie suggests watching a movie. you hesitate, glancing at the clock, but ultimately agree. you settle onto the couch with a glass of wine in hand, the cool glass offering a little relief as you sip and settle into the cushions. the movie plays in the background, but neither of you is really paying attention. the sound of the film blends with the quiet, comfortable hum of each other’s presence, and it feels as though the world outside could just slip away for a while.

billie sits close—closer than she needs to. her arm rests casually on the back of the couch, her fingers brushing lightly against your shoulder. you try to ignore it, focusing on the screen, but it’s impossible not to feel the heat radiating from her, a subtle electricity in the air between you.

“can i ask you something?” she says suddenly, her voice low and quiet, barely above the hum of the movie.

you glance at her, your heart skipping a beat. “what?”

“can i kiss you?”

the question catches you off guard, like a breath you didn’t know you were holding. you blink, your mind racing. “i—”

“it’s okay if you don’t want to,” billie adds quickly, her voice softer now, pulling back just slightly. “i just… i wanted to ask.”

you don’t know why, but you nod. maybe it’s the wine, or maybe it’s the way she’s looking at you—her blue eyes soft, earnest, like she’s searching for something in you that she’s not sure of. it feels like the right thing to do, even if your heart is suddenly pounding in your chest.

billie leans in slowly, a fraction of an inch at a time, her movements deliberate, giving you time to pull away if you wanted to. when her lips finally meet yours, it’s soft, tentative—like she’s testing the waters, unsure but hopeful. your breath hitches, caught in the moment, and for a brief second, you forget how to move.

but then you’re kissing her back, your hands finding their way to the nape of her neck, pulling her closer as the kiss deepens, soft and searching. it’s like the world narrows to just the two of you, everything else fading into the background.

one kiss turns into two, then three, until you’re both breathless, tangled in each other. billie pulls back slightly, her forehead resting against yours, her breath warm against your skin.

“come with me,” she murmurs, her voice a low, coaxing whisper, her hand finding yours and gently leading you down the hall.

her bedroom is dimly lit, the faint glow of a bedside lamp casting long shadows across the room. everything in here feels like an extension of her—a chaotic yet comfortable blend of soft fabrics, scattered music sheets, and mismatched furniture that somehow all comes together. a record player hums quietly in the corner, its melody filling the space with a quiet intimacy.

she turns to you, her hands resting on your waist as she searches your face for any sign of hesitation. you reach up, your fingers grazing her cheek gently, hoping to ease the worry that flickers in her eyes. leaning close, your breath ghosts over her lips, your nose brushing against her own, the air warm between you two. your eyes flicker to hers, a silent question hanging there—are you sure?

her left hand slides to the side of your neck, her thumb tracing the curve of your jaw before she pulls you closer, her lips brushing against yours again. this kiss is deeper, more insistent. her tongue swipes over your bottom lip, soft and teasing, before gently nipping at the skin, asking for permission. you open your mouth slightly, giving her access, and she takes it, her kiss hungry and tender all at once.

she trails soft kisses from the corner of your lips down your throat, each one sending a shiver through you. your hands find their way to the back of her neck, pulling her closer, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath your fingers. her hand leaves your neck, moving to rest on your hip as she begins to trail her lips down, marking your skin with slow, wet kisses.

you gasp softly as she moves, her lips leaving a trail of fire in their wake. she pulls back just slightly, meeting your lips again in another kiss, this one more urgent, as if the world outside has ceased to exist. her hands slide beneath your hoodie, the cold metal of her rings brushing against your side, a sharp contrast to the warmth of her touch. your breath catches as she pulls you closer, her body pressing against yours, each touch feeling like it has a life of its own.

she grabs the hem of your hoodie, lifting the fabric slowly, her fingers grazing the skin of your abdomen as it slips over your head, leaving you in just your bra. the cold air of her room nips at your bare skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

“so beautiful,” she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper, reverence in every word. her hands are back on you in an instant, sliding up your back until they rest just beneath the band of your bra, her touch tender and warm.

her compliment stirs something inside you, a small, involuntary smile curling on your lips. you reach for the collar of her shirt, fingers trembling ever so slightly as you gently undo the buttons one by one, taking your time.

billie watches you, her gaze softening as you brush your thumb across her collarbones. she feels a warmth in her chest that’s unfamiliar yet comforting. you let your hands trail over her chest, down her stomach, stopping at the hem of her blue shirt. your eyes meet hers, a silent question in the softness of your gaze, asking for permission. she nods, her eyes flickering with something deeper.

her breath catches in her throat as you move, tender and deliberate, as though each movement is a quiet reverence for her. you reach for her chains, your fingers sliding beneath them to tuck the necklaces inside her shirt, and then you lift her blue polo over her head, the fabric sliding against her skin. you toss it to the side, leaving her in only a simple white undershirt.

a soft smile plays at her lips, one that’s almost shy, before she presses her palm gently to your cheek. without thinking, you lean into her touch, your breath catching at the intimacy of the moment. she leans in again, her lips finding yours, and a low groan escapes her as she feels the softness of your lips against hers, the warmth between you two pulsing.

her hand slides down to the drawstring of your sweats, tugging them gently as she guides you toward her bed. she sits down on the edge, pulling you on top of her, your legs straddling her lap. her hands move instinctively to your thighs, rubbing them gently through the thick fabric, grounding herself in the feel of you beneath her.

you press your lips to her neck, starting just behind her ear, then trailing down, each kiss lingering softly against her skin. the wet sound of your kisses fills the air, each one leaving its mark. billie’s hands move slowly, exploring the curve of your lower back, her fingers grazing over the tattoo you spoke of the night before. the intricate design sends a shiver through you as her touch leaves goosebumps in its wake, her fingertips tracing its path upwards.

her hands reach the clasp of your bra, the delicate touch of her fingers working to undo each hook, slowly and carefully. when it finally comes undone, the cool air meets your skin, and your nipples pebble slightly in the change of temperature. a small breath escapes you, the sensation both electric and tender.

your kisses on billie’s neck slow to a languid pace as her fingers toy with the bars piercing your nipples. a soft gasp escapes your lips, your breath hitching as you angle your face into the curve of her neck. your nose grazes the damp trail left by your earlier kisses, and the air feels thick, charged with her presence.

“that feel good, huh?” she murmurs, her voice low and teasing, tinged with a laugh as she feels your body respond to her touch. “been wanting to play with these since yesterday.”

her words send a flush coursing through you, the confession settling warm in your chest. gently, she shifts you, her hands firm yet careful as she turns you over and lays you on your back. the comforter beneath you gives way, soft and cool against your heated skin, and your body trembles just slightly at the sensation.

you look up at her, through the fringe of your lashes, her face framed by the golden glow of the bedside lamp. her blue eyes are soft yet intense, locking onto yours as a warm smile spreads across her face. her hair falls like a curtain around you, strands brushing your cheeks, shielding you from anything that exists outside this moment.

“is this okay?” she asks, her voice gentle, careful, as though one wrong move could shatter the sacredness of the moment.

you nod lightly, your throat tight with anticipation.

“remember, i need you to say it for me, mama,” she presses, her tone dipping lower, melting into the air between you.

“yes,” you whisper, your voice steady but barely audible. “it’s more than okay, billie.” your arm lifts, delicate yet sure, wrapping around her neck to pull her closer. your lips meet hers, the kiss slow and deliberate, an exchange that speaks louder than anything you could say.

she hums against your lips, a sound that vibrates through you, before trailing her mouth back to your neck. she kisses you there, leaving traces of herself as she moves lower, her lips ghosting down to your chest. when she reaches the curve of your breasts, she pauses. her breath fans over your skin, sending a shiver through you. the peaks of your nipples stiffen under the coolness of her breath, a soft gasp slipping past your lips.

darting her tongue out, she licks at your right nipple, her tongue circling the bar before pulling it between her lips. her left hand moves to your other breast, her fingers pinching and rolling the sensitive bud. the push and pull of her attention leaves you breathless, and when she releases your nipple with a soft, wet pop, her saliva glistens against your skin in the dim light.

her mouth finds its way to your other breast, mirroring the same motions—sucking, licking, teasing, until your body arches toward her involuntarily. the noises escaping you feel foreign, unbidden, like they’re pulled from some deep, hidden part of you.

her lips trail further downward, leaving a line of kisses over your navel, her hands pressing into your sides to hold you steady. as her lips pause between the valley of your breasts, her gaze lifts to yours, a soft flicker of recognition crossing her face when she notices the small tattoo etched there. she presses a kiss to it, reverent and unhurried, before pulling back slightly to take you in.

she sits up, her eyes never leaving your face as she watches the way your body writhes beneath her, your chest heaving, your lips parted in a series of soft moans that sound like a melody only she gets to hear. her hands move deliberately, halting at the waistband of your sweatpants. her fingers brush against the material, teasing, rubbing it between her thumb and forefinger.

her lips curve into a smile as she leans down, her voice low and teasing, warm against your ear. “can i keep going?”

her question lingers, patient, unhurried. her fingers hover at the edge of your waistband, waiting for your answer. and in her eyes, you see nothing but care, nothing but quiet, consuming need.

sitting back up, she watches you beneath her, your body writhing against the comforter, each movement punctuated by soft, needy moans that flood her ears like a song she never wants to end. her lips curve into a slow, knowing smile as her fingers toy with the band of your sweatpants, rubbing the fabric between her thumb and forefinger, dragging the moment out.

“can i?” her voice is soft, low, like a secret meant only for you.

your chest rises and falls in shallow breaths, your voice trembling as you whisper, “yes, please, baby.”

the grin that spreads across billie’s face is equal parts wicked and tender, her eyes never leaving yours as she hooks her fingers into the waistband. she drags them down, her movements slow, deliberate, as if unwrapping a gift she’s been waiting too long to open. inch by inch, she bares you to her until your sweatpants are discarded, tossed carelessly to the side. all that’s left is the thin barrier of your underwear, and the wet patch at the center betrays the need pulsing through you.

“shit—someone’s getting worked up,” she teases, her voice thick with amusement as her fingers brush against the damp fabric, applying just enough pressure to make you gasp.

“shut up,” you mumble, heat rushing to your face as you squirm beneath her. your legs instinctively press together, your core aching for more as she continues her tormenting touches. “just take it off already,” you whine, your voice dripping with impatience.

a cruel smirk tugs at her lips as her fingers curl around the waistband of your panties. “what? i can’t take my time with you?” her words are taunting, dripping with feigned innocence as she slides the fabric down even slower than before.

“no, just—fuck,” you hiss as the cool air hits your bare skin, your body arching slightly at the sudden contrast. unable to take it anymore, you grab her by the neck, pulling her down into a kiss that’s harder, more desperate than any of the ones before. her lips crash against yours, and for a moment, all you can feel is her—her weight, her warmth, the way her body presses into yours.

her hands plant firmly on either side of you, her fists digging into the mattress to steady herself. as the kiss deepens, your hips rut upward, the heat of your bare skin grinding against the rough denim of her jeans. the friction sends a jolt of pleasure through you, a muffled whine escaping into the kiss as you seek more.

billie pulls back, her breathing uneven as her hand slides to your side, fingertips ghosting over the curve of your ass. her other hand presses gently against your hips, pinning you back to the bed with a firm but gentle touch.

