#home rule charter

[the-garbanzo-annex-jr]

by Hallie Lauer

City of Pittsburgh operations could come grinding to a halt — buildings dark, public transport riders stranded, firefighters unable to enter burning buildings and paramedics unable to administer life-saving drugs — if a proposed ballot measure seeking to cut all ties to Israel is passed in November, challengers to the provision said in legal documents Tuesday.

City Controller Rachael Heisler and the Jewish Federation of Greater Pittsburgh filed separate challenges to a petition that seeks to change Pittsburgh’s Home Rule Charter to ensure that the city cannot invest in or buy services from any entity doing business with or in Israel.

The petition — submitted with more than 12,800 apparently valid signatures — seeks to put the issue before voters as a ballot referendum in November.

While the petition lists neither the name nor address of a submitting entity, it is believed to be the product of the pro-Palestinian “No War Crimes on our Dime” group. The group’s website outlines the reasoning behind the ballot initiative and says it’s backed by the Pittsburgh Democratic Socialists of America, although as recently as Monday the website had claimed backing from a group identified as Keystone Progress.

Hallie Lauer

Staffers for prominent local officials signed on to ballot referendum to end Pittsburgh’s ties to Israel

Keystone Progress reached out to the Post-Gazette after the initial publication and said that their organization name was used in error and that the group is not financially backing the ballot referendum efforts.

Both challenges submitted Tuesday claim the referendum violates state law and certain business provisions of the Home Rule Charter and could create undue strain on city operations.

If the petitions make it past the challenge phase, a referendum will be included on the November ballot, asking Pittsburgh voters to decide whether the charter should be amended to prohibit “investment or allocation of public funds, including tax exemptions, to entities that conduct business operations with or in the state of Israel.”

If approved by voters, the prohibition would be in effect until “Israel ends its military action in Gaza,” allows humanitarian aid to reach the people of Gaza, and grants “equal rights to every person living in the territories under Israeli control,” according to the language of the referendum.

The No War Crimes on our Dime website argues that even making a change in one city, such as Pittsburgh, could send a message about the management and allocation of public resources. “Israel’s war machine is dependent on American weapons and money. … That means we have the capacity, right, and responsibility to stop the violence today by making our government impose a ceasefire and push for equal rights.”

Organizers of the initiative could not be reached directly for comment.

[sapphia]

USA please listen to me: the price of “teaching them a lesson” is too high. take it from New Zealand, who voted our Labour government out in the last election because they weren’t doing exactly what we wanted and got facism instead.

Trans rights are being attacked, public transport has been defunded, tax cuts issued for the wealthy, they've mass-defunded public services, cut and attacked the disability funding model, cut benefits, diverted transport funding to roads, cut all recent public transport subsidies, cancelled massive important infrastructure projects like damns and ferries (we are three ISLANDS), fast tracked mining, oil, and other massive environmentally detrimental projects and gave the power the to approve these projects singularly to three ministers who have been wined and dined by lobbyists of the companies that have put the bids in to approve them while one of the main minister infers he will not prioritise the protection of endangered species like the archeys frog over mining projects that do massive environmental harm. They have attacked indigenous rights in an attempt to negate the Treaty of Waitangi by “redefining it”; as a backup, they are also trying to remove all mentions of the treaty from legislation starting with our Child Protection laws no longer requiring social workers to consider the importance of Maori children’s culture when placing those children; when the Waitangi Tribunal who oversees indigenous matters sought to enquire about this, the Minister for Children blocked their enquiry in a breach of comity that was condemned in a ruling — too late to do anything — by our Supreme Court. They have repealed labour protections around pay and 90 day trials, reversed our smoking ban, cancelled our EV subsidy, cancelled our water infrastructure scheme that would have given Maori iwi a say in water asset management, cancelled our biggest city’s fuel tax, made our treasury and inland revenue departments less accountable, dispensed of our Productivity Commission, begun work on charter schools and military boot camps in an obvious push towards privatisation, cancelled grants for first home buyers, reduced access to emergency housing, allowed no cause evictions, cancelled our Maori health system that would have given Maori control over their own public medical care and funding, cut funding of services like budgeting advice and food banks, cancelled the consumer advocacy council, cancelled our medicine regulations, repealed free prescriptions, deferred multiple hospital builds, failed to deliver on pre-election medical promises, reversed a gun ban created in response to the mosque shootings, brought back three strikes = life sentence policy, increased minimum wage by half the recommended amount, cancelled fair pay for disabled workers, reduced wheelchair services, reversed our oil and gas exploration ban, cancelled our climate emergency fund, cut science research funding including climate research, removed limits on killing sea lions, cut funding for the climate change commission, weakened our methane targets, cancelled Significant National Areas protections, have begun reversing our ban on live exports. Much of this was passed under urgency.

It’s been six months.

[vague-humanoid]

PITTSBURGH —

The Jewish Federation of Greater Pittsburgh and leaders of several synagogue congregations have filed legal challenges to a proposed voter referendum targeting those who do business with or in Israel.

They argue that passing the referendum would hurt and endanger Jewish houses of worship and organizations.

Advertisement

"Targeting our Jewish community, time and time again. Two weeks ago, the Federation held a press conference after the antisemitic graffiti at the Federation and at the Chabad of Squirrel Hill was found. This referendum is the latest action against our community," said Jeff Finkelstein, President and CEO, Jewish Federation of Greater Pittsburgh.

The legal filing challenges a petition to put a referendum on the November ballot. The referendum would prohibit "investment or allocation of public funds, including tax exemptions, to entities that conduct business operations with or in the state of Israel, unless and until Israel ends its military action in Gaza" and fully allows humanitarian aid there.

The referendum petitions seeking to amend Pittsburgh's home rule charter were circulated by a group called "No War Crimes on Our Dime" with support from Pittsburgh Democratic Socialists of America.

"The circulators of the referendum claim that it's not targeting a specific group, and we believe it is actually their goal," said Finkelstein. "Just like when people say 'I'm not a racist' and then what comes out of their mouth is racist. Or if someone says, 'I'm not homophobic' and then what comes out of their mouth is homophobic. It's the same here. They say what they are saying is not antisemitic, but it is absolutely antisemitic."

"The Israel Trauma Coalition, with incredible expertise at how to provide trauma therapy, came to Pittsburgh, trained professionals — both in the Jewish community and the general community — on how to provide that trauma support" after the Pittsburgh synagogue shooting that took 11 lives," said Finkelstein. "If this referendum were enacted, that would not be allowed."

[marvelmusing]

Can I Ask You A Question?

Part of The Darkling Wears Prada AU

Pairing: Aleksander Morozov x Fem!Reader (Modern AU)

Summary: Alina has lots of questions about her new job and your boss. Meanwhile, Aleksander has an important question for you - it just takes him some time to realise it.

Warnings [18+]: brief smut, fingering, references to sex, CEO x assistant trope, praise kink

Read part one -> HERE

My Masterlist

“Why is he so nice to you?”

“Who?”

“Aleksander.” When you breathe out a soft laugh, shaking your head at Alina’s question, she leans closer, as if she’s willing you to understand. “Today, he obliterated a designer for picking out the wrong purse.”

“That wrong purse delayed the photoshoot by almost an hour,” you reason.

She tilts her head, clearly waiting for an explanation - why does the infamously fierce Aleksander Morozov have a soft spot for you?

Sighing quietly, you look down at your drink, fidgeting with the stem of your glass.

“I’ve worked for Aleksander for a long time.”

She waits for more.

“I started off in your position - his second assistant. Nina was his first assistant at the time, and I felt like I would never be able to impress him. The first time he really noticed me was the night before his and Luda’s third wedding anniversary.”

“He’s married?”

A frown creases at your brows.

“Not anymore. The divorce was years ago. It made the headlines for days. How do you not-” You shake your head. Just because you know everything that goes on in Aleksander’s life doesn’t mean everyone else does. “Never mind. Nina had taken the night off for a date. I’m sure you’ve noticed, there’s no such thing as a night off when you work for Aleksander.”

Alina nods in agreement.

“A storm came in while he was in Ketterdam, which stopped him from getting on his flight home. No planes were flying in or out of the city.”

“What did you do?”

“Everything I could. I called in a favour with Nikolai, to borrow one of his private jets. Paid for it to land at a private airfield in the Kerch countryside. They managed to charter his flight to Balakriev and I drove two hours to pick him up myself when his usual driver didn’t respond to my calls.”

“And?”

You smile softly.

“He made it home for their anniversary. The last anniversary they had before the divorce.”

“Why did they split up?”

“There was always love in their marriage, but they didn’t understand each other. Aleksander loves his job. He always will. If his partner can’t understand that, the relationship won’t last.”

͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

“What’s the Morozov rule?” The sound of Alina’s question draws your attention away from the email you’re in the midst of writing. She looks away shyly when you meet her eyes. “Some girls were talking about it in the bathroom earlier.”

Gaze skimming back over the screen of your laptop, you breathe out a quiet scoff.

“Let me guess, the heart-eyed interns?”

She nods.

“A lot of the fashion elites have a specific rule,” you explain. “It’s partially fashion advice, partially PR to make them more memorable.” You click send on your email, changing window to examine Aleksander’s schedule for tomorrow. “Like the Chanel rule - take a look at yourself before you leave the house and remove one item of your outfit.”

Alina listens intently.

“The Morozov rule is to always make sure your underwear matches your shoes. Because at the end of the day, when you take off your dress or your suit that’s all you’ll be wearing.”

A smirk twists at your lips.

“So, if you’re ever wondering what colour underwear Aleksander is wearing, just take a look at his shoes.”

Alina blushes.

“Really?”

“Of course. What kind of a man is he if he doesn’t follow his own rule?”

“How do you know he-”

The sound of Aleksander’s voice rings out from the door to his office, cutting through your conversation with Alina.

“Milaya.”

Responding immediately to your summons, you stand from your desk and make your way into his office. He glances up at you from his papers momentarily, a frown creasing between his brows as his gaze returns to the words in front of him.

“I don’t have anything to wear for my trip to Novyi Zem.” He holds out his credit card, balanced between two of his slim fingers. “I will need enough for six nights. Look at the itinerary for the trip and purchase anything you deem necessary. You know what I like.”

After taking the card from him, you nod.

“Yes, sir. I will be back before your meeting with Nikolai.”

Turning on your heel, you move back towards the door, only for his voice to stop you.

“And milaya?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Take Miss Starkova. If she’s going to gain any sense of style for herself she needs to see someone competent at work.”

“I’ll do my best,” you assure him. Like everyone in the fashion industry, you live for Aleksander’s praise.

The hint of a smile twitches at the corner of his mouth.

“As you always do.”

His remark makes your stomach flip.

͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

“What’s this?”

Alina peers into the black garment bag curiously.

“A dress. For you. It’s Valentino. One of Aleksander’s picks for the gala.”

She blinks at you in surprise.

“I’m going to the gala?”

You nod.

“Genya will help you get ready. We leave at seven.”

It isn’t long before Aleksander is settling his hand on your lower back, steering the two of you through the crowd at the entrance. Alina looks relieved at the sight of your arrival - you can only imagine how worried she was being surrounded by the flurry of photographers.

As the gala begins, Aleksander claims a corner of the room for himself, waiting for the designers and reporters and politicians to come to him.

Whenever someone approaches your group, you turn your face towards Aleksander, hiding your words in the crook of his neck as you inform him of the names of the people heading his way. His fingers play with the seam of your dress, dancing distractedly down your spine.

Occasionally, you find yourself adjusting the collar of his shirt, fixing the position of his tie, or smoothing down the lapels of his jacket. Just to keep your hands occupied. Unlike a usual gala, where you would be standing one pace behind him, Aleksander keeps you on his arm tonight. Deep down, you know it’s because he doesn’t have a plus one, but it makes you feel special nonetheless.

It’s only once you step out of the little bubble Aleksander always creates, that you stop enjoying yourself. As you place your drinks order at the bar, you attract the attention of Malyen Oretsev - a mediocre journalist - and his friends.

“There she is,” he remarks. “Morozov’s favourite pet.”

Mikhael smirks.

“I don’t know about that, Mal.” He jerks his head towards Aleksander. “Looks like he’s got a shiny new toy to play with.”

Glancing over, you see Alina looking at Aleksander rather bashfully as they seem to be engaged in a somewhat stilted conversation. The sight makes your stomach twist uncomfortably.

“Have a nice evening,” you state casually, collecting your drinks before you head back in the direction of Aleksander and Alina.

All night, you try your best to ignore Mikhael’s words, but it seems they’ve burrowed their way into your psyche.

͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

“Why can’t I give him the book?”

Alina peers curiously at the book, as you turn the pages slowly to show her the magazine mockups for next month’s issue.

“Aleksander is very selective about who he allows into his house.” Alina seems mildly offended and you decide to soften the blow slightly by adding, “Besides, he usually likes to do a final run through so that he can brief me on tomorrow’s agenda.”

Towards the end of the month, during the final stages of development for the next publication, you usually find yourself working late at Aleksander’s house. Over the years, there’s been countless times when you’ve helped him rework an entire issue in a matter of hours, pouring your ideas together over his kitchen table.