“have patience,” she murmurs, her lips brushing against your cheek as she peppers it with soft, lingering kisses.

“i can’t,” you groan, your voice cracking under the weight of your need.

“you can,” she counters, her tone firm but laced with a tenderness that makes your chest ache, “and you will.”

her eyes meet yours, a silent promise shining in the blue depths. billie wants nothing more than to give in, to lose herself in you completely, but she holds back. she wants this to last, wants to savor every second, every sound, every tremble of your body beneath hers. you deserve that much—more than that.

she dips her head, her lips finding the crook of your neck as she resumes her journey downward. every kiss is purposeful, unhurried, as she maps your body with her mouth. her lips trace the delicate line of your collarbones, pausing to place a lingering kiss at the hollow of your throat before moving lower. she trails kisses down the swell of your breasts, her hands sliding over your sides as she presses soft, reverent kisses to each nipple.

she continues downward, her lips brushing over your ribs, your belly, the dip of your navel. her hands smooth over the curve of your hips, grounding you as she moves lower still. when she finally reaches the soft mound of your cunt, she pauses.

her chin grazes you lightly as she hovers there, her breath warm against your skin. the anticipation hangs heavy in the air, your body taut beneath her, every nerve alive and waiting. her eyes flicker up to meet yours, her lips curving into a small, almost imperceptible smile.

“so fucking beautiful,” she murmurs, her voice barely audible, like a prayer spoken only for you.

“well hello there,” she murmurs, her voice low and dripping with mischief, her blue eyes flicking down to where your core glistens, wet and aching for her touch. the sight alone seems to mesmerize her, her lips twitching into a crooked grin as she drinks you in. leaning forward, she presses slow, deliberate kisses to the inside of your thighs, her lips soft but her teeth sharp as they leave faint marks in their wake. her thumbs brush tender circles on the sensitive skin, grounding you and setting every nerve alight all at once.

“you’re so mean, making me wait like this,” you mutter, your voice shaky with anticipation as you prop yourself up on your elbows to watch her. the sight of her there—her head between your thighs, her hair messy, her lips swollen—sends a shiver down your spine.

“no, i’m not,” she counters with a sly smirk, sitting back just enough to pull her shirt over her head. her bra follows, tossed aside carelessly, leaving her bare before you. her tattoos catch the soft glow of the light, a stark contrast against her pale skin. “i’m just taking my time with you, that’s all.”

you let out a frustrated whine, your eyes raking over her now-exposed chest. “exactly, and that’s so—fuck,” your words cut off in a sharp gasp as her lips finally make contact with your pussy. her tongue brushes over your clit in a fleeting touch, just enough to send a jolt through your body.

she doesn’t stop there. her mouth moves with intent, her lips pressing kisses all over, her tongue darting out to taste you. it’s not rushed; it’s sensual, almost like she’s savoring you. she moans against you as her tongue flicks over your entrance, dipping in briefly before sliding up through your folds. the vibration of her voice sends waves of pleasure through you, and you can’t help but arch your back, chasing the sensation.

“billie,” you whimper, your voice breathy and desperate, as her nose grazes your clit with every movement. she doesn’t respond with words, just another moan as she pulls you closer, her hands gripping your thighs to hold you in place.

your fingers tangle in her hair, tugging at the roots as you rock your hips against her face. “oh my god,” you gasp, your thighs trembling as her tongue flicks in a way that leaves you breathless. her nails dig into your skin just slightly, a grounding sensation amidst the overwhelming pleasure.

she pulls back, her lips shiny and swollen, her chest heaving as she looks up at you. “you taste so good,” she mutters, her voice husky and dripping with want. without breaking eye contact, she lets her tatted hand slide down, her fingers taking over where her tongue left off.

her fingers tease your slit, slick and warm, before sliding one inside you with ease. the stretch is slow, deliberate, as her thumb brushes over your clit in lazy circles. “feel good, baby?” she asks, her voice soft but commanding, her eyes watching every little twitch of your body as she works you open.

“yes,” you gasp, your head falling back against the pillows. your walls clench around her finger as she curls it inside you, brushing against that perfect spot that makes your breath hitch. she smirks, clearly pleased with your reaction, and leans back in to press a kiss to your thigh, murmuring, “good girl.”

“this okay?” she whispers, her voice gentle, almost reverent, as her movements still for a moment. her other hand glides over the curve of your stomach, her thumb tracing soft circles on your skin. her blue eyes, vast as oceans, hold yours with a tenderness that makes your chest ache.

you nod, breath hitching as you adjust to the fullness of her. “yes,” you murmur, your voice trembling, and it’s all the confirmation she needs. she slides another finger inside you, slow and deliberate, the stretch sending sparks of pleasure rippling through you. her pace is unhurried, her focus solely on the way your body reacts to her, the way you fit around her fingers like she was made for this—for you.

“oh, fuck, billie,” you gasp, your head falling back as you watch her fingers disappear inside you, coated in your slick. she groans softly at the sound of her name falling from your lips, her pupils dilating with a mix of desire and awe. she’s certain she could fall apart right here, just from the melody of your voice and the way you tremble beneath her.

your moans grow louder, mingling with the obscene, wet sounds of her fingers working you, the rhythm steady but maddening. her sheets are damp beneath you, the evidence of your ecstasy pooling there as her pace quickens. “so pretty, baby,” she breathes, her voice thick with affection and hunger. “everything about you… so fucking beautiful.” her free hand slides down, gripping your thigh to hold you in place as you buck against her touch, desperate for more.

your hands find their way to her hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands as you pull her closer. the kiss you give her is fierce, messy, and desperate, your lips crashing into hers like waves against the shore. her teeth graze your bottom lip, and the sensation pulls a whimper from you, the sound only spurring her on. her fingers drive into you faster, her palm brushing against your clit with each stroke, sending shockwaves through your entire body.

you break the kiss, your lips still brushing hers, your breath mingling as you struggle to form words. “billie… i—mmm…” your voice is a broken whine, your brows knitting together as you feel the knot in your core tightening, threatening to snap.

her gaze locks onto yours, and you try to shield your face, embarrassed by how undone you’ve become under her touch. your hand flies to her face, an attempt to cover her eyes, but she’s quicker. she grabs your wrist, gently pulling it away and lacing her fingers with yours. she presses a soft, lingering kiss to the back of your hand, her voice like a balm as she whispers, “don’t hide from me, mama. i want to see all of you.”

her words unravel something deep inside you, and the knot in your belly finally snaps. your climax crashes over you in waves, your body shaking as she guides you through it, her fingers never faltering. “that’s it,” she coos, her lips brushing against your temple as your hips jerk against her hand. “so good for me, baby. just like that.”

your head falls against her chest, your body pliant and trembling as you come down, your breath ragged and uneven. she slows her movements before withdrawing her fingers, careful not to overstimulate you. you shudder at the loss, but the sight of her lifting her hand to her lips makes your breath hitch all over again.

billie closes her eyes as her tongue flicks out, wrapping around her fingers and savoring the taste of you. a low moan escapes her throat as she licks them clean, her expression one of pure satisfaction. “you’re perfect,” she murmurs, her voice heavy with affection, and the words settle deep in your chest, grounding you in this moment with her.

your back hits the bed, the sheets cool against your heated skin as you stare blankly at the ceiling, the swirl of your thoughts almost deafening. the quiet hum of the night fills the space, but all you can focus on is the weight of the moment, heavy and impossible to ignore. billie’s eyes flick over to you, her thumbs brushing lazy circles into your sides as her brows knit together, concern softening her features.

“you okay?” her voice is gentle, like the question might break you.

truthfully, you don’t know. you had crossed a line you swore you’d never even approach—crossed it, leapt over it, and now here you were, tangled in the aftermath. you had met, and fucked, one of your clients. and god, the worst part wasn’t even that. the worst part was the undeniable truth humming beneath your skin—you wanted to do it again. and again. and again.

“mhm,” you hum, but it’s weak, barely audible. your voice doesn’t carry the conviction you need it to, and the room falls silent again, thick with tension. your mind races, spiraling through a maze of scenarios, consequences, and excuses until her voice cuts through the noise.

“it’s getting late.” her words are quiet but pointed, pulling you out of your spiraling thoughts. your eyes dart around the dim room, finally landing on the clock glowing faintly on the bedside table. 2:57 a.m.

“shit—i’m sorry,” you stammer, bolting upright, scrambling for your clothes like an instinctive reaction. but before you can even find your shirt, her hand presses softly against your back, grounding you.

“no, i—i was going to ask if you’d like to stay. for the night.” her voice wavers slightly, and she looks away for a moment, her vulnerability showing in the flicker of hesitation in her gaze. when her eyes meet yours again, there’s something there—hope, maybe? or just a simple longing.

you hesitate, your heart thundering in your chest. everything about this feels complicated, feels wrong, and yet, there’s a pull in her voice, in her gaze, that makes you want to say yes despite all the reasons you shouldn’t. you search for excuses—she’d have to drive you back to your car; it’s late; it doesn’t mean anything—but none of them feel convincing enough to leave.

“okay,” you whisper, the word hanging in the air like a secret. her lips curve into a soft smile, and she moves quickly to grab you extra clothes and swap out the bedding. “thanks,” you murmur, and something in her expression softens even more.

the pillow feels too soft under your head, your back turned to her as you try to steady the rhythm of your breathing. you hear her moving around the room—shutting off the television, switching off the lights. the quiet returns as she slips into bed beside you, and for a moment, you feel the faintest brush of her arm, hesitant, like she wants to reach for you but stops herself just short. the space between you feels heavy, unspoken words hanging in the air.

“goodnight, billie,” you whisper into the quiet, your voice barely carrying. your eyes close, but your thoughts don’t stop—they churn and twist, loud and relentless.

“goodnight, star.” her voice is soft, like the nickname itself is fragile and intimate, and it’s the last thing you hear before sleep pulls you under.

astrc’s tag list: @zendayasredbottoms @bilsdillldough @billiesrighthand @watercolorskyy @bilssturns @47lake @vijaxx @natbelovasblog @hopingforgoodblogs ; hit my asks saying “add to taglist” if you want to be on my regular taglist for all billie content!

[blueiscoool]

A photo of the body casts of two adults and two children who died in what's now called the house of the golden bracelet in Pompeii. A new DNA analysis shows that these four people are not genetically related to one another. (Image credit: Archeological Park of Pompeii).

DNA Analysis Rewrites The Stories of People Buried in Pompeii

An ancient-DNA analysis of victims in Pompeii who died in Mount Vesuvius' eruption reveals some unusual relations between the people who died together.

Ancient DNA taken from the Pompeii victims of Mount Vesuvius' eruption nearly 2,000 years ago reveals that some people's relationships were not what they seemed, according to a new study.