Luckily, this month has been somewhat smooth sailing. Though that doesn’t mean your to-do list isn’t still a mile long. When you’re alone with Aleksander like this, the persona he’s created for himself loosens and he’s patient as you ask him enough questions to be prepared for the day ahead of you tomorrow.

“Anything else?” he asks.

You shake your head, remarking as you bend your neck from side to side,

“All I need now is a hot bath.”

“Use mine,” he states, not even looking up at you as he finishes filing away the pages into the book. “Stay the night.”

“What?”

He raises a brow at you.

“You ought to know by now that I don’t like repeating myself.”

“I- Are you sure?” He gives you a firm look and heat rushes to your cheeks. “Sorry, stupid question. Thank you.”

He shows you into his personal bathroom, a lavish en-suite connected to his bedroom by a wooden folding door. He’s blasé about his toiletries, opening a cupboard to show you before he retreats back into his bedroom.

Once the bath is full of water and a copious amount of bubbles, you slip out of your clothing and into the tub with your hair and makeup still intact. The warmth makes you sigh softly, closing your eyes as you tilt your head back against the rim of the bath. It’s only the sound of the door opening that makes you open your eyes again.

Aleksander stands in the open doorway, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up haphazardly and the buttons undone down to the centre of his chest. His gaze is heated as his eyes remain locked on yours, and despite the intensity you don’t shy away from him.

He circles around the bath tub slowly, his knuckles tracing the curve of your neck when he finally stands behind you.

His thumbs press into the centre of your back, working on the tension in the muscles that no amount of stretching can ease. He moves his hands knowingly, finding the areas that give you the most discomfort after long hours at the office. When he presses the right spot, your back arches, your body pliant in his hold as you breathe out a soft moan.

He smirks, cocky in the fact that he knows only his touch can bring you this sort of relief. His smirk fades slightly, as his focus shifts and he traces his fingers up your back, stroking over your shoulders.

He presses his face against your cheek, his lips brushing over your skin as he breathes in the scent of his soap. Tantalisingly close to a kiss. Then he sinks onto his knees, his hands descending beneath the water.

Turning your head, you’re face to face with Aleksander, your nose brushing against his as he draws a slow line down your body, between the valley of your breasts before he circles your navel.

“May I?” he murmurs.

“Please, Aleksander.”

With one hand, he grasps the back of your neck to limit your squirming, while the other descends downwards to play with your cunt. It’s slow and deliberate, the way he works you up towards your orgasm. The only sound in the room is your breathy gasps and the subtle splash of bath water against the sides of the tub.

It would be a lie to say you haven’t imagined what Aleksander might be like in bed. You know you aren’t alone in that. The rumours all paint him in the same light. Dominant. Controlling. Mildly sadistic. That’s what makes the praises that fall from his lips all the more effective.

“That’s it. Good girl,” he murmurs directly into the crook of your neck. His voice is a soft and soothing rasp. “You’re doing so well for me.” He smiles when you gasp loudly, writhing with unabashed pleasure. “Utterly perfect.”

His words fade away, until all you can hear is the hurried beat of your heart hammering away in your chest as you come astonishingly close to your release.

“Please, Aleksander. I need it. Need you, oh, fuck-”

He rests his hand on the rim of the tub, palm upwards as he anticipates the sudden backwards motion of your head when you reach your climax. As pleasure courses through your body, his hand curls around to cradle the back of your head. He’s silent, eyeing you attentively as the aftereffects slowly wind down.

“Aleksander?” you whisper.

His thumb strokes down the sensitive skin behind your ear.

“Hm?”

“Can I kiss you?”

He regards you seriously, his eyes flickering over your features, then he nods. Before you can lean upwards to kiss him, he adds,

“If you do, I won’t be able to stop myself from climbing into this bath to take this further.”

“And if I don’t want you to stop yourself?”

He grips the nape of your neck, directing your mouth to meet his.

͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

“Do I have to?” Alina whines, hiding her face with her hands in embarrassment at the thought of heading a few floors down to the lingerie photoshoot to retrieve the file of images taken today.

“You’ll be fine,” you assure her. “Aleksander wants to look at the photos before the models go home for the day.”

“Can’t the photographers just email them to him?”

You shake your head.

“He likes to look at the printouts.”

She sighs.

“Fine. I’ll do it.”

She returns with red cheeks, gripping the paper folder tightly in her hands. She doesn’t make eye contact with you as she walks by your desk to give the folder to Aleksander. Almost as soon as she sits down at her desk opposite you, Aleksander calls for you.

“Milaya.”

Alina busies herself with typing as you walk by her, into Aleksander’s office.

“Yes, sir?”

“I’d like your opinion on something.” He selects a page, turning it over in his hand so that he’s offering it to you. “What do you think of this?”

Taking the page in hand, you look down at the two images, side by side. The first is a close up of a model wearing an unbelievably expensive bralette.

Pale blue boning, covered in a soft mesh a few shades lighter. The entire garment has been decorated with intricate embroidery, adorned in pearls and tiny gems that create the illusion of flowers. The image beside it shows off the matching thong - a tiny triangle of fabric embellished with the same exquisite details.

“The photos?”

He shakes his head.

“The outfit. Would you wear something like this?”

Heat spreads over your cheeks at his question.

“I would. It’s very pretty.”

“Do you like the colour?” he asks, selecting another page to show you. “Or do you prefer the pink?”

After considering both pieces, you admit quietly,

“I like the blue.”

He hums.

“Very well.” He holds out his hand expectingly and you place the pages back in his palm. “Your measurements haven’t changed have they?”

His question makes your brows scrunch together in confusion.

“No, sir.”

“The designer is creating a custom piece as a gift for me. Offering it to anyone else in this building but you would be a waste.”

“A waste?”

He nods, not looking up at you.

“That’s all.”

͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

“What’s wrong?” Alina asks you.

She must have noticed your anxious fidgeting; you’ve straightened the same pen on your desk four times already. But you can’t tell her what is actually on your mind.

“Nothing. I’m just keeping an eye on the time. Aleksander’s driver should be arriving soon.”

Sure enough, your phone rings and Aleksander’s driver is on the line, informing you that he’s parked outside the building. Once you’ve retrieved Aleksander, you accompany him down in the elevator.

He lists a few tasks for you to complete while he is out at his meeting and you distractedly make a note of them all. It’s only once the two of you are out in the fresh air, that you’re able to speak.

“I need to talk to you.” He doesn’t turn, ignoring you until you grasp at his sleeve, just as he reaches his car. “Aleksander.”

He turns to face you.

“What is it?”

Instantly, the weight of his eyes makes you nervous. Of course, you’ve thought about what you want to say to him but now the words fail you. The Aleksander in front of you now is different from the one you were with the other night.

“It’s about that night at your house,” you clarify. “I don’t want any special treatment because of what happened between us.”

He raises a brow, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly.

“Special treatment?” he repeats.

“Not that I don’t appreciate the set you offered me, but I don’t want anyone to think you’re favouring me.”

“Tell me about the designer of that piece.”

“She’s a Ravkan designer. All her work is couture, with hand stitched embroidery and embellishments. The pearls and gems are all sourced sustainably; she limits her collection to only forty pieces per style to minimise the environmental impact…”

When you realise how much you’re talking - about things that Aleksander most likely knows already - your words trail off into nothing. His mouth quirks into a half-smile that he quickly smoothes out into a more neutral expression.

“You are the one of the few people who understand the value of that design,” he says in a low voice. “And that is the only reason I wanted you to have it.”

“The only reason?” you repeat, hoping that he might have wanted you to have the lingerie because you would look good in it.

He doesn’t respond. Instead, he glances down at the front of your top, eyeing the skin on show there briefly before he turns away, leaving you in shock as he climbs into his car. Did Aleksander just eye up your cleavage?

͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

“Are those new?”

Alina’s question makes you peer down at your shoes - the object of her attention - and you smile.

“Yes. They are.”

The pale blue of your shoes are an almost perfect match to the lingerie set Aleksander had gifted to you - not to mention the heels are adorned in shimmering gems and pearls.

Alina takes the time to admire them, as the two of you stand beside the printer.

“Miss Starkova,” Aleksander calls out, standing in the doorway between his office and the one you share with Alina. “I need ten scarves from Gucci, and fetch my coffee on your way back in.”

Alina glances at you momentarily, wide eyed, before she nods resolutely.

“Yes, sir.”

There’s an anxious edge to her movements as she grabs her phone and bag, but she seems determined to adhere to Aleksander’s demands on her own this time. Both you and Aleksander watch her leave.

When you turn back to face him, Aleksander���s gaze is sweeping down your body, assessing your outfit as he always does, yet he lingers on your shoes for a moment. His throat bobs lightly as he swallows, his eyes darkening as they meet yours.

“A perfect match,” he observes.

Before you can respond, he turns and walks back into his office.

͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

“Where have you been?” Alina asks, shifting her weight anxiously on the pavement.

Cheeks flushing with warmth, you wipe at your lower lip with your thumb to ensure your makeup is still intact. The two of you head up the steps, into the entrance of Cartier.

“The car got caught in traffic.”

“Aleksander must have been furious.” You hum rather distractedly in agreement, smoothing down your skirt.

“He’s waiting in the car now, so we’ll have to make this quick.”

͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

“Where are you going?” Alina asks, turning to watch as you back away down the pavement. “I thought we were celebrating.” The last night of fashion week, the pinnacle of all your hard work over the last year has been finally reached.

It’s been almost a year since Alina first started working alongside you, but you don’t yet trust her with the full truth when you answer.

“I’m going to head back to the hotel,” you tell her before adding, “I’m exhausted.”

“Do you want me to walk with you?”

Shaking your head, you tuck your coat tighter around your body.

“I’ll be fine, thanks. Go enjoy yourself.”

When you finally reach your hotel bed, you collapse onto the mattress, still wearing your coat and shoes. It’s completely unintentional, the way you fall asleep draped over the bed.

After an indeterminable amount of time passes, a kiss is pressed to your cheek, rousing you from your slumber as someone nestles themselves over your body.

“Hello there, sleeping beauty,” a familiar voice coos playfully. Blinking the drowsiness from your eyes, you murmur a mildly bemused response,

“Sasha?”

He laughs softly.

“Who else, milaya?” He presses another kiss to your cheek, his lips moving toward your ear. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“I stuck my head in the study,” you explain sleepily. “You were working… didn’t want to disturb you.”

He slips your coat off your shoulders, lowering kisses across your neck and collarbones as he reaches for the zipper on the back of your dress.

“You should have. I would have come to bed hours ago had I known you were back.”

“I’m so tired,” you murmur as your eyelids droop. Aleksander smiles fondly, pulling your dress down your body.

“You outdid yourself this year.” A pleased smile lifts the corners of your mouth. Aleksander lifts himself off the bed, crossing the room towards the en-suite. “The Starkova girl has improved,” he states, wringing out a cloth. “You seem to like this one.”

“I do,” you confirm, kicking your shoes off onto the floor. “She’s nice, though she’s been asking a lot of questions lately.”

“About us?”

“About you, mostly. I think she has a crush.”

“Poor girl,” he remarks drily as he sits down beside you and begins to wipe the makeup from your face. “Have you told her about us?”

“I thought you wanted this to be a secret?”

He shakes his head.

“I want to keep you safe. From the press and the gossip that follows me. Besides, I know how much you love working for the magazine. I would hate to jeopardise that.”

“Well, I might find something that I enjoy more than working as your assistant.”

“Such as?”

The smile you give him is soft as you fidget with the creases in his trousers.

“Your wife.”

His own smile is boyish as he teases,

“That is quite the promotion you’re offering yourself.” Then his expression grows more serious. “Even as my wife, I wouldn’t expect you to give up your job - not unless you wanted to.”

That makes your smile widen, your cheeks warming at the casual tone his voice adopts when considering you as his wife.

“Besides,” he adds. “Where would I find someone as capable as you?”

“I could mentor Alina.”

He hums, unconvinced, and you laugh at the sight of his apprehension. It’s sweet, knowing you’ve taken such a root in Aleksander’s life. He trusts you, unconditionally.

“I’m not handing my notice in yet,” you tease him, before adding with a small laugh, “Unless you’re planning on proposing tonight.”

Aleksander doesn’t laugh.

“Sasha?”

The corner of his lips quirk with the hint of a laugh, embarrassment touching at his features.

“I-” He sighs, shaking his head as his smile widens. “You’ve ruined the surprise.”

“Sasha,” you repeat, thoroughly caught off guard. “You’re not serious.”

“Of course I am.”

“Aleksander, I’m not wearing any makeup. I’m in my underwear.”

He doesn’t look impressed by your protests.

“Milaya, if you’re finished making rather obvious statements, I’d like to propose to you.”

The look he gives you has your lips pressing closed, giving him the chance to speak. Almost immediately, your excitement spills over your expression - a giddy smile tugging at your lips. Aleksander smiles fondly, stroking your cheek with his thumb as he admires you.