For instance, an adult who was wearing a golden bracelet and holding a child on their lap was long thought to be a mother with her child. But the new DNA analysis revealed that, in reality, the duo were "an unrelated adult male and child," study co-author David Reich, a professor of genetics at Harvard Medical School, said in a statement.

In another example, a couple who died in an embrace and were "thought to be sisters, or mother and daughter, were found to include at least one genetic male," Reich said. "These findings challenge traditional gender and familial assumptions."

In the study, published Thursday (Nov. 7) in the journal Current Biology, Reich and an international team of researchers looked at the genetics of five individuals who died during the A.D. 79 eruption that killed around 2,000 people.

When Mount Vesuvius erupted, it covered the surrounding area in a deadly layer of volcanic ash, pumice and pyroclastic flow, burying people alive and preserving the shapes of many bodies beneath the calcified layers of ash. The remains of the city were rediscovered only in the 1700s. In the following century, archaeologist Giuseppe Fiorelli perfected his plaster technique, in which he filled in the human-shaped holes left after the bodies had decomposed to create casts of the victims.

The casts of two people who died about 2,000 years ago in the house of the cryptoporticus in Pompeii. A new DNA analysis found that one individual was biologically male, but the sex of the other could not be determined. (Image credit: Archeological Park of Pompeii).

The casts allowed scholars to study the victims in their last moments and make hypotheses about their identities based on details such as their locations, positions and apparel. The problem with this approach, however, was that their interpretations were influenced by modern-day assumptions — for instance, that the four people at the house with the golden bracelet, which included the adult holding the child, were two parents with their children, when in reality none of them were genetically related, the researchers wrote in the study.

For their research, the team analyzed 14 casts and extracted DNA from fragmented skeletal remains in five of them. By analyzing this genetic material, the scientists determined the individuals' genetic relationships, sex and ancestry. The team concluded that the victims had a "diverse genomic background," primarily descending from recent eastern Mediterranean immigrants, per the statement, confirming the Roman Empire's multiethnic reality.

The cast of a person who died in the villa of the mysteries in Pompeii in A.D. 79. (Image credit: Archeological Park of Pompeii).

Our findings have significant implications for the interpretation of archaeological data and the understanding of ancient societies," study co-author Alissa Mittnik, an archaeogeneticist at Harvard Medical School and the Max Planck Institute for Evolutionary Anthropology in Germany, said in the statement. "They highlight the importance of integrating genetic data with archaeological and historical information to avoid misinterpretations based on modern assumptions."

It's possible that past misconceptions led to the "exploitation of the casts as vehicles for storytelling," meaning that curators may have manipulated the victims' "poses and relative positioning" for exhibits, the team wrote in the study.

Sex misassignment is "not uncommon" in archaeology, Carles Lalueza-Fox, a biologist at the Institute of Evolutionary Biology (CSIC-UPF) in Barcelona who specializes in the study of ancient DNA but was not involved with the study, said in an email.

"Of course we look at the past with the cultural eyes of the present and this view is sometimes distorted; for me the discovery of a man with a golden bracelet trying to save an unrelated child is more interesting and culturally complex than assuming it was a mother and her child," Lalueza-Fox said.

By Margherita Bassi.

[pretzel-box]

Streamer AU masterlist here

tags: Meeting old friends, some fluff, streamer au

words: 2,7k

authors note: See you for part 5 on thursday!

Sebastian’s bike roared to life, its powerful engine vibrating beneath you as the machine settled into a steady, low purr. The familiar hum, combined with the cool breeze against your skin, sent a rush of adrenaline through your veins. You wrapped your arms around Sebastian’s torso, pressing yourself against his back. The warmth of his body radiated through his leather jacket, filling you with both a sense of euphoria and nervousness. Being this close to him was rare—these motorcycle rides were some of the few moments when you could really feel that connection.

The city was bathed in golden light, the late afternoon sun casting long, soft shadows across the streets. As the two of you set off toward the café, you couldn’t help but soak in the moment. The engine’s steady vibrations beneath you and the wind rushing past contrasted with the comforting solidity of Sebastian’s body in front of you. It was a strange combination of sensations, but it felt like home.

He glanced back at you for a moment, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, his voice cutting through the noise of the ride. “You doing okay back there?”

“Yeah, fine,” you replied, your voice slightly muffled through the helmet, but the smile on your face was impossible to hide. You rested your chin on his shoulder, letting your thoughts drift. These rides were your sanctuary—silent, peaceful, and filled with unspoken intimacy.

Sebastian had offered to drive you to a local café, where you were planning to meet up with Allison, an old friend from high school. Life had gotten in the way for both of you after graduation, but out of the blue, she’d reached out a few days ago, suggesting that you meet and catch up. While a little surprised, you were looking forward to it. The ride there, though, was becoming the highlight of your day.

After weaving through the city streets, the café finally came into view. It was a cozy little place, tucked into a quiet corner with ivy climbing the brick walls. The gentle hum of the city seemed to fade as you neared the café. Sebastian parked the bike, and you hopped off, feeling your legs slightly wobbly from the ride. You unclasped your helmet, watching as Sebastian ran a hand through his hair, shaking it loose before securing the bike.

“I’ll grab some food before going,” he said, his usual relaxed tone adding to the comfortable rhythm of the day. You nodded, already spotting Allison sitting near the window. She looked up as you approached, her face lighting up with a familiar smile.

“Allison, long time no see!” you said, pulling her into a warm hug before sitting across from her. The scent of freshly brewed coffee and pastries filled the air, making the atmosphere even more inviting.

“I know, right? It’s been ages,” Allison replied, her eyes flicking briefly toward Sebastian, who was now standing at the register, ordering a coffee. She studied him for a moment longer than felt casual, something unreadable flickering in her gaze. “So… that’s Sebastian, huh?”

You smiled softly. “Yeah, that’s him.”

Allison gave a nod, a slight smile tugging at her lips. There was something in her expression you couldn’t quite place, but you brushed it off, eager to dive into conversation. The two of you began catching up, chatting about life, work, and all the things that had happened in the years since you’d drifted apart. It felt good to reconnect, though you couldn’t shake the feeling that Allison wasn’t entirely present. Her eyes kept flicking toward Sebastian, who had found some food and was scrolling through his phone while waiting for his turn to pay.

As you were in the middle of discussing your plans for the weekend, nature called, and you excused yourself to go to the bathroom. You left your phone on the table, not giving it a second thought. It was a casual moment, one that felt harmless, but as you walked away, Allison’s eyes zeroed in on the device.

The moment you disappeared around the corner, Allison’s curiosity got the better of her. Glancing around to make sure no one was watching, she reached for your phone, unlocking it with the code she had remembered from your high school days. Old habits die hard, and secrets had always flowed freely between the two of you back then.

As she scrolled through your messages, her heart raced when she stumbled upon the chat between you and Solace—Sebastian’s streaming alias. The messages were playful and full of banter, the kind that only close friends—no, close partners—would share. Her eyes widened as realization dawned on her. Jelly was you. You were the streamer she had always admired, and Solace—the man she had been fangirling over for years—was none other than Sebastian.

Her breath caught in her throat as the weight of the discovery hit her. She hurriedly snapped pictures of the chat with her own phone, her heart pounding in her chest. The thrill of it, the idea of finally having a way to get closer to Solace, to Sebastian, sent a surge of excitement through her. She wasn’t just going to sit on this information. No, she had a plan—a way to infiltrate the world you had built and get closer to the man she had admired from afar for so long.

With a sly grin, Allison quickly memorized the login credentials for your Jelly account. It was wrong—betraying an old friend like this—but in her mind, it was worth it. The chance to become part of Solace’s world was too tempting to pass up.

By the time you returned, Allison was back in her seat, the picture of innocence. She smiled warmly as you sat down, her earlier anxiety masked completely.

“Everything okay?” you asked, noticing the calm, almost relaxed demeanor she had now.

“Yeah, just catching up on some messages,” she replied smoothly, slipping her phone back into her bag. You didn’t notice the slight smirk that crossed her face when you weren’t looking. If only you had seen it, maybe you would have suspected something was amiss. But for now, you remained blissfully unaware, continuing your conversation, unaware of the storm Allison was about to unleash.

Allison's plan was straightforward, yet it required a careful balance of deception and patience. She had thought everything through, knowing well that the key to success was staying undetected. She couldn’t risk texting Sebastian on Discord, not when you had access to the same account. But what you didn’t have, and what she needed, was his phone number.

She had noticed, during her little snooping session, that while you had conversations with Sebastian as Jelly, you didn’t have his number saved. That was her opening—her way in. From the messages, it was also clear that you hadn’t yet revealed your true identity to him. Sebastian remained blissfully unaware of who Jelly really was, which meant he would be none the wiser if Allison took your place. She would become Jelly.

Over the next few days, everything began to fall into place. She logged into your Discord account, carefully crafting her approach. She needed to play this cool, not arouse any suspicion. So she sent a simple message, mimicking the casual tone you always used with Sebastian:

“Up to call?”

The reply came quickly, his name flashing across the screen.

“Sure, whenever ur rdy.”

Allison’s heart raced. She could hardly believe how easy this was turning out to be. Step One in her plan was to get his phone number. There was no way she could use her voice—it would instantly give her away. So, she played it safe, claiming her microphone wasn’t working.

“Mic’s acting up, but we can still chat. I’ll text you while you talk, okay?”

Sebastian’s response was almost immediate again. “No prob, just text me what you need.”

Perfect. As Sebastian talked, Allison typed out replies, keeping her tone light, playful, and just ambiguous enough to avoid any hiccups. When the time was right, she asked for his phone number, casually slipping it into the conversation. And to her astonishment, he gave it to her without a second thought.

She saved the number into her phone with a triumphant grin. Now, she could communicate with him over SMS, a method that wouldn’t leave traces on your shared Discord account. You would never know.

After the call, she meticulously deleted her messages from the chat log, erasing any evidence of the conversation. As far as you were concerned, nothing had happened. Step One of her plan was complete.

Next came Step Two: becoming Jelly.

This was trickier. Streaming with him was out of the question—her voice would give her away in an instant. But meeting him in real life? That was feasible. The conversations between you and Sebastian had already established a close connection. With the right approach, she could use that trust to arrange a meeting. And once they were face-to-face, she could play off any discrepancies. If he questioned her voice, she’d simply claim it sounded different online—people always sound different on streams compared to real life, right? A small white lie could smooth over any potential issues.

There were, of course, many risks. Loopholes in her plan that could unravel everything. But those were problems for later. For now, she was closer to her favorite male streamer than she had ever been, and the excitement of it all was enough to blind her to the potential consequences.

With his number now saved on her phone, the rest of the plan would unfold piece by piece. She would step into your life as Jelly, leaving you none the wiser, and in time, she would have everything she ever wanted: a way into Solace's world.

Three more days passed, each one feeling like a delicate balancing act. Allison was playing a dangerous game, and with each day that passed, she risked you finding out about the meeting she had secretly arranged with Sebastian. But fortune seemed to be on her side. You were too busy with work and meetings to even think about streaming, and Sebastian—thankfully—hadn’t mentioned anything about the upcoming meeting in your Discord chat.