“I can’t believe you used to hide this from me. My pretty girl.”

“Well, dating the Aleksander Morozov was rather daunting at first,” you admit bashfully. He tilts his head at you.

“And do you think you can marry the Aleksander Morozov?”

Being married to Aleksander will attract attention - the kind that you’re unused to. The entire world will have something to say about you - what you wear, how you act - it will all be scrutinised by the tabloids and the social media comments. But he’s worth it, a million times over.

“I will if he actually asks me,” you remark teasingly.

He breathes out a laugh, kissing your cheek.

“Let me fetch the ring.”

͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

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[chelseachilly]

when i'm feeling alone, you remind me of home

pairing: reader x ben chilwell summary: you're stranded at uni by yourself for christmas with no flights going to london, but your boyfriend has other ideas warnings: nothing but fluff ❄️🫶🏼 word count: 2.5k

author’s note: here's another holiday one-shot! hoping to write at least one more before christmas. also btw there is no regard for the actual chelsea december fixtures or club rules in this story lol. title from christmas tree farm by taylor 🎄

-

You’ve always loved snow.

You loved playing in it as a little kid, making snowmen with your parents and going sledding with friends. You loved watching it from your window your first year of uni, seeing the blanket of white make Edinburgh look even more magical. You love bundling up to go ice skating and drinking hot chocolate as the snow falls around you.

But right now, you absolutely hate it. 

A massive snowstorm rolling through the UK has caused the cancellation all flights, including the one you were supposed to take from Edinburgh to London tonight. It’s your last year of university there, but you’ve never missed a Christmas at home with your family and your boyfriend.

Now, it’s two days until Christmas and you’re stranded alone in your little flat with absolutely no way of making it home.

“What? You can’t get a train?” Ben asks after you’ve explained your predicament to him sadly. 

As much as you feel bad about missing the holiday with your parents, you feel really bad about not being able to see Ben. With your busy schedules, you’ve hardly seen him in months, and you even missed his birthday a couple days ago because you had an exam. Now, you were supposed to finally have an entire week with him in London. 

You were going to go to Winter Wonderland and complain about tourists and end up going back to his to snuggle by the fireplace. You were going to have Christmas morning with your family and dinner with his, spending the whole day exchanging gifts and fond memories. You were going to watch his game on the 27th and bundle up in your warmest Chelsea gear to cheer your heart out for your man, which you’ve really missed doing lately. 

You miss everything about him, really. 

But instead, you’re going to be eating Indian takeaway leftovers and watching Love Actually to try to make yourself feel better.

“The trains are all full, I checked,” you sigh. 

“Well, let me see if I can charter a plane-“

“Ben,” you cut him off before he gets ahead of myself. Although it’s quite extravagant for him to spend tens of thousands of dollars getting you there, you know he would do it in a heartbeat. “All flights are grounded, not just mine. It’s not possible.”

“But…there must be something.”

You can picture his disappointed face right now, and it brings tears to your eyes just thinking about it. 

“I’m so sorry, baby,” you reply, sinking into your couch. “You know I would do anything to be there with you right now.”

“Don’t apologize to me, love, I can’t believe you’re going to spend Christmas alone,” Ben sighs. “This is so shit. I just wanna see you and hold you.”

“I know,” you exhale. “I miss you so much. The only thing that got me through exams was thinking about being home with you and playing with Oscar in the snow and baking cookies…”

You can feel yourself getting choked up, tears beginning to stream down your cheeks as you think about all you’ll be missing out on. You feel a bit silly, knowing there are people with far bigger problems in the world, but you’ve been working yourself to death for the past month to ace your finals and this trip home was the shining light at the end of the tunnel. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” Ben says sadly. “I miss you so much too. I wish there was something we could do.”

“Like control the weather?” you joke, trying to lighten the mood despite the tears running down your face.

“You know I would do it if I could,” he replies seriously. “I’m sorry this is happening, babe. Maybe the weather will clear up in a day or two and you’ll still be able to make it out for a few days, yeah?”

“Yeah, I suppose,” you breathe - some time with Ben and your family is better than nothing, but you’re still going to be alone for Christmas morning. “I should let you go, I don’t want to stop you from having a nice holiday too. Say hi to your mum and Alex for me when they get there, alright?”

“I will, baby,” Ben says. “I’ll text you later and call you in the morning, alright?”

“Alright,” you sniffle, wiping your tears away. “I love you.”

“I love you too. Bye, love.”

The moment Ben hangs up, you toss your cell onto the cushion beside you and bury your face in the pillow, groaning in frustration. 

After feeling sorry for yourself for a bit, you reluctantly get up and go to turn up the heat and change into something warmer, as the temperatures outside continue to drop. You grab Ben’s hoodie from your closet, a cozy grey one you stole last time you were in London. It barely smells like him anymore, since that was over a month ago and you’ve worn and washed it several times, but it’s still a small comfort to wear something of his.

You heat up your dinner and put on the film, although the romantic scenes and the shots of London only seem to make you more homesick. 

You text Ben during his favourite part, which is naturally Hugh Grant dancing around 10 Downing Street. 

The annual Love Actually rewatch isn’t the same without you babe. Hope you’re having fun with the fam ❤️

He takes a while to respond, which you hope means he’s having a better time than you are and enjoying being with his family. 

You’re just drifting off to sleep when his text finally comes in.

It’s not the same here without you either. Goodnight baby, talk in the morning 😘

-

You wake up to the sound of your phone ringing.

You briefly think it’s your alarm, but you don’t remember setting one, certainly not for 7AM, which is the current time according to your watch.

You blearily stretch your arms, a bit of a crick in your neck from falling asleep on the couch, and reach around haphazardly for your phone.

You see Ben’s name and contact photo on the screen and you quickly answer, worried something is wrong if he’s calling you at this time. 

“Ben? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” he assures you. “Can you go downstairs? There’s a delivery for you.”

“What?” you yawn, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. “What on earth have you sent me at seven in the morning?”

“Just go check, I think you’ll like it,” Ben promises, and you can hear the smile tugging at his lips. “Quickly, babe. This is time sensitive.”

You roll your eyes fondly as you throw the blanket off yourself and slide on your slippers, leaving the warmth of your flat to go down the stairs and see what’s waiting for you outside the main doors. You can only imagine what ridiculous present your boyfriend had shipped to you overnight to try to make up for your failed Christmas. 

You tighten Ben’s hoodie around your body to brace yourself for the cold before opening the door, your eyes on the ground where you’re expecting the package to be.

Instead, you see a familiar pair of Nikes - and your eyes trail up to see the very familiar man wearing them. 

You’re not sure if you’re dreaming, so you blink a few times, only to be greeted with the same sight - your perfect, adorable boyfriend standing in front of you in his puffer jacket and hat, his cheeks red from the cold and his smile absolutely blinding. 

“Ben?” you gasp. “Why are you - how are you here?”

“I couldn’t let you spend Christmas alone.”

You meet him halfway as he drops his bags to the ground and opens his arms for you to throw yourself at him. You hug him as tight as you can, burying your nose in his neck and inhaling his scent. You can’t believe this is really happening.

“How the hell did you get here?” you ask as he squeezes your waist tightly and kisses the top of your head. 

“I drove,” Ben murmurs. 

You pull back to look at him, your eyes wide with disbelief.

“You drove? It’s, like, eight hours-“

“Twelve in a snowstorm, apparently,” Ben chuckles. “But definitely worth it for this.”

“You drove all night through a snowstorm for me?”

You can feel tears beginning to brim in your eyes once again, though these are tears of joy. You can’t believe how insanely lucky you are to have a man who loves you this much. 

“Of course I did, I would do anything for you,” Ben says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, brushing his nose against yours. “Now, if you don’t mind, it’s been a long night and I would really love a kiss.”

Without hesitation, you grab his face and kiss him passionately, sighing with joy at the feeling of being reunited with your boyfriend. You’re certain that this is the most romantic and wonderful thing anyone has ever done for you, and although you never expected the best kiss of your life to happen on your doorstep at 7am in a blizzard, this just might take the top spot.

“I love you so damn much,” you whisper against his lips when you finally pull away. “But I am also slightly mad at you for driving at night in poor conditions.”

Ben laughs and rolls his eyes a bit. “I promise I was safe, but can we go inside where it’s warmer before we argue about it?”

“Hmm, okay,” you grin, pecking his lips a few more times before helping him lug his bags up the stairs to your flat.

Once you’re inside and Ben’s taken off his shoes and coat, you waste no time in wrapping your arms around him and kissing him again. 

“You’re freezing, sweetheart,” you murmur as his cold hands slide under your - his - hoodie to feel your skin. “Want a tea? Or do you want to go straight to bed? You must be exhausted.”

“A tea and a cuddle would be perfect,” Ben smiles, pecking your forehead.

You tell him to go get comfy on the couch while you make tea for both of you, and when you return, he’s waiting for you with open arms and a sleepy grin on his face. 

You place both mugs on the coffee table and curl up next to him, your face in the crook of his neck and your arms and legs tangled. 

You let out a content sigh as your bodies recalibrate after so much time apart. You knew you needed this, but you didn’t know quite how much until right now. 

“I can’t believe you’re here,” you murmur, kissing his jaw. “What about your mum and Alex, though?”

“I told them how sad you sounded on the phone and they encouraged me to go, though my mum was slightly nervous about me making the drive-“

“As she should be,” you scold gently.

“I told you, I was very careful, and there were hardly any cars on the roads,” Ben promises once again. “Anyways, they were all for it. They knew I would’ve been miserable without you there.”

You hug him a bit tighter, hooking your leg around his. “Wait, you have a game in three days. Did the club really sign off on this?”

“I managed to persuade Poch to give me today off to go see my girl, I think he’s a bit of a softie at heart,” Ben jokes. “And we have tomorrow and the day after off for Christmas anyways. We’ll just have to drive back on the 26th, the roads are supposed to clear by then. I know it’s not the same as Christmas in London with both our families, but this is better than being apart, right?”

“Ben,” you say sincerely, cupping his cheek with one hand. “This is the most amazing thing anyone has ever done for me. A cozy Christmas with just the two of us sounds absolutely perfect. Thank you, baby.”

Your lips meet in another sweet kiss, one that quickly escalates as you feel your boyfriend’s hands on your hips and thighs for the first time in a month. You moan into his mouth as he tugs you into his lap. 

“I missed you so much,” you breathe between kisses, tugging his hat off to run your hands through his messy hair. 

“I can tell, hoodie thief,” Ben teases, fiddling with the soft material. “You look unreal in that, by the way. And I missed you more.”

You smile into another kiss, getting completely lost in him and his scent and his touch. Even after years together, you’re completely addicted to him. 

You’re ready to take it further and move to your bedroom, but you’re interrupted by a yawn from Ben. He tries to kiss you again afterward, but you laugh softly and hold his face. 

“You need sleep, Benjamin.”

He pouts slightly in protest, but you kiss him again quickly and it goes away.

“Babe, you’re exhausted,” you murmur softly. “We can go cuddle in my bed and continue this later.”

Ben sighs and nods as you climb off him and extend your hand to help him up. He doesn’t let go of your hand, though, instead pulling you into another warm hug. He’s so sleepy and adorable that you could nearly cry as he nuzzles his face into your hair. 

He’s always been a very tactile person, and you know that for every time you tell him how much you missed and love him, he will hold you a little bit longer or kiss your forehead to say the exact same thing.

When you finally pull apart, you take him by the hand and lead him into your bedroom. He strips down to his boxers, which is how he prefers to sleep even in the dead of winter. He says you run hot enough to keep him warm, though you’re not sure if that’s true or he just likes to maximize your skin-on-skin contact.

He’s much warmer now than when you found him on your doorstep, so it’s not a shock to your system when you climb into bed with him and he immediately pulls you into his chest.

“I promise once you’ve had a proper rest I’ll make the drive worth your while, baby,” you say with a slight smirk as you wrap your arm around him and nuzzle your face into his neck. 

Ben just tightens his grip on you and closes his eyes, a content smile on his face. 

“It was worth it the second you opened the door.”

As you watch your boyfriend drift off to sleep, feeling so full of love for him that you might burst, you make a mental note to make it extra worth it for him later just for that adorable comment. 

After you’ve both slept a few hours and spent another few making up for lost time, you spend the rest of Christmas Eve watching films and baking cookies. 

The next morning, you both wake up early and exchange presents in your festive pyjamas. It’s not the same as if you were in London with both your families, but it’s still perfect because you’re together. 

And a year later, when you’ve graduated and you’re celebrating your first Christmas in your new home with a diamond ring on your finger, it’s even better. 

i hope you enjoyed this story! and thank you for all your lovely comments on my last fic. if anyone wants to be added to a taglist for my ben fics in the future, please let me know! ❤️💚

[dallasgallant]

Time period post : Buses and public transport

This one extends a bit off of my post on car culture, as I’ll cover motorlodges but also public transportation! As usual this is sort of an introduction or crash course to the topic, I do encourage you to go looking if you want to learn more!

Public transport-

In the 60’s flying was still fairly expensive and formal, it was a really nice trip or more for business men or other upper middle or outright rich people. There was a matter of price but popularity and access also played a part, most people would likely prefer to drive or take a bus or maybe even a train!

Trains were still a huge part of transportation up until following WW2, after all there were huge efforts like the transcontinental railway in the 1860s to connect the country. They were still fairly popular long form travel up through the 40s and 50s (old movies can be evidenced to that) but as car culture began to rise and interstate highway were built - people shifted their focus to individual passenger vehicles and the freedom of control. The rail system was much more in tact than the remains today but was on the decline.

Busses on the other hand? Huge, especially in small towns (some may even still have trolly systems!) they’d be kept neat and relatively on time — it was also a way to travel! Some who either couldn’t afford or didn’t want to drive a long distance themselves could take a longer bus ride/charter busses and travel the country! Greyhound absolutely ruled the roost in this regard and is still sort of synonymous!

Similar to trains there were bus terminals alongside regular street side stops, it’d be returned to on its regular run or a place to hop onto the next one going a city or so over. Some big and nice stations had little tv chairs that I am obsessed with:

Ash trays and shoe shine stands, news stands and vending machines (hot drinks, candy, cigarettes.) and brochure stands are some other notable features. Yes people used to actually man shoe shine stations… I feel in modern day they’re the stand equivalent to a mall that’s somehow still standing.

Most buses you’d pay a few cents or dollars (depending, likely cents) wherever you’re picked up. But if you’re going a considerable distance. Like Tulsa to Detroit you’d buy a ticket and then show that, you wouldn’t just hop on.

This isn’t to say there aren’t still busses in America, but our towns are larger, cars are the main focus and busses have become a bit dirty and less reliable. Isn’t to say they aren’t still a thing, similar to trains.

“Milk run” - this is an interesting bit of slang I’ve heard from my grandmother to refer to a bus going on its complete route stopping at every small town along the way.

She took a bus by herself from one town to another that were a few hours apart from eachother… about 15 in the 60s and got stranded at a bus station. (Needless her dad chewed out the attendant.)

That story highlights the detail of kids traveling on their own! It was safe* enough if they were aware and knew things well, this would be more contained to a town. Not small children either more 8+ and teens.

Motor lodges-

For a good portion of their existence, Hotels were dedicated to long term stays and located in cities, usually bachelors or businessmen etc. or sometimes renting a room at an older woman’s home.

Motor lodges became the place for the average vacationer. “Motels.” It was more common to see independently owned ones but chains did arise, like Howard Johnsons. An absolute staple of the 60s and roadside Americana… it cannot be understated just how huge these places were- sometimes their restaurants would stand alone! They were nice, fun and amenity filled place, honestly almost a toned down resort of sorts.

Most motels you’ll see beds, shower, perhaps a tv etc. they’d be clean and comfortable.

A nicer motel you’d be set! A color tv, refrigerated air (ac), a heated pool , a cafe next door.

Motor lodges rose alongside automobiles, existing all the way back in the 30s in a slightly different form. They began to kick off in gimmick and style in the real height of the Route 66 tourism era.

The view of Flying and hotels also began to change by the end of the decade, flying became cheaper and incentivized. Hotels began to spring up and offer more amenities and push out some motels, these happening simultaneously.

[katatty]

The summer festival as described in the rules is meant to be a kind of market, and we also unlock the Weekly Market this round... According to the official Medieval Charter Challenge rules, only merchants can have community lot businesses - yeoman and peasants are meant to have home businesses.

However, I've been getting a little bit ticked off with the way home businesses work in the game! So I made some itty-bitty 1x1 lots that some of my peasants can purchase and sell goods from. I think they fill out the awkward 1x3 space really nicely.

Peasants can also sell/trade with their neighbours, or sell directly to the new merchant family and have their goods re-sold at the larger Weekly Market. But the thought of all that price calculation & bookkeeping for selling a huuuuuuge haul of fish (for example) was giving me nightmares, so peasants that have a large amount of goods to sell have this as a nice option, too.

(As a side note, while on the topic, I am using the Simulated Sales mod so that everyone is not constantly broke. But I feel sort of sad that the items my sims are crafting get "wasted" this way, especially since most Sun&Moon items are useful! So I am thinking of bringing in townies after all, and pretending they are 'bonus' farmer peasants, who work off-screen tending to rest of the Lord's lands. Not decided 100% yet, but it might be something I do when Year 2 rolls around!)

[pupkinpumpkin]

Silly little headcanons for what all my DA protags are doing during Veilguard 🩷

- My Elena Cousland is NOT sitting back and watching Ferelden go to shit. She may have put the life of a Grey Warden behind her, but she and Alistair are protecting their country no matter what

- Before Alistair and Elena go on their 'save Ferelden' mission, they're getting the gang back together. Or, at least, as much of the gang as they can get. They're picking Sten up from Par Vollen, grabbing Zevran from wherever he is, and taking Sigrun, Oghren, Velanna, and Nathaniel away from the First Warden's grasp. Anders is busy, but he sends his love. While they're out grabbing their friends, their son Duncan is running Ferelden in their stead while their daughter Faith, a grey warden, is off in Weisshaupt, and then Lavendal

Morrigan and Leliana are busy as advisor and pope, so they mostly just send vital info to each other, but Morrigan does pop up once through an Eluvian to say hi.

Alistair and Elena take turns fighting battles so if anything happens to one of them, Ferelden still has a leader to rule.

- After Inquisition, once Varric becomes Viscount, he officially pardons Hawke from any of the crimes she may or may not have committed, allowing her to return to Kirkwall. They spend many years together, mostly rebuilding Kirkwall and annoying Aveline, with Hawke becoming much more mentally stable after literally everything that happened in DA2.

This makes the blow of Varric dying a lot less heavy and soul crushing, but soul crushing nonetheless. After about two weeks of going ballistic in the Hall of Valor matches out of grief and binge drinking with Isabela, Merrill, and Fenris, she returns to Kirkwall to help Aveline and very very begrudgingly agrees to work with Sebastian. Isabela stays in Rivain, Merrill goes to help the Veil Jumpers, Fenris is doing shit with the Shadow Dragons, Anders is with the Inquisition, and Bethany is with the grey wardens.

She mourns Varric and absolutely wants to kill Solas, but she's learned from DA2, fighting harder for her home instead of wallowing in what she could and couldn't have done to save him.

- Lavellan is obviously working hard to save the South, but it is harder with the Inquisition being disbanded and also having 4 kids and a dog. She, Hawke, and Cousland have all come into contact at one point during Veilguard. Hawke to mourn Varric, and Cousland to prepare and defend against the blight.

Lavellan gathers up old friends and gives them each a mission. Cassandra, Cullen, Blackwall, and Iron Bull all go to recruit people to join their cause, work with Ferelden's armies to set up defenses, make battle plans, and train any recruits

Vivienne, Leliana, and Josephine use their political influence to convince the Avvar, Chasind, Orlesians, etc, to band together

Cole and Anders help set up camps and hospitals to help those in need

Sera and Charter use their contacts, spies, and Red Jennys to find useful information about where the blight might be spreading or learn what towns may need the most help. Dorian is of course busy in Minrathous, but they communicate via message crystal, and whenever she meets up with Iron Bull, she lets him use the message crystal so he and Dorian can talk for a while. Babysitting duty goes to Leliana's guards, who did not sign up for this shit.

At one point, Lavellan and Cullen's youngest daughter Bunny gets kidnapped and ransomed, which isn't great, but after the bloodbath, Bunny is safe and Lavellan and Cullen are back on track. Almost all of Lavellan's friends say she can't redeem Solas and might need to kill him, which makes her job a lot more stressful.

Overall, their year is very busy and very stressful, but I'll be damned if they just stood back and watched their homes fall.

[rabbiaharon]

On the anniversary of the vicious attack against innocent Israeli civilians on October 7th, I would like to go over what I’ve seen to be the feelings of most Jews I’ve met concerning the attack, and also talk about the experience that Jews in the United States (and perhaps worldwide) have had in the time after October 7th.

When you look in the grand scheme of things, there aren’t very many Jews in the world. In fact, we make up just under 0.2% of the world’s population. Statistically speaking, this means that the entire Jewish people could be lost by the margin of error of any given data set. There are nearly twice as many people in the United States who openly identify as LGBT than there are Jews on the planet. As a result, we tend to be tightly connected one with another, and running into a fellow Jew on the street can feel more like running into a long lost cousin, than being introduced to a complete stranger. Most Jews in the world either have at least some extended family or friends living in Israel. Israel is not a jewish state - it’s a secular representative-democracy with a loose Jewish identity due to the majority of the voting pubic being Jewish, but it is occupying our ancestral land, and we pretty much all know someone who knows someone (if we don’t have a personal connection). Gaza, on the other hand, is a terrorist enclave. It is ruled by an internationally recognized terrorist organization (recognized by the UN, the same organization for they brag that they’ve had their statehood “recognized”) who was democratically elected in 2006 by residents of the enclave, and assumed military control afterwards, and has not held a single election since then. This organization glorifies the murder of Jews - not just Israelis - and their charter calls for the total elimination of all the world’s jewry, and the downfall of the western world (including the US and Western Europe), replaced with muslim caliphates. They house military hardware in the basements of schools, and launch rockets indiscriminately from atop UN-funded hospitals. They are known for using human shields, and when their military structures are destroyed by the people they are shooting at, they use the bodies of all the innocent people gathered inside to wage a PR campaign in the news and social media, claiming that they’re the only victims in this conflict. This isn’t my personal opinion, this is well-established fact, and a quick google search or use of a meta-news search tool like Ground News can confirm that.

Last year on one of our most joyous holidays, a group of armed terrorists from that organization breached the border of that secular state and attacked innocent people. Some were teenagers and young adults who were just enjoying themselves at a concert. Some were babies or the elderly, who were killed in their homes, or violated and then killed or taken hostage. The next day, another terrorist organization that had taken control of another terrorist enclave on the north side of that secular state opened fire on that secular state, raining rockets down daily on the cities in the north, killing some, and forcing thousands to evacuate their homes and live in bomb shelters.

Many of us were personally affected by the attack on innocent jews in Israel. There was anger that so many of our own people were killed while just trying to enjoy themselves, or living in their home. Our friends or family who were being held hostage by that savage terrorist organization known for indiscriminate violence and the use of human shields? We wanted them back. Those of us who were paying attention were asking why Israel, which supposedly has one of the best intelligence gathering operations in the world, was blindsided? Why was there - in a country known for its military readiness - was such delay in their response, where it took them as long as 7 hours to begin their response. We wanted to see accountability from Netanyahu and his government, and we wanted to know why Israel seemingly let it happen.

In the midst of our mourning, most of the non-jews who seemed like they were somewhat supportive and open to us - especially in the wake of antisemitism on the right spurred by insane rhetoric by a certain president of the United States - suddenly lost their minds. They showed up to protest at holiday celebrations screaming "from the river to the sea, Palestine must be free" over our prayers. Pro-palestinian protestors have shown up to our places of worship brandishing knives, or baseball bats, or threatening with guns until the police are called. They harass jews on the streets who are minding their own business and threatening Jewish kids on their way to school. They have threatened violence to totally innocent jewry who are unrelated to the entire conflict, and followed through, not unlike the people who first attacked us. This is only the tip of the iceberg - as I have only mentioned the things that have so far happened in my community, and this is not the place or time to delve into it in all the gruesome detail. Suffice to say, my personal experience has been mirrored by jews all around the world who have been at best abandoned by their non-jewish neighbors, and at worst attacked by them, verbally, or physically. This trend has been reflected, of course, onto this website, and antisemitic behavior has long since spiraled out of control. Even as I type this, I am sure that some non-jew will jump onto this post, calling me out for not supporting the people who would be happy to see me dead. The one who does so will be no better than a member of that terrorist organization.

I am not minimizing the tragedy of innocent Palestinian children and parents who have tried to take their families and leave, but have been prevented by their government - or even prevented from emigrating by Israel. They are true victims, held captive by the same terrorists holding our own family and friends as hostages. But for those who voted that terrorist organization into power and have opted to stay and continue to support them? Those who have endangered their children by volunteering them to be human shields, and by teaching them the ways of violence and hatred? They are my enemies, and you should see them as yours too.

[jjmaybankswh0re]

𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐓𝐰𝐨 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝𝐬 ~ 𝐎𝐁𝐗 𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐅𝐈𝐂

Blurb ~ Kalani "Lani" Alora is a 16-year-old Kook born into wealth and expectations, but she's nothing like her perfect family. While her parents push her to fit into their polished world, Lani feels suffocated by the luxury and pressure. Her heart belongs with the Pogues, the real ones who know what it means to survive without trust funds. In a world of opulence and privilege, Lani is ready to break free, even if it means defying her family—and risking everything she’s ever known. Welcome to the Outer Banks. Paradise? Not for everyone. ~

Character description: Kalani "Lani" Alora is a fiery 16-year-old with long brunette hair that falls in waves, framing her sun-kissed face. Her green eyes sparkle with mischief, while freckles dust her tan skin, a reminder of the time spent under the sun. With a button nose and plump lips, her features carry a natural, effortless beauty that contrasts with the polished world she’s expected to fit into. She’s bold, rebellious, and unapologetically herself—someone who doesn’t shy away from breaking the rules or challenging the expectations placed on her.