Allison kept a close eye on your conversations, her heart pounding every time a new message popped up. But Sebastian was smooth, careful, never slipping up. He didn’t breathe a word about the meeting. For all you knew, everything was normal.

Finally, the day arrived.

Sebastian sat at a café, one you and he frequented, though today felt different. He was nervous. You’d never actually met in person as Jelly, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. Yet, there he was, scrolling through his phone, waiting for Jelly—or at least, who he believed to be Jelly.

He glanced up as the café door opened, and there she was—Allison, her eyes gleaming with excitement. She had taken extra care to look her best, wearing a simple but flattering outfit, her hair styled just right. Those bright blue eyes seemed to mesmerize Sebastian the moment he saw her.

“Solace?” Allison said softly, stepping up to the table. Her voice carried a slight tremble, an artificial nervousness she’d rehearsed a hundred times.

Sebastian blinked, almost taken aback by how different she seemed in person. But then again, people always seemed different outside of the digital world. He quickly put his phone aside and stood up, his usual cool demeanor melting away into something softer—more vulnerable.

“Jelly?” he asked, his voice hesitant, searching her eyes for confirmation.

Allison nodded, her heart racing with excitement. She could barely contain the thrill of it all. She was Jelly now.

She was the one meeting Solace.

“We finally meet, Solace!” she exclaimed with a bright smile, sliding into the seat across from him. “I bet you have so many questions.”

Sebastian smiled awkwardly, his hands fidgeting with the edge of his jacket as he sat back down. “Yeah, uh, I didn’t expect you to look like this,” he said, clearly unsure of himself. “Not that it’s a bad thing. You just… sound different in person.”

Allison waved off the comment, laughing lightly. “I get that all the time. Microphones distort voices, you know? Plus, I use filters on streams, so that probably explains the difference.”

Sebastian nodded, seeming to buy the excuse, though there was still a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. But as they began talking, Allison skillfully shifted the conversation away from her voice, steering it toward their shared experiences online, inside jokes, and mutual admiration. She was careful, always staying just vague enough to keep up the illusion while feeding him just enough details to make the connection feel real.

As the minutes ticked by, Sebastian’s nervousness eased, and the lovestruck expression that Allison had always seen in his streams began to return. He smiled more easily, laughed at her jokes, and even leaned in closer, as though they were long-lost friends finally reunited.

Allison couldn’t believe how easy this had been. She had successfully stolen your identity—your streaming persona—and now, she was sitting here, living out a fantasy she had dreamed of for years. Sebastian, the elusive and mysterious Solace, was completely smitten, and he had no idea that the real Jelly wasn’t sitting in front of him.

As they continued their conversation, Allison couldn’t help but think about the next step. She had pulled off the meeting, but what would happen when you found out? How long could she keep up the charade? Those were problems for later. For now, she was basking in the glow of Sebastian’s undivided attention, his love-struck gaze focused entirely on her.

For a brief moment, she almost felt guilty. Almost.

But then, as Sebastian laughed at something she said, the guilt washed away, replaced by the thrill of being so close to him. She had worked too hard to let this slip away now.

This was her moment.

The meeting stretched into the late evening, the sun dipping below the horizon and casting a warm golden glow across the quiet streets. Both Sebastian and Allison had enjoyed their time together—more than she could have hoped for. Every laugh, every shared story had deepened the connection she had stolen, making her feel like she had truly become Jelly in Sebastian’s eyes.

As they walked to her apartment, the quiet streets only added to the sense of intimacy that had built throughout the day. Sebastian, for all his usual aloofness, had softened during their time together, his affection becoming more and more obvious with each passing minute.

When they finally arrived at her door, they stood facing each other, a comfortable silence settling between them. There was affection in Sebastian’s eyes, the kind that glittered with possibility. He had always been mysterious, hard to read, but now, standing so close to him, Allison felt as though she had finally cracked the code. She had done it. Her plan had worked perfectly.

“Thanks for bringing me home,” Allison said, her voice soft as she looked up at him, her heart beating a little faster. “I had lots of—”

Before she could finish her sentence, Sebastian’s lips pressed against hers, soft and warm. The kiss was gentle, slow, filled with an affection she hadn’t anticipated. His hand slid up to her cheek, cradling her face as though she was something delicate, something precious. For a split second, Allison’s mind went blank, overwhelmed by the sensation of Sebastian kissing her.

This was what she wanted, wasn’t it? To have *him*—the real Solace—in her arms, to feel his affection, to steal that connection she had coveted for so long?

But as the kiss deepened, a sliver of doubt crept into her mind. Was it enough to be *Jelly* in his eyes, knowing that she wasn’t the person he thought she was? Could she keep pretending, living in this stolen fantasy?

Sebastian pulled back slightly, his breath warm against her skin, his gaze soft and full of emotion. He smiled, his thumb brushing lightly across her cheek. “I’m glad we finally got to meet, Jelly,” he murmured, his voice low and intimate.

Allison forced a smile, her heart pounding. This was everything she had wanted, everything she had planned for. Yet, in that moment, as Sebastian stood there, looking at her with such sincerity, the weight of her deception pressed heavily on her chest.

“Me too,” she whispered, trying to keep her voice steady. “Me too.”

[reasonsforhope]

"Glamour UK launched its digital June Pride cover this week featuring a pregnant transgender man. 

The cover features transgender activist and author Logan Brown standing topless with a suit painted over his chest and his pregnant belly on full display. 

“I am a transgender pregnant man and I do exist, so no matter what anybody says, I literally am living proof,” Brown told the magazine. 

Glamour UK, an online women’s magazine published by Condé Nast, launched its Pride cover issue on Thursday, coinciding with the start of LGBTQ Pride month. The magazine has previously showcased prominent figures in the LGBTQ community, such as Grammy-award winning artist Kim Petras and "Queer Eye" cast member Antoni Porowski.

This year’s issue “celebrates the allyship between women (cisgender or not) and transgender people through our shared experiences — in particular pregnancy, healthcare and childbirth,” the magazine explained.

The cover interview, which was conducted two weeks before Brown, 27, gave birth to his daughter, Nova, recounts the cover star’s experience with an unexpected pregnancy and navigating the medical system as a trans man...

Despite the backlash, the cover star expressed his desire to educate those who may hold misconceptions about transgender individuals.

Brown shared with Glamour that he is working on a children’s book and an autobiography that highlights his pregnancy, and hopes it will serve as a resource for other transgender people. 

He added that he would also like the book to reach people who aren’t transgender but “are curious and want to know about the situation,” referring to trans pregnancy."

-via ABC News, June 2, 2023

-

Especially heartening to see this coming out of the UK, given the dramatic rise in transphobia and TERFism there the past few years.

Right now, it can be a really stressful and heartbreaking time to be trans. Widespread change takes time that it often feels like we don't have. But we're here, and we will always be here, and despite what it may feel like, we have made unbelievable amounts of progress in the last 20 years alone.

I promise you this: the transphobes are going to lose.

[orionsangel86]

Death Appreciation Week!

With Dead Boy Detectives hitting our screens on the 25th April, and with our girl Death of the Endless making a guest appearance, it seemed only fitting that we should celebrate her in the run up to the show's release.

So I will be running a Death Appreciation Week from Thursday 18th April to Thursday 25th April which will be a celebration of all things Death of the Endless!

Participation is easy. You can go through the prompt list below, and choose to create in whichever way you feel most comfortable. I am keeping this event as flexible as possible so the prompts aren't tied to set days, you just go for whatever you feel most inspired by whenever you can make the time and ideally if you are able to complete a prompt of your choosing each day of the event well then you are a star and I love you!

Prompt List

Death and Family - Dysfunctional as they may be the Endless are a family unit, and their parents are even worse.

Death and Mortals - Some have won her favour, others have slipped through her grasp.

Death and Immortals - even the God's must meet her in the end.

Death and Relationships - Who doesn't flirt with Death on occassion?

Lessons Learned - Death's words of wit and wisdom.

Death the Fashionista - She's rocked many looks over the years, but she's always been a goth fashion icon.

A Day with Death - every 100 years she takes mortal form.

The Sound of Her Wings - lets not forget she has them!

"A Cold Stuck-Up Bitch" - It's a long endless lifetime - Death's early years and how she's changed.

Death Tarot - a symbol of transformation, of change, and even of hope?

Rules for Participation

All types of fanworks are permitted. Fanart, fanfics, gifsets, meta analysis, polls, even just sharing your fave comic panels or official artwork is fine. The goal is to celebrate this amazing character in all her forms.

For your work to qualify for submission to the event, it has to prominantly feature Death of the Endless as the primary focal point. Whilst I encourage exploring her relationships with other characters, the point is to highlight Death as the central character in the work.

the hashtag #Death Appreciation Week must be tagged in all works for the event.

Anything goes! I welcome all ships, all types of work, all themes and content. NSFW is absolutely fine if that's your jam. We don't kinkshame here either. So long as everything is clearly tagged you can literally create what you want.

The prompt list is just a guide for inspiration but literally any fanworks that focus on Death can be included. You don't have to follow prompts if you don't want to.

This is a love fest for Death - which means no hate, discrimination, exclusion, etc. Please also keep criticisms and complaints out of the event tag.

Death of the Author - this is my Neil Gaiman Keep Out sign. As much as I love the guy, this is a fan event and I do not consent to anyone tagging the author in my posts. If he somehow finds it on his own thats on him lol, but please don't tag him.

Most importantly HAVE FUN - and share this post. Signal Boost please!

If you have any questions about the event, the prompts, or anything, please send me an ask or a dm. I'm happy to answer anything and help as much as needed.

With love and thanks to @seiya-starsniper for the awesome banner, and @marlowe-zara and @tryan-a-bex for their ideas and support. <3

[iovebarca]

hi my love!!! i hope ur doing well 💗 i was just wondering if you could maybe do a fluffy tutoring fic with pau x reader? either where reader is tutoring him or he’s tutoring reader. thank you sm!! 💌

Maps, Dates and Crushes - Pau Cubarsi

Authors note: Hey guysss how are we doing??

WC: 1000+

warnings: incorrect grammar (probably), my first language isn't english so if you notice any mistakes please tell me, fluff!

Geography class wasn’t exactly Pau’s strong suit. He was a quick learner on the field, but when it came to memorizing capitals, mountain ranges, and river systems, his brain felt like it was running in circles. That’s exactly why he found himself in this situation: tutoring sessions.

His geography teacher had noticed his struggle and decided to step in.

“Pau, you’ll be working with her,” the teacher had said, nodding towards you. You were the top student in class—smart, confident, and the one who always had the right answers. The girl he’d had a quiet crush on for months but never dared to talk to.

And now, you were his tutor.

It was a dream and a nightmare all at once. On one hand, he’d get to spend time with you, but on the other… well, you’d soon find out just how bad he was at geography.

The first study session was planned for Thursday evening at your house. You had texted him, “Come around six. We’ll get you caught up.”

Pau stood in front of your door at 6 p.m. sharp, trying not to let his nerves show. You opened the door with a smile, dressed in an oversized sweater and leggings, looking effortlessly beautiful. He almost forgot to breathe for a second.

“Hey, come in,” you greeted, stepping aside to let him in. “We’ve got a lot to cover, but don’t worry, we’ll pace it out.”

He followed you inside, trying to calm the nervous flutter in his stomach. Your home was cozy and inviting, which helped ease the tension in his shoulders. You led him to the dining table, already covered with textbooks, notebooks, and maps.

“Alright, let’s start with the basics,” you said, flipping open the geography textbook. “We’ve got time.”

The next two hours flew by in a blur of maps, highlighters, and your explanations. Pau tried to focus, but it was hard not to get distracted by how effortlessly smart and confident you were. You made geography seem easy, breaking down complex ideas in a way he could actually understand.

At 8:30, you paused, leaning back in your chair. “Okay, we’ve made good progress. How about a break?”

“Yeah, I could use one,” Pau admitted with a sheepish grin.

You reached for your phone, casually pulling up Uber Eats. “What do you feel like eating? I was thinking burgers and fries. Or is that too risky for your diet?”

Pau chuckled, caught off guard by how thoughtful you were. “I mean, I am supposed to be watching what I eat for football…”

You raised an eyebrow, teasing him a little. “So, no burgers then?”

He hesitated for a second, then grinned. “I think I can handle a burger. Just this once.”

You smiled back, happy with his answer. “Good, because there’s no way I’m surviving this study session without fries.”

You placed the order, and soon enough, the two of you were digging into your food while talking about everything other than geography. It was surprisingly easy to fall into a rhythm with Pau—he wasn’t just the quiet, shy guy you saw in class. He had a sense of humor, and when he relaxed, you found that you really liked talking to him.

By the time you finished eating and went back to studying, it was almost 10 p.m. Pau tried his best to stay focused, but you noticed him sneaking glances at you every so often. The way his gaze would linger on you for just a moment too long made your heart race.

And that’s when it hit you. He likes me.

Your own heart fluttered at the realization. Maybe it was the way his voice softened when he asked you questions or the way his eyes sparkled whenever you smiled at him. Suddenly, the idea of this being a simple tutor-student situation felt a lot more complicated—and a lot more exciting.

By 11 p.m., the study session was winding down. You had gone through most of the material, and Pau seemed a lot more confident than when he had first walked in. He started packing up his books, but there was a hesitancy in the air, like he wasn’t quite ready to leave.

“Well,” you said, standing up and stretching, “I think you’re going to ace the next test. You’ve really improved, Pau.”

“Thanks to you,” he said with a shy smile, slinging his bag over his shoulder. He lingered by the door for a moment, his fingers nervously fidgeting with the strap of his backpack.

There was a long pause, the silence between you charged with something unspoken. You could feel it hanging in the air.

“So, um…” Pau began, his voice low, “I was wondering if… maybe you’d like to go out sometime?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Like… a study date?”

Pau’s face turned a little red, and he quickly shook his head. “No, not a study date. I mean, like, an actual date. Just… the two of us.”

Your heart skipped a beat, the realization hitting you all at once. Pau Cubarsí—quiet, sweet Pau—was asking you on a real date.

A slow smile spread across your face, warmth flooding your chest. “You want to go on a real date with me?”

He nodded, his eyes soft but hopeful. “Yeah, I do. If you want to, I mean.”

“I’d love that,” you said, feeling your cheeks flush with excitement. “How about this weekend?”

“That’d be perfect,” he replied, his whole face lighting up.

For a moment, you just stood there, both of you grinning like idiots. And then, before he could leave, you stepped closer and gave him a soft, quick hug. Pau’s heart raced as he wrapped his arms around you, feeling like he was on cloud nine.

When you pulled back, you gave him a playful smile. “And don’t worry, we’ll avoid burgers this time. Just in case.”

Pau laughed, his nerves melting away. “Yeah, I’ll stick to salads.”

You both shared a quiet laugh, the air between you lighter and full of promise. And as Pau left your house that night, he couldn’t stop smiling. Neither could you.

[sc0tters]

Repeated Promises | Trevor Zegras

summary: Trevor sees you out with Alex and that unleashes some big emotions in him that he’s dying to tell you about.

request: yes/no

warnings: swearing, mature scenes, oral (fem receiving!)

word count: 1.78k

authors note: this didn’t make super smut Thursday because I didn’t originally plan on making this smutty but then it just happened. And Trevor’s already got his piece for this Thursday planned out. Been eating for this part so I’m glad I’ve finally gotten it written.

pt1

He thought you two were good.

Life was good, you and Trevor were good, everything was good. You seemed to be okay with the idea of just being friends with a little bit more. Trevor actually found himself growing fond of you, the late night cuddles, the shared laughs over dinner as you two watched a movie.

Which is why he was so surprised when Twitter seemed to be having a meltdown over you being caught in downtown LA in Alex’s hoodie whilst he had his arm around you.

It made Trevor feel sick to his stomach, he wasn’t naturally jealous but the image of you looking up at Alex with a toothy grin had him wanting to go feral. Maybe it wouldn’t have hurt as much if you also hadn’t blown off you plans you had with the Ducks player that evening.

You were totally unaware of the fact that you were taking up all of the space in Trevor’s mind as you lay on your couch mindlessly scrolling through your phone.

A smile formed on your lips as you came across a Snapchat highlight that Cole had sent you. Trevor was stood between your legs as you fed him a piece of mango.

Those moments were things you loved, they were the true time when Trevor fooled you into thinking that he could have loved you. Especially since he came back from the lake house, the way his hands would wrap around your waist before he’d pick you up and throw you onto your bed.

It was playful and romantic as he would kiss the back of your neck when you were getting ready in the bathroom. Sure it felt like a punch to the gut as each time he’d leave your apartment you were reminded by the fact that he wasn’t ever really yours, not truly.

You craved the comfort that would have come from him being yours because as much as you tried to pull away by getting closer with Alex, nothing really did ever work well enough.

So when there was a knock at your door it pulled you away from rethinking about those memories “hey-” you were surprised to see Trevor, whenever he came over you two had always planned it.

He looked angry as he locked eyes with you “where is he?” Trevor asked as his eyes cringed at the sight of you still in Alex’s hoodie.

It wasn’t farfetched for you to still be in it as your apartment was always freezing “who?” You furrowed your eyebrows as you didn’t know who he was talking about.

You would have looked beautiful if that hoodie was different because you were not wearing shorts under it and that was soon going to become clear “Alex, y/n who else would I be talking about?” He spoke in a duh tone as he pushed past you and into your apartment.

There wasn’t a moment that you ever thought that Trevor was jealous. It wasn’t something you thought he was capable of feeling “I hung out with him,” you announced with a scoff “so what?” It reminded you of the time back at the lake house when you had tried to avoid him.

All of your friends were upset that their effort to help you leave him had failed “you think this is some kind of joke or something?” The hockey player was ready to punch a wall as he picture Alex’s face there instead.

You crossed your arms as you followed him to your kitchen “why are you so upset that I hung out with my friend?” You didn’t appreciate the boy coming in and calling you the bad guy “your friend?” Trevor couldn’t believe the words that feel from your lips as he walked over to you.

Your body was pressed up against your counter as your breathing slowed “you don’t look at him like he’s just a fucking friend,” the boy spat as his hand pushed up your leg when he was so upset that he didn’t even notice your lack of shorts.

Alarm bells rang through your head but you couldn’t help it when you felt your panties turn wet as the thoughts pooled in them “he is,” you mumbled as you sat on the counter.

Trevor hooked his fingers under your jaw “you look at him like you look at me.” He pointed out as he began placing kisses on your chin going down your jaw.

Before you knew it your fingers locked in his hair “you jealous?” Your voice came out in a groan as you tried to shut your thighs to conceal the feelings that went through your brain but you couldn’t because he was stood between you.

It was rough trying to keep your calm “not jealous,” he shook his head “not when I can give you the world.” He explained as he pulled away to face you.

The hockey player didn’t know what to think about as all he wanted to do was kiss you “got you in my mind twenty four seven,” the boy confessed as his fingers brushed over your lower lip.

Your eyes went wide “no you don’t,”you shook your head as you tried to push his chest away but he remained stood where he was “I’m crazy about you baby.” Trevor pointed out as he really didn’t know where all of this was coming from.

Throughout his whole life he had never quite like he did in that moment “really?” You let out a gasp as you cocked your head.

His hands continued to move up your legs “on fuck baby,” he groaned as his fingers met the lacy fabric of your underwear.

You turned pink as he lifted up your hoodie to confirm what he thought “you knew I’d be here didn’t you?” Trevor asked as he could see the wet patch on your panties “god you’re so wet,” he mumbled as he placed kissed down your neck.

It was like your voice disappeared as the boy hooked his fingers into your panties “want to show you just how much I care about you,” the devilish smile spread on Trevor’s face as he watched your red thong hit the floor.

Before you could let him do that though you placed your hands on either side of his face “I’m crazy about you.” You confessed causing the boy to waste no time as he kissed you.

There wasn’t as much lust in this one as there usually is and he couldn’t help but grow frustrated when you didn’t let his tongue in your mouth.

But with Trevor being Trevor he had a plan so instead he let his fingers dance over your clit yet you moaned when he thrusted into your core.

That gave him the chance to let his tongue move inside of you “such pretty sounds,” Trevor cooed as he let out a grunt against your ear.

You nodded as you clenched around his fingers “quicker,” you begged as you began to grind against his fingers “my needy little girl.” The boy wanted to smirk but as his pants grew tight he could no longer handle it.

Trevor pulled his fingers out of you whimpered “don’t worry doll,” he chuckled as he kissed your temple “won’t let you go just yet,” the boy mumbled as his eyes never left yours when he dropped to his knees “please T.” You begged as you watched him kiss up your thighs.

The boys smirk could be felt as it radiated off of your thighs “you know if you don’t hurry up I might just go find-” you were cut off as his tongue licked a long strip up your slit.

His head was quickly locked into place as your thighs wrapped around his head making sure he truly couldn’t leave you

It was hot as you let out a long moan “just like that,” your head hit the cupboard behind you as the boy refused to stop sucking on your clit. His tongue pleasured you in ways that you knew you never could, no matter how hard you tried Trevor truly did ruin you for all other men.

Not even phone sex helped you, in order to come it had to be his tongue, his fingers, his dick was a pick part of that too. But in general you used needed Trevor.

Your thoughts had gotten so clouded that you didn’t even notice that his tongue was currently lapping up your wetness “fuck delight,” your hand gripped at his brunette locks as you let your hips grind against him.

Trevor let his eyes trail up as you pulled Alex’s hoodie off of your body letting it fling somewhere else in your kitchen. His hand moved up to your bra as he let out a grunt watching you quickly unclip your bra “my pretty little girl,” the hockey player cooed as his thumb rubbed over your nipple “all ready to get fucked out,” he groaned as he watched you nod.