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, reckless behaviour, mature themes, emotional strain.

Master list

PART 1:

Word count: 11,165

They say the Outer Banks is paradise on Earth. Sure, maybe if you’re a tourist sipping Mai Tais on the beach or some Kook lounging in your second home, pretending life’s just one big country club. But for me, the so-called “paradise” feels like a gilded cage, all shiny on the outside but suffocating once you’re stuck inside. My name’s Kalani Mae Alora, but everyone calls me Lani. I’m 16, wild, reckless, and everything my family wishes I wasn’t.

I’m a Kook by birth. Figure 8 born and bred, raised in a mansion bigger than most people’s dreams, with parents who have more money than love to give. My dad, Douglas Ford Alora, is a big-shot real estate mogul. My mom, Amara Rose Alora, is the state’s top lawyer—because of course she is. And then there’s my older brother, Riley. The golden boy. The pride and joy. He’s everything they want: polished, preppy, and a grade-A asshole. The kind of guy who thrives in the Kook world, where your worth is measured by your wealth and your yacht size.

And then there’s me—the family disappointment. The rebel. The one who refuses to fit into their picture-perfect world. They want me to be a polished pearl, but I’m more like a jagged seashell—rough, untamed, real.

The truth is, I’m not cut out for their world. I don’t belong at their stuffy country club parties or in their suffocating circle of self-congratulatory egos. Honestly, I’d rather gouge my eyes out with a rusty spoon than spend one more minute with the Kooks. They’re all the same—entitled, fake, and so damn boring.

My heart? It belongs on the Cut, with the Pogues. My friends. My real family. The ones who know what it’s like to live paycheck to paycheck, who don’t have trust funds to fall back on but have loyalty in spades. We’re the scrappy, sunburned kids from the south side of the island, where people work their asses off fishing, chartering boats, and doing whatever it takes to survive. They don’t judge me for being a little reckless or having tattoos hidden under my hoodie. They get me. Even Kie, who’s technically a Kook like me, would rather be with us than in the shallow waters of her old world.

But my parents don’t get it. They don’t get me. To them, I’m just a problem to be fixed. I skip school because sitting in a classroom feels like being locked in a cage when there’s an entire world waiting outside. I party because life’s too short to sit still. I drink and smoke and stay out for days because it feels like the only way to breathe.

My mom and dad don’t see the good grades I somehow manage to pull off, or the way my friends count on me when things go south. No, they only see the tattoos I’ve hidden from them (for now), the nights I don’t come home, and the way I refuse to bow to their rules. They threaten me all the time—boarding school, getting kicked out, even one of those wilderness camps for “troubled teens.” But their threats are empty, just like their understanding of who I am.

Coming home always ends the same way: screaming matches that leave the walls trembling and me storming back out, slamming the door behind me. And you know what? I’d rather be anywhere but here. On the beach. In the water. With my friends. Living.

It’s a cycle. A vicious, messy, exhausting cycle. And yet, I wouldn’t change a damn thing. Because out there, with the Pogues, I’m free. Out there, I’m not Kalani Alora, the letdown daughter of the island’s most powerful family. I’m just Lani. Wild, reckless, and alive.

Tonight is the night of the annual Kook party, Midsummers. AKA the one thing I dread most. I stand in the kitchen, my arms crossed, fuming, while my mom stares me down from across the island.

"Kalani, I’m not telling you again. You are going. End of story," she says, her voice dripping with that tone that means she’s done arguing. The same tone she always uses when she’s acting like she’s the one who knows what’s best for me.

I roll my eyes so hard I’m pretty sure they might fall out. "Mom, people less than 3 miles from here still don’t have power, no running water, nothing. And we're going to Midsummers? Do you not see how tone-deaf that is?" I can’t believe this is even a conversation. Hurricane Agatha tore through the island last week, and Figure 8, of course, had its water fixed within hours, not like the Cut where they’ve been waiting for days. The Kooks are all living in luxury, while the Pogues are stuck in a wreck. And all mom cares about is this stupid party.

She narrows her eyes, her lips pressing into a thin line. "Seriously, Kali? I suggest you put on a party face if you want to live." Oh, great. "The dress I picked out for you is upstairs, go shower."

I let out a deep sigh, muttering under my breath as I storm off toward my room. This night is going to suck.

When I walk in, the dress is laid out on my bed like it’s some sort of treasure. It’s pale golden yellow, the fabric shiny but not too in-your-face. The top has a ruched sweetheart neckline—whatever, nothing special. The waist is tight, and then the skirt flows down to the floor with a slit on one side, which is probably the only thing that even slightly grabs my attention. It’s nice enough, but honestly, it’s just another dress to me. A dress I’ll wear because I have no choice, and I'll pretend it’s okay when it’s not.

It’s pretty though. Like, really pretty. But there’s no way I’ll admit that to my mom. At the foot of the bed, there are a pair of white heels—square-toe with an ankle strap. I pick them up, inspecting them like they're somehow supposed to impress me, then set them back down. But then my eyes catch the flower crown resting next to the dress. It’s made of tiny white and yellow flowers, tied together on a brown vine, with a soft white ribbon in the back. It’s cute, I guess. Kind of summery and soft, but definitely not my style. I was expecting something much more “Kook-y,” but this isn’t terrible. I have to admit, it’s kind of nice.

I don’t even know why I’m surprised. My mom is obsessed with making me into some perfect little Kook, and I don’t fit in. I just don’t.

I head into my bathroom, which, let’s face it, is way too fancy for someone like me. It’s huge. So huge, I swear they built it just to make sure I’d never want to leave. It’s "coastal," of course, but not the cool, laid-back vibe I’m used to. No, this is more like a showroom, with white wood, light blues, and grays plastered everywhere like they want to remind me that we have money. The shower’s big enough to fit a small army. Don’t even get me started on the freestanding tub by the window. Like, who actually needs this much space to get ready in the morning? It’s a joke.

I strip off my clothes, looking at myself in the mirror. Staring at the tattoos that my parents can’t stand, but I love. I’ve got a few of them—one on my left wrist, my elbow, under my boob, my hip. I’ve even got one behind my ear and on my lower back. They’re all small, except for the one on my elbow, the one with the words my granny used to say all the time: “Live with fire.” I got it in honour of her last year. She’s gone now, and this tattoo is the only reminder I have of her.

At 16, I’m pretty sure the last thing my parents expected was for me to have 6 tattoos. They only know about the one for granny. They freaked out at first, but after a while, they gave up trying to control me. I know they haven’t seen the others, and I’m not in a rush to show them either. But that'll be a fight for later.

I’ve spent the last week on the HMS Pogue—surfing, chilling with my friends, hanging out at the beach. The tan from my bikini’s a perfect match for the dress I’m supposed to wear tonight.

The warm water in the shower is a welcome relief as I step in, letting it soak through my hair. The overpriced shampoo my mom insists I use smells like coconut and vanilla. It fills the bathroom with this sweet, sickly scent as I work it into my scalp. I rinse it out, then do it again, scrubbing harder this time, just wanting to wash away everything that’s bothering me about tonight.

I just wish I didn’t have to play their game.

Once the shampoo was fully rinsed out of my hair, I grabbed the conditioner. It's that same overpriced stuff my mom buys, and it still smells like coconut and vanilla—sickly sweet and way too luxurious for someone like me. I rake it through the middle and ends of my hair, working it into each strand, making sure every last one gets coated. I don't want any frizzy, tangled mess when I step out of this shower. My hair’s long and thick, so I clip it up with a claw clip, securing it out of the way while I let the conditioner soak in, doing whatever magic it's supposed to do.

I stand under the hot water, letting it cascade down, feeling the weight of it on my shoulders, drowning out everything for a minute. It’s easy to get lost in this. To just be here, in this bathroom that feels like it belongs to someone else.

Next, I move on to my body. I grab the Tree Hut shea sugar scrub. It's the plain one, nothing special, but it smells warm, comforting, like something I could wrap myself in. I scrub it all over my skin, from my shoulders down to my toes. My skin feels soft and smooth, and the scent is almost like a second layer of me, like a little bit of peace before the chaos of tonight. I rinse it off, feeling the roughness of the sugar scrub melt away with the water.

Then comes shaving—legs, my downstairs area, and my armpits. It’s something I do on autopilot, but I can’t help but think about the things I’d rather be doing. The water’s starting to cool a little, but I don’t care. The routine is almost soothing, even though my mind’s a thousand miles away.

Once I’m done with that, I grab the silicone body scrubber, a little worn but still good for scrubbing away the day. I use my body wash—the one that smells like fresh linen, like the kind of clean that’s almost too perfect. It’s like running through freshly washed sheets on a hot summer day. That clean, crisp, airy scent fills the shower as I lather myself up, and for just a moment, everything feels quiet. Not perfect, but quiet. Something I can hold onto, even if it’s just for a few minutes.

I stand there, letting the warmth of the water relax my muscles, but I know the storm’s waiting for me once I step out. The party. The dress. The Kooks. It’s all just another part of this world I’m stuck in.

Once I was done with my body, I carefully unclipped my hair from the claw clip, letting it fall around my shoulders, feeling the conditioner slowly slip from the strands as I washed it out. The water running through it felt like silk, the smoothness of my hair almost surprising me after the mess I had to deal with earlier. I stood there, running my fingers through it, making sure every bit of the thick conditioner was gone, until my hair felt soft and weightless, almost like it was floating. I ran my hands over the ends, making sure nothing was left behind, and it felt so good to have my hair feel that smooth again, free from all the tangles and the heat of the day.

After a few more moments under the water, I made sure I was completely rinsed off—no soap residue, no conditioner, nothing left behind but fresh, clean skin. I turned off the shower, stepping out into the steamy bathroom. The cold air hit me, making me shiver slightly, but the big white fluffy towel I grabbed was comforting as I wrapped it around my body, hugging myself into the softness. I reached for another towel to wrap my hair in, twisting it tightly to soak up the water.

I walked over to the sink, looking at myself in the mirror. My reflection was a mix of wet hair, slightly flushed skin, and the remnants of the tiredness that was starting to show on my face. I grabbed my toothbrush, squeezing a bit of toothpaste onto it, the minty scent hitting my nose as I started to brush. I scrubbed my teeth in slow circles, letting the minty taste fill my mouth as I stared at myself in the mirror. My thoughts wandered, flickering between tonight’s party and the mess of everything that came with it.

Once I finished brushing, I set the toothbrush down and moved on to my skincare. I grabbed the exfoliator first, the gentle beads scraping at the dead skin on my face. I massaged it in small circles, focusing on my cheeks and jawline, feeling the grit of it, the way it sloughed off all the build-up. It always felt good, almost like I was erasing the day from my skin. After rinsing it off, I grabbed the facial wash, the coolness of the gel soothing my skin. I lathered it up, pressing it into my face and working it into a light foam, careful around my eyes. It smelled fresh and clean—nothing overwhelming, just pure. I rinsed that off too, splashing my face with water until it felt like it was completely cleansed, refreshed.

As I wiped my face with a towel, I felt the tension in my shoulders slowly start to release. But I knew it wouldn’t last. The second I walked out of this bathroom, the whole night was going to hit me again. The dress, the heels, the Kooks. I wasn’t ready for any of it. But for now, I was clean, and that felt like a tiny victory in itself.

I walked out of the bathroom and into my bedroom, my bare feet sinking into the plush rug as I headed for my vanity. The towel around my body was pulled snug, a comforting layer of warmth against the cool air from the AC. I pulled the towel off my head, letting my damp brunette hair fall in messy waves over my shoulders, droplets of water soaking into the towel still wrapped around me.

Reaching for my phone, I connected it to my Bluetooth speaker and shuffled my "Getting Ready" playlist. The opening notes of "Chanel" by Frank Ocean filled the room, the smooth melody wrapping around me as I started the process of transforming myself for the night. I set my phone down and grabbed my blow dryer, sectioning my hair and working through it methodically. The warm air flowed through the strands, turning them from wet to soft and fluffy. I ran my fingers through each section as I worked, making sure nothing was left damp.

As much as I hated the idea of Midsummers, there was something satisfying about this part—the routine of getting ready, the self-care, the rare moments of just focusing on myself. For a little while, I could forget the chaos of the world outside and pretend that tonight wouldn’t feel as fake as every other Kook event.

Once my hair was completely dry, I set down the dryer and took a moment to assess it in the mirror. My natural brunette colour had these little golden streaks from all the time I’d spent in the sun, and I knew they’d look even better once I added some waves. I decided to go with something a little softer tonight—nothing too overdone because, honestly, I just wanted to feel like myself. I started by curling my hair into loose waves, letting the brunette strands fall in soft, effortless cascades down my back. It’s that kind of messy-but-pretty look, like I spent hours on it when I really didn’t.