His tongue went back to fucking your core as he continued to tease your stiff peaks “all for you,” you confessed as your body shuddered when you felt his nose hit your clit “keep doing just that please,” you begged as your hand locked over his.

You gasped when he lay his tongue flat on your clit before he let himself move back into your core, a motion that he continued to repeat a few more times “I’m gonna cum fuck!” Your legs began to shake as his tongue refused to leave your core.

The orgasm hit you like a truck as your eyes screwed shut “enough T-” you got the sentence out as you unlocked your legs from around his head.

Trevor smiled as he got up from the floor “always tasting so good,” your release caused his chin to glisten.

His fingers ran over your thighs as he pulled you into a kiss wanting you to taste yourself on his tongue “never gonna get tired of that,” the first his he’d give you after you came always made you melt into his touch.

Somehow though it seemed like there was something on his mind “what’s up?” You asked like he wasn’t just eating you out minutes ago.

The boy stood between your legs as his arms rested on either side of you “wanna take you out on a real date.” He blurted out taking you by surprise.

Over the last year you always thought you would be the one to ask him out. A giggle left your lips “really?” You weren’t letting your surprise stay hidden.

“Promised you the fucking world baby.”

[head-post]

Finland boards oil tanker suspected of cutting off internet, power cable

Finnish authorities seized a vessel in the Baltic Sea on suspicion of disconnecting an underwater power cable connecting Finland and Estonia and damaging four internet lines.

The Cook Islands-registered vessel, Eagle S, was arrested on Thursday, 26 December, by the Finnish Coast Guard, Robin Lardot, director of the Finnish National Bureau of Investigation, reported.

From our side we are investigating grave sabotage. According to our understanding, an anchor of the vessel that is under investigation has caused the damage.

Two fibre-optic cables owned by Finnish operator Elisa and linking Finland and Estonia were severed. The third link between the two countries, belonging to the Chinese company Citic, was also damaged.

The fourth internet cable running between Finland and Germany, owned by Finnish group Cinia, is also suspected to have been severed. The incident highlighted the need for close international co-operation, with the US and NATO expressing their readiness to support the Finnish-Estonian investigation.

The two countries held extraordinary meetings to assess the situation on Thursday, according to separate statements. The Baltic Sea states are on high alert for potential acts of sabotage after a series of cable disruptions since 2022.

Repairs to the 170-kilometre Estlink 2 interconnector would take several months, with the outage raising the risk of power outages in winter, operator Fingrid said. Estonian Prime Minister Kristen Michal, however, emphasised that the country would have sufficient access to electricity.

The Eagle S Panamax oil tanker crossed the Estlink 2 electric cable on Wednesday. Damage to underwater facilities in the Baltic Sea became so frequent that it was hard to believe that it had been caused by a mere accident, Estonian Foreign Minister Margus Tsahkna said.

We must understand that damage to submarine infrastructure has become more systematic and thus must be regarded as attacks against our vital structures.

Lithuanian Foreign Minister Kęstutis Budrys also said that the growing number of incidents in the Baltic Sea should serve as a warning to NATO and the European Union to step up protection of underwater infrastructure in the region.

The Nord Stream pipeline from Russia to Germany, which runs along the seabed in the same waters, was blown up in 2022. The case is still under investigation in Germany.

Read more HERE

[probablyasocialecologist]

Half the land earmarked for regeneration by the 34-country African Forest Landscape Restoration Initiative (AFR100) is in savannah or other non-woodland areas, says a paper published in Science on Thursday.

[...]

“There is a vast area of non-forest across Africa that is earmarked for restoration, principally through tree planting,” said Catherine Parr, a co-author of the paper and an ecologist at Liverpool, Pretoria and Witwatersrand universities. “The focus solely on forests and trees is highly problematic for these non-forest systems.” The AFR100 project seeks to restore at least 100mn hectares of degraded land — an area the size of Egypt — in Africa by 2030, with big plans in countries including Cameroon, Ethiopia, Mali and Sudan. The initiative’s backers include the German government, the World Bank and the non-profit World Resources Institute. But about half of the approximately 130mn hectares that African countries have committed to restore through AFR100 is earmarked for non-forest ecosystems, principally savannahs and grasslands, according to the paper.

[...]

The dispute over the research highlights growing friction over pledges by philanthropists and corporate leaders to plant a trillion trees worldwide. These ambitious plans face obstacles including potential shortages of available land suitable for planting. Other questions concern how effective newly planted trees are at locking in significant amounts of carbon dioxide — and how vulnerable they are to risks such as forest fires. “There’s such a big focus at international level on deforestation, but the level of sophistication and understanding about ecosystems writ large is really low,” said Alex Reid, a policy adviser on nature and finance at Global Witness, a non-profit group.  Some scientists and conservationists argue that it is better to focus on preventing deforestation, by creating incentives to retain woodland areas. Greenhouse gases released by deforestation make up about 11 per cent of global emissions, according to the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change. 

[storiesfromgaza]

On Thursday, the Palestinian Ministry of Health issued a report containing the names of over seven thousand Palestinians who have fallen victim to the Israeli airstrikes in the Gaza Strip.

To better comprehend the report, please remember the following:

The red color highlights the age group between 0 and 4 years.

The green color emphasizes the age group between 5 and 17 years.

The white color spotlights the age group between 18 and 59 years.

The gray color underscores the age group above 60 years.

What is the worst feeling you experience while reading a novel? Isn't it reaching the final chapter, after immersing yourself in the story's depths, riding its waves from one place to another, listening to the characters' dialogues, getting to know them, their thoughts, their dreams, especially the heroes? And then what? The author in the last chapter slaps you with the death of that hero, and everything ends...

Know that these names are not just names or numbers, but each person among them was brimming with life, dreams, and passion. Each one had a story to live, a story to cling to in hopes of experiencing it one day. But now, all those stories have come to an end, and their owners have departed without completing the final chapter. Or perhaps this is the final chapter the author intended. But in our world, instead of sitting in his office, holding the pen, tapping it on the pages, announcing the end, he sits in his office, giving orders to bomb the Gaza Strip continuously and indiscriminately, so that no bird will ever flutter its wings there, and exhale the air from its lungs

Those pages, ladies and gentlemen, were the final chapter in their lives, and we are now witnessing it all...

Telegram, Instagram

[rjzimmerman]

Excerpt from this story from Truthout:

Democrats just helped Republicans give President-elect Donald Trump the potential power to shut down nonprofits under the guise of fighting terrorism — while GOP lawmakers have quietly revealed a new blueprint for defunding organizations they disagree with.

Earlier this month, the House Energy and Commerce Committee laid out a plan to target environmental justice nonprofits and organizations working to transition the economy away from fossil fuels.

That report preceded a major House vote on Thursday in which Republicans and 15 Democrats passed legislation giving the Treasury Department the power to strip nonprofit news organizations, advocacy groups, and universities of their tax-exempt status.

The Stop Terror-Financing and Tax Penalties on American Hostages Act was originally proposed last year, ostensibly to prevent U.S. nonprofits from supporting groups like Hamas after widespread protests over Israel’s invasion of Gaza. Nicknamed the “nonprofit killer,” it gives the president unprecedented authority to go after political opponents. Advocacy groups like the American Civil Liberties Union warned of the bill’s potential “to grant the executive branch extraordinary power… based on a unilateral accusation of wrongdoing.”

After an essentially identical bill failed to pass last week, the newly approved bill now goes to the Senate for a vote.

In the preceding weeks, the House Energy and Commerce Committee’s report focused on the Inflation Reduction Act’s distribution of federal funding, offering a preview of how the new terrorism legislation could be wielded for political purposes. It also highlighted the kinds of organizations that could be targeted, including those that support clean-energy policies like committing investments to renewable energy, phasing out fossil fuel production and use, and expanding public land conservation.

Criticizing the Biden administration’s environmental justice grants for marginalized groups historically inundated by pollution, the report says, “Enriching nonprofit organizations to spread radical, left-leaning ideology is an inappropriate use of taxpayer dollars.”

The plan singles out specific groups that the committee says have pushed a “radical rush-to-green agenda,” including Rewiring America, a nonprofit working on electrification, and New York City-based environmental justice group WE ACT. It castigated, for example, a blog post on WE ACT’s website “criticizing ‘Republican gas stove culture wars,’ and House GOP Members’ ‘preformative [sic], out-of-touch agenda.’”

Under the new bill just passed by the House, criteria for designations of “terrorism” are vague. If it passes the Senate and is signed into law, the Treasury Secretary would have broad discretion in the law’s enforcement and wouldn’t be required to share related evidence.

From Yahoo News:

Here’s a full list of Democrats who voted for the bill:

Colin Allred—Texas

Yadira D. Caraveo—Colorado

Ed Case—Hawaii

Henry Cuellar—Texas

Don Davis—North Carolina

Jared Golden—Maine

Vicente Gonzalez—Texas

Suzanne Marie Lee—Nevada

Jared Moskowitz—Florida

Jimmy Panetta—California

Marie Gluesenkamp Perez—Washington

Brad Schneider—Illinois

Tom Suozzi—New York

Norma Torres—California

Debbie Wasserman Schultz—Florida

[soft-girl-musings]

Perks of Being a Wallflower

Jake Lockley x plus size fem!Reader

cross-posted to ao3

tags: rated T for thirsty jake, author does not dance but saw it on the tv once (i'm mostly kidding), mustachioed jake jumpscare (tagging for the haters), no use of Y/N

wc: 1.9k

fic summary: For Jake, a night on the town means sticking to the background, listening for signs of trouble. That all changes when he sees you at the dance hall.

A/N: still on the jake train and I am making it everyone's problem. just wanted to preface by saying, as a curvy girlie, i recognize that plus size folk are not a monolith. so everything in this fic is based on my own experience, etc. enjoy!

----------

Jake likes to keep his intel hotspots in rotation. 

Mondays and Wednesdays he'll head to the diner after a day in the cab, refueling and checking in with his network.

Tuesdays and Thursdays he'll hit the bars. Weekends are mostly for driving.

But Fridays? Fridays are for dancing.

Jake's guilty pleasure is scoping out the dance hall. The clubs have their appeal, but there's something timeless about the hole in the wall he’d discovered a while back. Nothing special, just a cozy ballroom with a bar, tables lifted on a platform framing ¾ of the room and turning the dance floor into an inverse stage.

Tonight he nurses a beer in the corner, listening to a couple of seedy characters describe some suspicious activity at a warehouse he'd been tailing. But he hasn't caught much of their conversation. Truth be told, he's a bit distracted tonight.

Because of you.

He'd seen you come in with four other people, two couples by the look of it. He'd been immediately taken by you: while some patrons came to dance in jeans and t-shirts, you'd dressed to impress. He'd shamelessly raked his eyes over your form, generous curves hugged by the bodice of your dress that trailed down over your ample hips. You walked with a timid sway, the movement inevitable even as you drew your arms about yourself, settling into your seat with care at a table clear across the room from him.

As much as he's tried to fight it, his attention always drifts back to you: poised and pretty, eyes scanning the room as one couple, then another leaves you for the Latin-dance-of-the-week group lesson hosted like clockwork every Friday. The instructor drones on, but Jake is zeroed in on you: all softness and warmth, criminally tucked away from the rest of the fun.

The warehouse can wait.

__________

You don’t consider yourself the kind of girl someone crosses the room for.

That’s probably why you don’t notice the determined stranger making his way across the crowded dance floor, eyes trained on you as he adjusts his cap with a smirk.

You’re taking another sip of your overpriced cocktail when you hear an unfamiliar voice below you.

“Not a fan of the rumba?”

You finally register the man standing by the corner of your table. He’s handsome, you have to admit, his dark features highlighting kind brown eyes, creased from his almost too-eager smile. When you realize he’s talking to you, your words are still slow to come out.

But he doesn’t miss a beat. “It’s the mustache, isn’t it?” He grins sheepishly, dragging a palm across his lower face. “Knew it’d skeeve some people out, but I thought I’d give it a go.”

“No,” you say too quickly for your own liking, “It’s, ah– nice. Suits you.”

You’re met with a cheeky grin as he steps closer, eyes half-lidded as he leans in. “I’m Jake. Nice to meet a friendly face.”

You eye him warily, wondering what his angle could be. A quick glance around the room confirms there’s only so many unattached women surrounding the dance floor. You sigh internally. The game is always the same: keep them entertained until the girls they really want to talk to come back from the bar, or the bathroom, or stray just far enough from the guys they arrived with.

Might as well play along. 

Settling back into your seat, you tell him your name. His grin widens as he echoes it with something bordering reverence, and you bite your cheek to keep from smiling too wide.

Jake props one elbow on the table, looking up at you. Seems like he’s not going anywhere for a while.

“I gotta know– you not a fan of the rumba?”  He asks again, staring up at you dreamily. You don't catch it, your eyes flitting between him and the dance floor. The lesson is over, and couples spread out to dance independently.

“Hm? Oh, um– it’s alright,” you say with a shrug, arms wrapping around your middle again. “Just not a dancing night for me.” 

Truth be told, it’s been ages since anyone’s invited you to dance. You’ve contented yourself with watching, although something deep inside aches for someone to ask you to–

"Dance with me."

You raise an eyebrow, struck by his bluntness. "I'm sorry?"

He leans in, both arms now resting on the table. "Dance with me, doll." His grin widens as he drinks you in. Your cheeks heat under his gaze, and you almost believe the admiration behind his eyes.

You press your lips together and look back to the crowd. "No thanks."

"I promise I don't bite," he teases, baring his teeth for effect. The slight gap in his smile catches your eye and you look away again. He's definitely a charmer.

"I…" you trail off, searching for an excuse but find you're hesitant to give it. 

Your self-sabotaging streak wins out. "Sorry, I have to keep the table for my friends." You nod toward the couples you came with, each person settled in the arms of their partner as they stumble through the rumba on their own. Your frown deepens; it does look fun.

Jake hums and props his head on one hand. "Don't tell me you only tagged along to watch their purses? Not the best of friends," he adds, critique mixed with sympathy.

You almost tell him that this wasn't the plan, you were meant to have a date tonight. A date who suddenly couldn't make it once your friend had caved and sent him a picture of you– a snapshot you'd both hoped wouldn't "fatfish" but was flattering enough to entice him to commit. Clearly he didn't.

You consider telling him everything, so lost in thought you don't realize he's been saying your name. He calls you once more, and you snap back to the present, tearing your eyes away from the dance floor.

"Sorry, what was that?"

As you speak, Jake walks around the table until he's closer to your side. He holds out his hand.

"C'mon, one dance." He asks again, angling his head to catch your eye. "Please?"

The last of your resolve absolutely crumbles at the way his voice softens with every word. As if you have something he wants. As if you could reject him and make it sting. 

Oh, what the hell.

"...Alright. One dance." 

You didn't think he could smile any wider, but he does– tossing his cap onto the table and trailing a hand through his thick black curls, he's all crow's feet and smile lines as you accept his hand.

Jake weaves between dancing pairs with you in tow, until you reach the middle of the floor. Your eyes dart around at the couples surrounding you, but a gentle touch under your chin brings your attention back to him.

"Just focus on me, yeah?" His voice is still soft, keeping you grounded in the eye of the busy dance floor. You nod, letting out a shaky breath.

"Right, so–" Jake clasps your right hand and raises it to chin level. He moves your left hand to cradle his shoulder, and places his right hand on your shoulder blade. It takes everything in him not to squeeze the flesh under his palm; you're just as warm and soft as he'd thought you'd be.

He talks you through the basics, how to time your steps and the flow of each movement. Every so often, he’ll lift your chin again, since you keep looking at your feet to keep up.

You catch on quicker than you’d expected. Even though your cheeks are blazing, you feel yourself loosen up– your body relaxing, your hips swaying a bit more freely. 

Jake can tell: he’s never short of praise and encouragement, and has to remember his own advice to stop himself from watching your hips the whole time.

"Alright," he warns, "here's something a little tricky-"

As soon as you feel his hand flex, you know what to do. You step out and deftly spin under his arm, hips swaying with a cheeky flourish for effect.

Jake barks a laugh of surprise, arms settling back into place as you complete the step.

You let yourself crack a smile. “You third wheel enough of these dance lessons, you’re bound to pick some things up.”

“No kidding,” he affirms, resuming an easy rhythm for you both. You’d think he was born with that grin on his face, the way it hasn’t faltered since he introduced himself.

One song bleeds into another, but neither of you notice. Instead, you draw closer together, your frame more relaxed and your heart racing. With every beat, you fight back the budding intoxication of the moment. Because this can't be real; this can't be something that lasts. No matter how many praises he showers, winks he offers, or lingering brushes against your hips, shoulders, seemingly anywhere he can touch you, you know you won't be hearing from Jake once you leave this dance floor. That's how this always goes down.

The song ends and you both slow to a stop. Slightly breathless, your hands trail up to Jake’s shoulders, thumbs tracing the fabric there as you work up the courage to ask one last question.

"So… is this the part where you go back to your friends and tally up who got the big girl to believe you were interested?"

Jake's brows knit together, his hands pressed to your shoulder blades to hold you steady. "I don't-"

"Oh please, you don't have to pretend. I survived high school, I can take it." You smirk, worrying your lip to keep your disappointment at bay. This was a nice fantasy, but you know how this ends.

The band starts to play a slower tune, and his eyes meet yours. In a flash of flexed arms and footwork, you’re suddenly looking up at him, body tilted back as he dips you. A cheeky grin is plastered on his flushed features.

"Doll, you misunderstand." He draws you back up, bringing you cheek to cheek as the stubble of his warm face scratches your skin. He continues, voice low and close to your ear:

"We're dancin' because it'd be criminal to leave such a pretty wallflower unplucked all night." He starts to sway in time to the music, still holding you. An invitation to stay, to do this all again.

You lean back; his rapt attention is trained on you like before, the warmth in his brown eyes seeping into your cheeks. Your face blossoms into the widest smile, your soft angles catching the light and making you look downright radiant. 

"That's… so corny." And you laugh, a rich, uninhibited sound pouring from your lips until tears nearly spill down your cheeks. 

Jake takes it all in– the vision that you are. His hand trails down to the softness at the small of your back. The way you quake from laughter sends a thrill up his spine, and he chuckles in turn. If he wasn’t holding you, he swears he’d be a little weak in the knees.

You rest your forehead against his shoulder as you calm down. “What’s one more dance?” You breathe, letting yourself move in time with the music.

Jake bites his lip and nods, taking your hand again. “Thought you’d never ask, doll.”

With a flick of the wrist he spins you out, eliciting another laugh from you as he pulls you back in.

The warehouse can definitely wait: his night's going to be spent drawing that sweet sound from your lips as long as you'll let him.

----------

A/N: when I say "brainrot," i mean i couldn't sleep until i set this gd thing to publish (don't ask me what time)

huge shoutout to @hon3yboy @chrissymodi-frost and @mrsnadeem for letting me ramble in your DMs about dancer!Jake, all my love my darlings <3

addtl tag list: @lunar-ghoulie @shadystarlightgentlemen @casa-boiardi

tysm for reading!

[blueiscoool]

European Court Upholds Italy's Right to Seize Greek Bronze from Getty Museum

A European court on Thursday upheld Italy’s right to seize a prized Greek statue from the J. Paul Getty Museum in California, ruling that Italy was justified in trying to reclaim an important part of its cultural heritage and rejecting the museum’s appeal.

The European Court of Human Rights, or ECHR, determined that Italy’s decades-long efforts to recover the “Victorious Youth” statue from the Malibu-based Getty were not disproportionate.

“Victorious Youth,” a life-sized bronze dating from 300 B.C. to 100 B.C., is one of the highlights of the Getty’s collection. Though the artist is unknown, some scholars believe it was made by Lysippos, Alexander the Great’s personal sculptor.

The bronze, which was pulled from the sea in 1964 by Italian fishermen and then exported out of Italy illegally, was purchased by the Getty in 1977 for $4 million and has been on display there ever since.

The Getty had appealed to the European court after Italy’s high Court of Cassation in 2018 upheld a lower court’s confiscation order. The Getty had argued that its rights to the statue, under a European human rights protocol on protection of property, had been violated by Italy’s campaign to get it back.

The court ruled Thursday that no such violation had occurred.

“This is not just a victory for the Italian government. It’s a victory for culture,” said Maurizio Fiorilli, who as an Italian government attorney had spearheaded Italy’s efforts to recover its looted antiquities and, in particular, the Getty bronze.

The Getty has long defended its right to the statue, saying Italy had no legal claim to it.

Among other things, the Getty had argued that the statue is of Greek origin, was found in international waters and was never part of Italy’s cultural heritage. It cited a 1968 Court of Cassation ruling that found no evidence that the statue belonged to Italy.

Italy argued the statue was indeed part of its own cultural heritage, that it was brought to shore by Italians aboard an Italian-flagged ship and was exported illegally, without any customs declarations or payments.

After years of further legal wrangling, an Italian court in Pesaro in 2010 ordered the statue seized and returned, at the height of Italy’s campaign to recover antiquities looted from its territory and sold to museums and private collectors around the globe.

Thursday’s ruling by the Strasbourg, France-based ECHR was a chamber judgment. Both sides now have three months to ask that the case be heard by the court’s Grand Chamber for a final decision. But Thursday’s ruling was unanimous, with no dissenting judges, and the Grand Chamber can refuse to hear the case.

There was no immediate comment from the Getty, and its lawyers referred comment to the museum.

Italian Culture Minister Gennaro Sangiuliano praised Thursday’s decision as an “unequivocal ruling” that recognized the rights of the Italian state and its ownership of the statue.

“Following today’s ruling … the Italian government will restart contacts with U.S. authorities for assistance in the implementation of the confiscation order,” he said.

In a statement, he doubled down on Italy’s campaign to bring its looted treasures home, and noted that recently Italy has ceased cooperation with foreign museums that don’t recognize Italian legal confiscation orders.