For the top, I pulled back a section of hair into a half-up, half-down style, securing it with a clear elastic so it looked neat but still natural. To add a little something extra, I braided a small strand of hair on one side and tucked it into the pulled-back section. It’s subtle but gives it just the right amount of detail.

The rest of my hair flows freely, the curls catching the light every time I move. It’s simple but sweet, and it feels like me—a little undone but still put together enough to face the ridiculousness that is tonight.

I walked over to my bed where the dress was still laid out, golden and glowing softly in the warm light of my room. I carefully picked it up, the fabric slipping through my fingers like water. Stepping into it, I pulled it up and adjusted the straps on my shoulders before reaching for the zipper at the back. It slid up easily, the dress fitting perfectly, hugging my waist and flaring out gracefully down to the floor.

The slit on the side was higher than I expected, revealing a hint of my tan leg as I moved, but it wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle. I turned to look at myself in the mirror, smoothing down the fabric and adjusting the sweetheart neckline so it sat just right. The pale-yellow colour looked good against my sun-kissed skin, even though I’d never tell my mom she was right about that.

I tied the flower crown into my hair, the soft white and yellow blooms sitting perfectly on top of my styled waves. Taking a step back, I looked at myself in the mirror. I looked... nice. Not like the Kook princess my mom probably wanted me to be, but not like I’d just rolled off the HMS Pogue either. It was a weird mix of both worlds, and maybe that’s exactly where I was meant to be.

I fastened the flower crown into my hair with a few small bobby pins, carefully adjusting it until it sat just right. The tiny white and yellow flowers felt soft and delicate against my curls, like the one part of tonight’s outfit that was actually me. I took a step back to look in the mirror, brushing a loose strand of hair behind my ear. It was pretty, I had to admit, but that didn’t make the whole Midsummers thing any less of a circus.

With a sigh, I sat back down at my vanity, staring at my makeup bag like it might magically do the work for me. I don’t wear full-coverage makeup—ever. Foundation feels like a mask, like one more thing to hide behind in this world where everyone already pretends to be something they’re not. Tonight wasn’t going to change that.

I started with concealer, dotting it lightly under my eyes, just enough to brighten things up and erase the shadows of too many sleepless nights spent thinking about everything I can’t control. My beauty blender bounced softly against my skin, blending the concealer until it melted into nothing. No one needs to know I’ve barely been sleeping; that’s between me and my reflection.

Next was blush—a cream one that I dabbed onto the apples of my cheeks. It was this warm, pinky-orange shade, almost like the colors of a sunset. I blended it out until it looked natural, just a soft flush that played off the tan I’d earned from a week spent on the HMS Pogue, under the sun with my real family. The blush wasn’t just makeup; it was a reminder of who I was, of where I belonged.

I picked up my eyelash curler and paused for a second, staring at it in my hand. It’s funny how something so small can make such a difference, but it does. I carefully curled my lashes, making sure not to pinch my skin. A few quick swipes of mascara later, and my lashes were dark and lifted, but not overdone. I hate when makeup feels heavy, like it’s weighing you down. I wanted to feel free tonight, even if everything else about Midsummers felt suffocating.

Finally, I finished with a pink lip gloss. It was glossy and soft, not too bright, not too bold—just enough to make my lips look like they’d caught the last rays of the golden hour. I pressed my lips together, catching the faint scent of vanilla as I did. It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

I leaned back in my chair, studying my reflection in the mirror. My makeup was simple, natural—exactly how I like it. Light enough that I still felt like me but polished enough to survive the sharp gazes and fake smiles of the Kooks. If I had to play this role tonight, at least I’d do it on my own terms.

And that’s the thing: this whole routine, this whole night, it’s a balancing act. A way of making my mom and dad happy without completely losing myself in the process. It’s exhausting, but I can fake it for one night. After all, I’m good at pretending when I have to be.

I stood up from my vanity chair, letting my bare feet sink into the soft carpet as I walked over to the shelf where my perfumes were lined up, a little too perfectly. Each bottle had its own memory, its own story—birthday surprises, Christmas mornings, or those rare moments when someone got me exactly what I liked without me having to say it. My fingers hovered over the collection before landing on the one I always reach for: Good Girl Blush Elixir by Carolina Herrera.

This perfume is my signature, the one I can’t live without. It smells like everything I want to be—soft but bold, with a mix of rose, vanilla, and patchouli that feels feminine but not too sweet. It’s the kind of scent that lingers, the kind that turns heads. I uncapped it, giving the nozzle a little test spray into the air before aiming it at all the right spots: my wrists, the front and back of my neck, behind my ears. I even gave myself a couple of extra sprays, letting the mist settle onto my skin like a finishing touch. It was intoxicating, warm, and comforting all at once.

Once I was done, I grabbed the white purse sitting on the edge of my bed. It was simple, but it worked—a little clutch just big enough to hold the essentials. I tossed in the bottle of perfume, some deodorant (because these things always drag on), gum, my phone, and my lip gloss. I zipped it up and slung it over my shoulder, pausing for a moment to take it all in.

I walked over to the full-length mirror that stood in the corner of my room, its frame carved with delicate floral details that matched the rest of my overly curated, "perfect" Kook bedroom. I looked at my reflection, taking in the golden dress that clung to me in all the right places, the flower crown perched like a soft rebellion against the polish of the whole look, and the subtle glow of my makeup.

For a second, I almost didn’t recognize myself. Not because I looked so different, but because I looked like I belonged—like I could fit into this world of Midsummers and champagne toasts and whispered gossip. But deep down, I knew better. I wasn’t one of them. This was a costume, a role I had to play.

I smoothed the skirt of my dress, took a deep breath, and tried to push down the knot of nerves twisting in my stomach. "Alright, Kalani," I muttered to myself, my voice steady but low. "Let’s get this over with."

I stepped into the white heels that had been waiting at the foot of my bed, the straps cool against my skin as I fastened the tiny buckle around my ankle. They weren’t anything too fancy—square-toed with a simple design—but they did their job, adding just enough height to make me feel a little more elegant, even if I hated how much it screamed Kook princess.

I took a few steps in them, testing the waters. They were surprisingly comfortable, but still, they reminded me of all the reasons I hated these events. It’s like every detail—down to these stupid heels—was designed to show off, to shout, “Look at us! We’re perfect!” I wasn’t about to trip or wobble, though. If I had to play along, I’d do it on my own terms, confident and unbothered.

Standing in front of the full-length mirror again, I glanced down at my reflection. The heels gave the golden dress an extra edge, the slit in the skirt showing just enough leg to make it look effortless—like I hadn’t spent the last hour pulling myself together. The flower crown softened the look, a subtle reminder to myself of where my heart really was.

I shifted my weight, the faint sound of the heels clicking against the hardwood floor as I turned to grab my purse. They felt like armour in a way, a final piece to complete the picture my mom wanted so desperately to paint tonight. But as far as I was concerned, the moment this party was over, these heels were coming off, and I’d be back where I belonged: barefoot on the HMS Pogue, salt in my hair, with people who didn’t care if I looked polished or perfect.

“Kalani, come down! We’re taking a family photo!” My mom’s voice rang out from downstairs, sharp and insistent. I groaned, loud enough that she probably heard it, stealing one last glance in the mirror. The dress shimmered faintly under the soft light, and the flower crown sat perfectly in place. It was fine—whatever. Good enough.

Turning away, I walked out of my room and into the hallway. The heels clicked against the hardwood floor with every step, a sound that echoed louder than I wanted it to. It felt weird, almost unnatural, like I was pretending to be someone I wasn’t, clacking my way down this house that still didn’t feel like home.

As I reached the top of the stairs, I spotted her—my mom—standing at the bottom, her arms crossed, her lips pressed into a line that said she was in no mood to argue tonight. Her eyes locked on me immediately, scanning me like a hawk. It wasn’t a look of admiration or even casual approval; it was inspection. Like she was checking for flaws, making sure her carefully curated daughter looked the part, up to her unspoken standards of perfection.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, gripping the banister as I descended. The closer I got, the more I could feel her gaze, like a spotlight I didn’t ask for. I hated this—hated how I felt like some kind of doll she could dress up and parade around to make herself look good. But I bit my tongue, let the heels carry me down each step until I was standing in front of her.

She gave a small, tight-lipped nod. “You look... nice,” she said, her voice clipped, like she couldn’t bear to admit that I might actually look good.

“Thanks,” I said, my tone flat, the sarcasm barely masked. I adjusted the strap of my purse, already counting down the hours until this whole ordeal would be over.

My mom was standing there, dressed to the nines in an elegant royal blue gown that hugged her figure perfectly, the kind of dress that screamed wealth and status. It shimmered slightly in the light, and as I got closer, I noticed the intricate beading and embroidery running along the fabric, small, delicate details that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe combined. She had on a matching set of jewellery—a diamond necklace that caught the light every time she moved, earrings to match, and, of course, her giant wedding ring that could blind someone if the sun hit it just right.

I stopped midway down the stairs, my eyes locking onto her accessories, and then it hit me. Jewellery. I completely forgot about jewellery. My face must’ve said it all because my mom’s eyes narrowed slightly, like she knew I was about to stall.

“Oh—uhm, hold on. I forgot to put on my jewellery,” I blurted, my voice slightly panicked as I spun on my heel and started heading back up the stairs. My heels clicked against the steps in a rush, the sound echoing through the massive hallway.

“Kalani,” my mom called after me, her tone sharp with a mix of annoyance and warning, but I didn’t stop.

“It’ll only take a second!” I called over my shoulder, practically sprinting back into my room. How could I forget something so obvious? I mean, sure, I wasn’t thrilled about this whole charade, but if I was going to be forced into the Kook spotlight, I might as well do it right. There’s no way my mom would let me live it down if I showed up looking “unfinished.”

I darted over to my jewellery box, a sleek, mirrored thing that sat on my dresser. I flung it open, the tiny compartments stacked with earrings, bracelets, and necklaces.

I grabbed the gold necklace with the small sun pendant, one of the few pieces of jewelry that actually felt personal. The sun pendant had a tiny white opal in the middle, catching the light in this soft, shimmery way. It wasn’t flashy, but it was beautiful, understated—exactly what I needed. I clasped it around my neck, letting the pendant rest perfectly against my collarbone.

Next were my earrings. I had three piercings in each ear, and I quickly popped in the gold hoops for the first two. The first hoop had a small dangling diamond that sparkled whenever it moved, and the second had tiny diamonds encrusted all the way around. For the third piercing, I put in simple diamond studs—small but bright, like little drops of light against my skin.

For my rings, I went with a mix of delicate gold bands. Nothing too overwhelming, just a few spread out across my fingers in that perfectly imperfect way—skipping some fingers and stacking others just enough to keep it interesting. They were simple and elegant, adding a little extra something to my look without feeling over the top.

Finally, I moved on to bracelets. On one wrist, I clasped a gold tennis bracelet—thin, sleek, and timeless. On the other, I layered two dainty gold bracelets. One had a tiny charm on it, barely noticeable, and the other was just a smooth, minimalist band. Together, they felt balanced, subtle, and, dare I say, classy.

I took one last look at myself in the mirror, adjusting the necklace so the pendant sat perfectly in place. My jewelry wasn’t overdone, and it definitely wasn’t “Kook extravagant,” but it felt polished and put together. This was my version of ready.

With a deep breath, I grabbed my purse off the bed again and turned toward the door. My heels clicked softly as I made my way back out of my room, this time fully prepared to face my mom’s critical gaze and the chaos waiting downstairs.

I walked down the stairs, and as soon as I stepped off the last step, I was met with the familiar impatient expressions of my mom, dad, and Riley. They all looked like they were ready to pull their hair out waiting for me to get my act together. I felt that familiar pressure in my chest.

“Sorry,” I muttered, and honestly, I was. I never liked rushing, especially when I felt like I was being pushed into a version of myself that didn’t feel like me at all.

“Come on, Kalani, we need to get the family photo. The photographer’s waiting for us outside,” my dad said in that authoritative way he always had, ushering me down the stairs with a firm hand on my back.

My heels clicked loudly on the hardwood floors as I made my way down, the sound a little too sharp and hollow for my liking. The click-clack followed me all the way through the grand hallway and out the door. The cool night air hit my face as I stepped outside into our huge backyard, which stretched out toward the ocean. It was a view I’d never get used to, but it always felt like a reminder of how different I was from my family.

The backyard was decorated with hanging string lights that twinkled against the dark sky. The soft glow looked almost too perfect, too curated—like everything in this house. It was the kind of backyard where everything had a place, where even the air felt like it was designed for Instagram photos. The photographer stood nearby, ready to capture every perfect moment, and I could already feel the forced smiles taking over.

The photographer directed us into position, telling us where to stand, how to angle ourselves, and where to place our hands. The flashes of the camera went off in rapid succession, and I couldn’t help but feel like this whole thing was just a performance. The whole family photo, the posed smiles, the way they insisted on making everything look so… perfect.

My dad and brother were in suits—my dad in a dark, sleek black one that screamed "power," and Riley in a more relaxed, but still tailored, light gray one. It was hard not to feel like I was the odd one out in this perfect little picture they had created. My dress, my jewelry, my smile—none of it felt like me. And yet, here I was, standing perfectly still, forced into a moment I knew didn’t represent who I was or what I stood for.