Recently, Italy banned any loans to the Minneapolis Institute of Art following a dispute over an ancient marble statue believed to have been looted from Italy almost a half-century ago.

The Getty had appealed to the ECHR by arguing, among other things, that Italy’s 2010 confiscation order constituted a violation of its right to enjoy its possessions and that it would be deprived of that right if U.S. authorities carried out the seizure.

The ECHR however strongly reaffirmed Italy’s right to pursue the protection of its cultural heritage, especially from unlawful exportation.

“The court further held that owing, in particular, to the Getty Trust’s negligence or bad faith in purchasing the statue despite being aware of the claims of the Italian state and their efforts to recover it, the confiscation order had been proportionate to the aim of ensuring the return of an object that was part of Italy’s cultural heritage,” said the summary of the ruling.

It wasn’t immediately clear what would happen next, though Fiorilli said the Getty had exhausted legal remedies and it’s now for U.S. the courts to enforce the Italian confiscation order.

“It’s not about guaranteeing the right to property, it’s about guaranteeing the internationally recognized value of every nation’s right to protect its cultural patrimony,” Fiorilli told The Associated Press over the telephone.

The statue, nicknamed the “Getty Bronze,” is a signature piece for the museum. Standing about 5 feet (1.52 meters) tall, the statue of the young athlete raising his right hand to an olive wreath crown around his head is one of the few life-sized Greek bronzes to have survived.

The bronze is believed to have sunk with the ship that was carrying it to Italy after the Romans conquered Greece. After being found in the nets of Italian fishermen trawling in international waters in 1964, it was allegedly buried in an Italian cabbage patch and hidden in a priest’s bathtub before it was taken out of the country.

Italy has successfully won back thousands of artifacts from museums, collections and private owners around the world that it says were looted or stolen from the country illegally, and recently opened a museum to house them until they can be returned to the regions from where they were looted.

The most important work to date that Italy has successfully brought back is the Euphronios Krater, one of the finest ancient Greek vases in existence. The Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York, which purchased it for $1 million in 1972 from an art dealer later accused of acquiring looted artifacts, returned it to Italy in 2008.

In 2010, the same year that Italy ordered the “Victorious Youth” statue confiscated from the Getty, a criminal trial ended in Rome against the Getty’s former curator of antiquities, Marion True. After years of trial, the Rome court ruled that the statute of limitations had expired on charges that True received stolen artifacts. She has denied wrongdoing.

In 2007, the Getty, without admitting any wrongdoing, agreed to return 40 ancient treasures in exchange for the long-term loans of other artifacts. Similar deals have been reached with other museums.

Under the 2007 deal, the two sides agreed to postpone further discussion of “Victorious Youth” until the court case was decided.

By Nicole Winfield.

[sensualnoiree]

astro notes: daily transits & horoscopes 11/7

Thursday begins on a tense note with the Capricorn Moon squaring rebellious Eris, sparking agitation or frustration. A trine between the Moon and Uranus offers a mid-morning opportunity to release these feelings with flexibility, followed by a sextile to Neptune that brings in a touch of empathy. By mid-afternoon, though, emotions may intensify when the Moon conjoins Pluto, potentially uncovering deep-seated issues. Shortly afterward, Luna’s shift into Aquarius invites us to embrace and express our individuality. However, an opposition between the Moon and Mars later in the afternoon may trigger impulsivity and possible confrontations. As the evening unfolds, a Venus-Uranus quincunx peaks, creating a sense of disconnect or unpredictability in relationships.

Rising Sign Delineations:

Aries Rising The morning’s tension between career and self-expression may impact your mood, but the Moon’s alignment with Uranus and Neptune can bring fresh solutions to work or public life. As the Moon moves into your 11th house of friendships, social issues might become a focus, especially with the impulsive Moon-Mars opposition stirring potential conflicts. Evening disconnections in close relationships call for patience, as the Venus-Uranus quincunx urges flexibility.

Taurus Rising Internal restlessness early in the day may stem from unaddressed philosophical or personal beliefs. The Moon’s trine to Uranus and sextile to Neptune encourages openness to new perspectives, particularly around travel, education, or spiritual matters. The Moon’s shift to Aquarius activates career-related individuality, but the Moon-Mars opposition may cause impulsive interactions with authority figures. The Venus-Uranus quincunx in the evening suggests a need for space or freedom in partnerships.

Gemini Rising You may start the day feeling uneasy about shared resources or intimate matters, but the Moon-Uranus and Moon-Neptune alignments offer insight into financial or emotional healing. Later, the Moon’s entry into Aquarius encourages you to explore new ideas or travel plans. As the Moon opposes Mars, be mindful of impulsive reactions in shared resources or intimate conversations. The Venus-Uranus quincunx in the evening could highlight unexpected changes in routines or work relationships.

Cancer Rising Relationship tensions may arise early in the day, but supportive lunar aspects to Uranus and Neptune encourage compassion and patience with others. The Moon’s entry into Aquarius later brings focus to deeper connections, though the Moon-Mars opposition could spark impulsive or confrontational exchanges in one-on-one settings. Evening energy may feel unpredictable with the Venus-Uranus quincunx, suggesting a need for open communication and understanding in close partnerships.

Leo Rising Workplace frustrations may surface in the morning, but the Moon’s aspects to Uranus and Neptune encourage flexibility and understanding in daily routines. The Moon’s shift into your 7th house of partnerships brings focus to your relationships, and the Moon-Mars opposition may cause impulsive or heated discussions. The Venus-Uranus quincunx in the evening encourages adaptability in balancing personal needs with those of others.

Virgo Rising Creative blocks or self-doubt might start the day, but the Moon’s supportive aspects with Uranus and Neptune suggest that a change in perspective can alleviate stress. The Moon’s move into Aquarius shifts your attention to health and routine, where the Moon-Mars opposition could create impulsivity around self-care practices. The Venus-Uranus quincunx in the evening highlights possible disconnects with work colleagues or health matters, urging flexibility.

Libra Rising Tension within family or home life could emerge early on, but the Moon’s aspects to Uranus and Neptune bring supportive energies to family or creative endeavors. The Moon’s ingress into your 5th house encourages self-expression, though the Moon-Mars opposition may lead to impulsive reactions in romantic or creative matters. The Venus-Uranus quincunx highlights potential detachment with loved ones, suggesting a need for adaptability.

Scorpio Rising Early morning restlessness may be tied to communication or local matters, yet the Moon-Uranus and Moon-Neptune alignments offer potential breakthroughs in family discussions. The Moon’s shift into your 4th house brings attention to home life, where the Moon-Mars opposition might cause impulsivity or confrontations. Evening energy may feel disconnected in partnerships due to the Venus-Uranus quincunx, highlighting a need for compromise and understanding.

Sagittarius Rising Financial or self-worth concerns could create early frustrations, but supportive lunar aspects help you explore solutions. The Moon’s shift into your 3rd house encourages open communication and intellectual exchange, although the Moon-Mars opposition may spark impulsive conversations with siblings or neighbors. The Venus-Uranus quincunx in the evening calls for flexibility in health or daily routines.

Capricorn Rising Personal concerns may cause tension early on, but the Moon’s connections with Uranus and Neptune bring supportive energy for exploring personal needs creatively. The Moon’s entry into your 2nd house of values may spark financial focus, though the Moon-Mars opposition might create impulsivity with spending or investments. The Venus-Uranus quincunx in the evening suggests unpredictability in creative projects or self-expression, urging adaptability.

Aquarius Rising The morning may feel tense as hidden worries or fears surface, but lunar support from Uranus and Neptune offers intuitive insights. The Moon’s arrival in your 1st house encourages individuality, though the Moon-Mars opposition may cause impulsive reactions in self-expression. The Venus-Uranus quincunx in the evening might highlight the need for balance in family or living situations.

Pisces Rising Social or friendship tensions may arise early in the day, but the Moon’s aspects to Uranus and Neptune offer emotional grounding. The Moon’s entry into your 12th house signals introspection, though the Moon-Mars opposition may stir up impulsive responses to hidden fears. Evening energy brings unpredictability to local or intellectual pursuits with the Venus-Uranus quincunx, calling for an open mind and flexibility.

follow for more astro insights like this and head on over to @quenysefields or my etsy --> sensualnoiree to grab my new astrology guidebook on reading your own natal chart :)

[eretzyisrael]

by Ruthie Blum

When all hell broke loose over Schocken’s mendacious depiction of an Israel that only exists in the minds of those who wish to see it disappear, he issued a clarification.

“I’ve reconsidered what I said,” he announced on Thursday. “There are many freedom fighters in the world and through history, perhaps also on the path to the establishment of the State of Israel, who carried out shocking and dreadful terrorist activities and harmed innocent people in order to achieve their goals. I should have said, ‘Freedom fighters who also use terrorist methods and need to be fought against.’ The use of terrorism is not legitimate.”

The implication was obvious: Jews also employed evil methods to achieve statehood. Whatever neat trick he thought he was pulling flopped at generating sympathy, let alone applause.

Which brings us to the second speech, that also had a jaw-dropping effect, but for the opposite reason. This one was delivered by former U.S. President Bill Clinton.

At a rally on Wednesday for Kamala Harris in the swing state of Michigan, Clinton appealed to the voters who’ve come out against the Democratic candidate for her administration’s ostensibly unforgiveable support for Israel. He did this by setting the record straight about the Palestinians’ attitude to the Jewish state.

Though opening with a call for a re-start of the “peace process,” he acknowledged the culprit behind its repeated failure.

“I understand why young Palestinian and Arab Americans in Michigan think too many people have died,” he began. “But if you lived in one of those kibbutzim in Israel, right next to Gaza, where the people there were the most pro-friendship with Palestine—the most pro-two-state-solution of any of the Israeli communities were the ones right next to Gaza, and Hamas butchered them.”

He continued: “The people who criticize [Israel’s response] are essentially saying, ‘Yeah, but look how many people you’ve killed in retaliation. How many is enough for you to kill to punish them for the terrible things they did?’ That all sounds nice until you realize what you would do if it was your family and you hadn’t done anything but support a homeland for the Palestinians, and one day they come for you and slaughter the people in your village. You would say, ‘You have to forgive me, but I’m not keeping score that way.’ It isn’t how many we’ve had to kill because Hamas makes sure that they’re shielded by civilians. They’ll force you to kill civilians if you want to defend yourself.”

Invoking the authority born of having hosted the 2000 Camp David Summit to forge a treaty that would result in the creation of an independent Palestinian state, Clinton admitted, “Look, I worked on this hard. And the only time [PLO chief] Yasser Arafat didn’t tell me the truth was when he promised me he was going to accept the peace deal that we had worked out, which would have given the Palestinians a state on 96% of the West Bank and 4% of Israel—and they got to choose where the 4% of Israel was. So they would have the effect of the same land of all the West Bank. They’d have a capital in east Jerusalem.”

Pausing to express sadness mixed with frustration, he interjected, “I can hardly talk about this.”