The photographer snapped more photos. One of the whole family, then a few of just me and Riley, some with just my mom and dad. But in all of them, I knew one thing for sure—none of us were really here. Not really.

An hour later, we arrived at the Midsummer party, and I immediately felt the familiar weight of it all. The party was a spectacle of excess—a perfect embodiment of the Kooks’ obsession with showing off how much money they had. It was set on the sprawling waterfront grounds of the country club, where the place practically glittered under a canopy of fairy lights strung through towering oak trees. The lights were warm and inviting, almost magical, but all I could think about was how they reflected off the polished marble floors of the patio, making the place feel like a showroom, not a home.

Elegant tables were scattered across the lawn, their white linen cloths perfectly draped, with cascading floral centerpieces that practically screamed luxury. Servers, dressed in crisp black-and-white uniforms, glided between the guests like they were part of the décor, offering champagne and perfectly arranged hors d'oeuvres. The laughter was polite, the kind that was almost too rehearsed, and the soft clink of crystal glasses mixed with the live band playing in the background, their music flowing like the tide against the nearby docks.

I could already feel the weight of this night pressing down on me. As we walked in, I couldn’t help but notice the Cameron family near the entrance—just a second away from my family’s wealth and, I swear, their closest competition in this weird little game of “who’s richer and more glamorous.” Ward Cameron, Rose Cameron, and their kids, Wheezie, Sarah, and Rafe.

Wheezie was just 13, but she already had that look—the one that said she was going to be just like her older sister, Sarah. Sarah and I were the same age, but we were never on the same page. I used to get along with her, back when I thought being friends with her would help me fit in. But that was before the whole Kook/Pogue divide hit me like a ton of bricks.

The air between me and Sarah was thick with tension. Kie and Sarah used to be best friends—used to, being the key word. That’s when I thought I could be part of their world, too. But things fell apart, like everything with the Kooks always does. And now here I was, walking into another perfect little moment, watching them pretend everything was fine, knowing full well it never would be.

I looked over at Riley, who was already making his way toward Rafe Cameron with his usual “I’m one of you” swagger. I wished I could be that detached, that easygoing about this whole thing. But instead, I felt like I was slipping into a role I never wanted—like I was just another cog in their polished machine.

As we made our way deeper into the crowd, I tried to keep my distance, but it didn’t take long for the inevitable interactions to begin. Topper was the first to spot me, his signature smirk already plastered on his face as he leaned against a nearby pillar.

"Kalani," he said, the way he said my name made it sound almost like a joke. "Nice to see you actually made it." His eyes scanned me up and down, lingering just a little too long on the soft flow of my dress before settling on my face. He was always like that, like he could never fully decide if I was beneath him or if he should pretend I was someone he liked.

“Topper,” I said, forcing a smile, trying to keep my tone neutral. "What's up?" I wasn’t in the mood for his usual small talk, but he was the kind of guy who just had to fill the silence with something.

He chuckled, taking a sip from a glass in his hand—was it whiskey? I couldn't tell. But whatever it was, it was making him that much smugger. "I don’t know why you bother with these Kook parties," he said, taking another long drink. “You know you don’t belong here, right?”

My chest tightened, but I kept my posture straight, pretending it didn’t affect me. "And yet, here I am."

Topper raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed by my lack of a reaction. "Hmm. I’ll give you that." Then, without another word, he walked off, probably to find someone else to annoy or charm.

I let out a deep breath and tried to move past the awkwardness, but of course, Kelce was there to fill the silence. He clapped me on the shoulder like we were best friends, even though we definitely weren’t. "Looking good, Kalani," he said, a little too enthusiastically.

"Thanks, Kelce," I muttered, trying to dodge his gaze, but he wasn’t done.

"You know, I bet you’re more fun when you’re not being all... Kook-y," he said with a grin, clearly trying to joke but coming off a little too eager.

I felt the blood rush to my face. Kelce was the type of guy who always thought he knew everything, especially when it came to people’s lives. And maybe I hadn’t been as good at hiding things as I liked to think. "I’m not really in the mood for your jokes tonight," I said, walking past him quickly. I could feel his eyes on my back as I moved away. He didn’t get it. They never did.

And then there was Riley, my older brother. He was talking to Rafe now, laughing at some joke I didn’t care enough to overhear. Rafe had always been a problem, but tonight it felt like he was more of a shadow than usual, lurking around the edges of everything. He was dangerous in the way that you could never be sure what side he was on or what game he was playing.

As I made my way toward the edge of the party, I couldn’t help but notice that the tables were littered with half-drunk glasses, abandoned champagne flutes, and half-empty cocktails. The temptation was unbearable. My throat felt tight as I scanned the crowd, looking for an easy target—someone who wouldn’t notice, someone who wouldn’t care.

I found it quickly—a half-drunk glass of something pink, a sweet little cocktail with a tiny umbrella sticking out. It was sitting alone on the edge of a table, the owner nowhere in sight. Without a second thought, I picked it up, took a quick sip. It tasted like sugar, something fruity with a sharp kick. I felt the warmth spread through me almost immediately, and I couldn’t help but sigh. It was like the world around me softened, the harsh edges of the night going blurry. For a second, I felt good, not so out of place, not so suffocated by everything I couldn’t stand.

I didn’t even think about where the glass had come from, who it belonged to, or how many people had touched it before me. I just took another sip, and then another. The feeling, the way the alcohol settled in my chest, made everything a little easier. I didn't care about the Kooks, about Topper, about anything. For once, I was just floating.

It was easy to get lost in the moment, to let the party's chaos carry me away. But just as quickly as the high hit, I realized how deep I was in it. I had to keep it together—keep it all together—because if anyone noticed, it could all fall apart. I didn’t want to be that person. But at the same time, I didn’t want to be the person I was supposed to be either.

I set the glass down, feeling the familiar sting of shame creeping up my neck. The night was just beginning, and I already knew I was going to need more to survive it.

I turned away from the drink station quickly, shaking off the buzz that was creeping in. I didn’t want to think about it too much. I wasn’t going to let myself slip—not here, not now. I knew how to play the game—keep my cool, stay in control. Even if it meant lying to everyone around me, including myself.

But as I walked across the lawn, I spotted Sarah Cameron by the drink station. She was laughing with a few of her friends, looking every bit the perfect Kook in her dress. She noticed me almost immediately, and for a moment, our eyes met across the space.

It wasn’t that I hated Sarah—honestly, we just didn’t click anymore. We’d been close once, back when everything felt simpler. When Kie and I hung out with her, before the weight of the world had shifted and split us apart. Now, it was like we were in two different worlds, drifting in and out of the same spaces, but never really connecting.

"Hey, Kalani," Sarah called out with a smile, her voice easy and warm. It wasn’t fake—just… distant.

"Hey," I replied, offering a tight smile of my own, but I could feel that strange distance between us. I wished we could go back to how things were before it all fell apart, but it wasn’t like I could pretend everything was fine. Not anymore.

Sarah’s eyes scanned me up and down, a flicker of something passing through her gaze. "You look really nice," she said, her tone genuine. "The dress suits you."

I felt the weight of her words, and for a second, I almost wanted to thank her. But something inside me held me back. She was being nice, but that old sense of betrayal—of everything we used to have slipping away—was still there, lingering between us.

"Thanks," I said quickly, brushing it off with a half-smile. "You look great too."

Sarah nodded, her smile softening, but she hesitated for a moment. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was a reminder of everything that had changed. The old closeness we’d shared was just… gone now.

"So, are you enjoying the party?" she asked, trying to make conversation, her tone still light.

"Yeah," I lied. "It’s fine."

She nodded again, glancing over at the crowd, then back at me. "I know things were weird between us for a while," she said, catching me off guard. "But it’s nice to see you again. I hope you’re doing okay."

I looked at her, really looked at her. She wasn’t trying to start something, or stir up drama. It was just... two people who had shared something once, but it had fizzled out. Her words felt sincere, and for a second, I almost wanted to say something back. To acknowledge it, maybe even apologize for how things had turned out. But I couldn’t. Not yet.

"Yeah," I said quietly, my gaze dropping to the grass at my feet. "I’m good."

Before Sarah could say anything else, I turned, heading back toward the side of the yard, away from the crowd. I needed a moment to breathe. It felt like everyone was looking at me, judging me, even though I knew they weren’t. I couldn’t shake that feeling of being out of place, though.

As I walked, I spotted a table with a few half-drunk glasses of champagne sitting on it. Without thinking, I reached for one of the glasses and took a sip. The sharp tang of the alcohol hit my tongue, and I didn’t care that it wasn’t mine. The rush, the warmth spreading through my chest, made me forget for a moment that I was still stuck in this strange in-between world.

Riley must’ve seen me, because he was suddenly at my side, his hand on my arm, his face serious.

"Hey, what’s going on?" he asked, his voice low. "You okay?"

I just shrugged, trying to act like everything was fine, even though it wasn’t. "Yeah, I’m fine."

Riley looked at me for a moment longer, like he could see right through me, but he didn’t say anything else. Instead, he just gave me a small, almost resigned nod, as if he knew what was really going on.

And for a second, I felt seen. But then, just like that, the moment passed, and the world kept spinning around me.

I didn’t want to be here. But here I was.

But something caught my eye almost immediately.

JJ.

I stopped in my tracks, squinting through the crowd. Was that... him?

He stood at the edge of the patio, fiddling nervously with the collar of his shirt, wearing a black suit and a bowtie that looked about as awkward on him as a fish out of water. I walked over, pushing my way through the crowd.

"JJ?" I called out, raising my voice to be heard over the noise.

His head whipped around, eyes wide with that familiar cocky grin that was more for show than anything.

"Kalani, what's up?" he said, his voice a little too loud and obviously trying to sound casual.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, giving him a once-over. "You look like a waiter, not like yourself."

He laughed, shrugging with that nonchalant ease I’d come to expect from him. "Yeah, well, I'm here to deliver something. John B needed to give Sarah a note. So, here I am—waiter JJ, at your service."

I raised an eyebrow. "A note for Sarah?"

JJ pulled out the crumpled paper from his pocket and handed it to me, looking around the party like he was trying to make sure no one saw him. I opened it, and my eyes skimmed the scrawled words:

Meet me at bag drop - Vlad

I looked at JJ, confused. "Who’s Vlad?" I asked, my voice low.

JJ just shrugged again, his eyes darting across the room, clearly nervous. "John B wouldn’t tell me. But I’m telling you, Kalani, John B’s definitely mackin' on Sarah Cameron. No doubt about it."

I blinked, trying to process what he’d just said. Mackin'? John B and Sarah?

"Seriously?" I raised my eyebrows in disbelief. "You’re telling me John B is hooking up with Sarah Cameron?"

"Yup." JJ nodded, giving a grin like he was proud of the gossip he just dropped.

“Your serious?” I say, handing the note back to JJ.

“Dead serious.” He says with a nod, taking the note and putting it back in his pocket.

I look at JJ for a moment, unsure of how to respond. His face is all scrunched up in that mischievous way he gets when he’s trying to be sly, and I can’t help but smirk. Of course, JJ would be involved in something like this. "So you’re really doing this, huh?" I ask, raising an eyebrow. "Pretending to be a waiter at the Kook’s fancy party just to get a note to Sarah?"

JJ shrugs, looking around like he’s making sure no one’s watching. “Hey, someone’s gotta do it, right? Besides, what’s the worst that could happen?” he says, flashing a grin that doesn’t exactly match the nervous energy swirling around his eyes. “Besides, John B owes me one. This is gonna be fun.”

I roll my eyes. "Yeah, fun. Just try not to get caught, okay?"

“Caught?” He scoffs. “Please, I’m practically invisible in this suit.” He adjusts his bowtie, puffing out his chest like he’s some kind of undercover agent. I just shake my head, already imagining the mess he’s going to cause.

Before I can say anything else, he’s already slipping into the crowd, blending in with the other Kooks, who are too busy with their champagne flutes and fake smiles to notice the trouble brewing. I turn away, the sound of the party rising up around me again.

I just want to be anywhere but here. But there’s no escape tonight. Not when my family insists on dragging me through their charade, pretending like everything’s perfect.

The next few minutes pass in a blur of laughter, music, and clinking glasses. I find myself wandering the edge of the yard, away from the crowds, just trying to catch my breath. That’s when I see it—a table set with half-empty glasses of champagne. Without thinking, I grab one, taking a long, deep sip. The alcohol burns down my throat, but for a second, it’s a relief. The warmth spreads through my chest, a nice contrast to the ice-cold feeling that’s been eating away at me all night.

“Kalani,” a voice calls out, snapping me out of my haze. I turn to see Riley standing behind me, a concerned look on his face. “What are you doing?”

I try to act casual, but I can tell he’s already seeing through me. “Nothing,” I mutter, waving my hand dismissively. “Just needed a drink.”

He eyes me for a long moment, his gaze intense, and I can’t help but feel like he’s seeing something I’m not ready to show. But after a few seconds, he doesn’t say anything more. Instead, he just steps closer, his hand gently touching my arm, like he’s trying to ground me.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asks, his voice low.

I nod, even though I don’t feel okay. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just... just not feeling it tonight.” I glance down at my heels, feeling like they’re the only thing holding me up at this point.

Riley doesn’t push me. He just stands there for a moment longer, his presence a silent support, before he steps back, nodding once. “Alright, well, if you need anything, you know where to find me.”

I watch as he walks off, swallowed up by the crowd, and I’m left alone with my thoughts again. For a brief moment, I feel like I can breathe again. But then, I hear it—a loud laugh, followed by shouting.

I turn, and that’s when I see JJ. He’s being chased.

It’s chaos—Rafe, Topper, Kelce, and a few others are barrelling after him, pushing through the crowd like they’re on a mission. JJ’s suit jacket flaps as he tries to sprint away, a wild grin on his face like he’s somehow enjoying this.

I glance around, trying to figure out what’s going on, but before I can piece it together, I see Sarah. She’s watching the scene unfold, a small laugh escaping her lips as she talks to a few other people nearby. I don’t know why, but I feel a little guilty—like somehow, this mess is my fault, even though I had nothing to do with it.

I glance back at JJ, still dodging the group chasing him, and can’t help but shake my head. Whatever chaos this night’s going to throw at me, it’s only just beginning.

I freeze when I hear JJ’s voice—loud, brash, unmistakable—cutting through the hum of conversation like a knife. I turn just in time to see him being hauled out by the security guard, who’s doing his best to look authoritative but failing miserably as JJ’s antics draw more attention than anything else happening in the room.

“Look—hey look man! I got legs, I can walk myself. Can you see that, brother?” JJ’s voice is grating, defiant, but there’s a weird sense of humor in it too, like he’s playing some sick joke on the entire party.

The crowd around us stirs in shock, gasps echoing through the air. I can see some of the Kooks shaking their heads in disgust, tsking under their breath. My parents aren’t far behind, their expressions a mixture of confusion and irritation.

I don’t know why, but I feel my stomach drop. The scene is embarrassing—so embarrassing—but I can’t look away. I know JJ’s out of place here. He’s not even supposed to be here.

The security guard pulls JJ right past me, and for a second, our eyes meet. His grin is wide, almost too wide, as if he’s enjoying the chaos he’s causing. I can tell he’s acting out, getting under the skin of everyone here just because he can. He’s never been one to shy away from drama, even if it means making a spectacle of himself.

“Alright, I really appreciate whatcha did back there, but let me just walk myself out,” JJ says to the security guard, his tone dripping with sarcasm. The guard doesn’t respond, just yanking on his arm in an attempt to hurry him along.

As they pass, JJ stops at a table, and I can’t help but feel like I’m witnessing some strange, surreal moment. He pats an old man on the shoulder, someone I barely recognize but who’s definitely a fixture at these Kook events—Mr. Dunleavy, I think his name is.

“Oh! Mr. Dunleavy, I see you got your drink,” JJ says with exaggerated cheerfulness, looking completely out of place in the fancy surroundings. The old man just looks at him, clearly bewildered, and nods, unsure of how to respond to this drunken interloper.

“Good that’s really nice for ya. I’m actually gonna down that-“ JJ, not waiting for an invitation, grabs Mr. Dunleavy’s whiskey glass. Without a second thought, he lifts it to his lips, downing the entire contents in one swift motion. The way he swallows it with a satisfied grin on his face almost makes me laugh, but I hold it in.

JJ slams the glass back down onto the table with a dramatic thud that echoes across the patio, drawing even more stares from the guests. The security guard, still holding onto his arm, continues to drag him through the crowd of Kooks like a stubborn bull being led to slaughter. JJ groans loudly, probably feeling the burn of the whiskey, he just downed, followed by an enthusiastic "Woo!" that cuts through the hum of the party, making heads turn.

“I really appreciate the discretion, Darel, ya know?” JJ says, slurring slightly but maintaining his cocky demeanour. The security guard, Darel, looks utterly unamused as he pulls JJ past a table of laughing guests.

“It’s okay, everybody! Do not panic,” JJ calls out to the crowd with a huge grin plastered on his face, his voice loud enough to be heard over the music. He throws his arms wide, like he’s hosting some twisted show. “Let’s leave it to the men and women in uniform, huh?” He claps his hands together as if this is some grand performance, his words laced with more sarcasm than sincerity.

A few of the Kooks laugh nervously, unsure of whether they should be entertained or appalled. I’m not sure which one I feel.

JJ, still soaking up the attention, scans the crowd until his eyes land on Rose Cameron. He points at her across the yard like he’s spotted a celebrity in the crowd, a wild grin spreading across his face.

“Rose!” he shouts, waving a hand at her, as if he’s the life of the party and everyone should be on his wavelength. “You look like Lady Liberty!”

Rose, wearing a spiky gold crown that indeed looks eerily similar to the Statue of Liberty’s, looks both confused and mildly flattered, unsure whether to be offended or impressed. Her eyes widen a little in surprise, but she manages a polite smile and a small wave, trying to keep her cool.

The crowd’s attention is now fully on JJ, some people chuckling nervously, others shaking their heads in disbelief. This is a scene straight out of a bad reality show, and I can’t help but feel embarrassed for everyone involved.

I catch a glimpse of my mom and dad, both of them visibly tense, their faces a mixture of frustration and confusion. I can already tell this is not the kind of drama they wanted at their perfect little party. I feel a pit form in my stomach, a sense of dread creeping over me as I realize that no matter how hard I try, I can’t escape the mess of my life. It’s everywhere, even here, even tonight.

I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, my palms sweating as I stood there, staring at the security guard who still had a firm grip on JJ’s arm. The crowd had quieted down, some of them looking at me, waiting to see what I would do next. My parents’ disapproving stares were like daggers in my back, but I couldn’t back down. Not this time.

"Let go of him!" I snapped, my voice tight with frustration. The words came out sharper than I intended, but I didn’t care.

Behind me, I heard my dad’s quiet, warning “Hey,” but I didn’t turn around. I didn’t care about his tone right now. I just couldn’t stand seeing JJ getting dragged through the crowd like that.

"You can’t just boot him out!" I said, louder this time, directing my words at the security guard, who had stopped walking but still had a firm grip on JJ’s arm.

My mom’s fingers dug into my arm, pulling me back a little, her presence almost a physical reminder of the Kook world I was always forced to be part of. I knew she was about to intervene, probably with some polished apology and a few well-placed smiles, but I couldn’t let that happen. Not now.

"Excuse me, ma’am?" The security guard asked, his tone polite but firm, like he had dealt with spoiled brats and their tantrums a thousand times before.

"I invited him here," I said, my voice coming out even more steady than I felt. I didn’t care if it was a half-truth. JJ wasn’t some random guy crashing the party. He was a part of my world too, in his own messed-up way.

Behind me, my parents’ voices overlapped, both of them whispering at once. "Kalani, stop it," my mom said sharply, her voice tight with worry.

"Stop," my dad muttered, his tone lower, but no less insistent. He was probably afraid this would spiral into more drama than they could control. But I wasn’t stopping. Not now.

"I’m a member of this club," I said, my hand outstretched, gesturing towards myself as if the words alone could somehow fix this situation. As if that would make everything okay, make JJ’s presence here less of a threat to their precious image. But it didn’t.

The security guard paused, his gaze flicking to my parents, who were now standing behind me, clearly uncomfortable with the direction this was going. His grip on JJ loosened slightly, but he didn’t let go completely. The tension hung in the air, thick and suffocating.

"Kalani, please," my mom tried again, her voice low, but I could hear the desperation in it. She wanted this night to be perfect. She wanted nothing to disturb the image they had so carefully cultivated. But I wasn’t like them. I wasn’t going to pretend everything was fine when it wasn’t.

I stood my ground, staring at the security guard, who was still holding JJ like he was some unruly guest.

I watched as JJ shoved the security guard off of him with surprising ease, sending him stumbling into a small group of Kooks, who gasped and looked at him in confusion. JJ, as always, was unbothered. He barely even paused, turning to the security guard with a casual, "Sorry about that," before his attention shifted back to me.

"Hey, mandatory power hour at Rixons, Lani," he called out to me, a wicked grin spreading across his face as he pointed at me. My stomach churned—Rixons was a run-down shack by the docks, the last place my parents or any of the Kooks would ever set foot. But that was exactly what made it the perfect place for us. For the Pogues.

He glanced over at Pope, who had been working behind one of the food stands with his dad all night, and waved him over. "Pope, you as well, all right?" JJ shouted, already backing away, his excitement growing.

"Rixon’s cove. Let’s roll!" JJ finished, lifting his arm in the air like a triumphant leader, and I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. The way he always made everything sound like some kind of rebellion was a little ridiculous, but honestly, it was part of what made him so... JJ.

Pope, still standing there frozen, blinked at JJ, probably unsure if he was serious. But I knew the look. I had seen Pope wrestle with his conscience before, torn between doing the right thing and the pull of the chaos we always found at Rixons.

JJ wasn’t waiting for an answer. "Alright, Lani, come on!" he shouted again, a playful challenge in his voice. He raised his arm, wrapping it around his wrist like he was trying to make some kind of statement, and then grinned at me. "Workers of the world unite! Throw off your chains!" he shouted, quoting some random revolutionary slogan he probably read on a T-shirt or in a book he barely understood.

It didn’t matter what he said, though. The invitation was clear. JJ was already planning the next adventure, the next way to escape this fake world of perfection that we had to keep pretending we belonged to. The night was still young, and as much as I tried to ignore the consequences, I found myself looking at him with that familiar urge to leave everything behind.

The tension in the air was thick, my parents' voices rising behind me, but I didn't care. My mom's hand reached for my arm, her grip firm as she tried to pull me back.

"You can't hang around these kids—" My dad's voice cracked through the chaos, but I couldn't take it anymore. I yanked my arm out of my mom's grasp, my heart pounding.

"I'm sorry," I muttered under my breath, though I wasn’t sure I meant it. The words sounded empty. I could hear my dad yelling after me—"Hey! Hey!"—but it only spurred me on. My mom's voice echoed in my ears too, a warning, but I kept pushing past the crowd, making my way toward the edge of the party.

John B, JJ, and Pope were already making their move. John B was standing just a few feet from JJ, his eyes scanning the crowd, but I didn't care. My eyes were locked on JJ, and as I sprinted toward him, I could feel the weight of everything I was leaving behind—the judgment, the expectations—falling away.

JJ saw me coming, a grin spreading across his face. He didn’t wait for me to reach him. Instead, he started walking backwards, arms outstretched like he was calling me to him.

And just like that, I was in his arms, throwing myself at him. JJ caught me easily, lifting me up off the ground with a laugh, spinning me around like we were the only two people who existed. I buried my face in his shoulder, laughing too, feeling the rush of freedom in my veins as he twirled me around.

For a moment, everything was perfect—no fake smiles, no Kooks, no pressure. Just us. Just the Pogues. We were escaping the world we didn’t belong in, even if only for a few hours.

JJ set me down, still grinning, his hand brushing my hair out of my face. "Thought you'd never get here," he said, his voice warm with amusement. "Welcome to the escape, Lani."

I smiled back at him, shaking my head, but I couldn’t stop the excitement from bubbling inside me. "You know I can't stay away."

As we turned to walk away, I could hear the faint sound of my parents still yelling behind me, but it felt like it was coming from another world. JJ, Pope, and John B were already ahead, moving with purpose toward Rixons. I caught up with them, the night stretching out before us, and for the first time in a long time, I felt like I was where I was meant to be.

Master list

[vals-sims-world]

Hey guys! Thank you so much for all the love you've given to my Sims versions of Merlin and the knights!

Since there's interest in my Merlin save I will be sharing some stories about what's been happening in that world. However, before I do I feel I need to explain the way I play this save since it's not your standard Sims 3 fashion. I typically play rotationally, spending a week with each family before moving on and using nraas story progression mod to keep everyone from aging while I'm not there. My nraas setup also keeps sims from changing their relationship status or progressing in their careers when I'm not playing them but they can meet new sims, make friends, declare enemies, and start up a bit of a flirtation on their own. I like coming back to a household and seeing what dynamics have formed when I leave them to their own devices, though I get the final say on what romantic interests they end up pursuing.

Now that's just my standard setup for most of my games. For my Merlin save I decided to add some interest by using Merlin characters for my own version of The Medieval Charter Challenge! For those unfamiliar The Medieval Charter Challenge is basically a sims 2 build-a-kingdom challenge where you start with a small settlement and slowly build your world up until you have a medieval city. There are a lot of rules including a tax system and class structures that I'm not going to go over but if you're interested you can check out the original rules here For those of you who are familiar with the challenge just know that I've tweaked some of the rules to fit better with the sims 3 and I don't always follow them strictly. I treat them more like guidelines than actual rules, especially since I'm using pre-established characters, some of which have magic which opens up excuses for all sorts of shenanigans. So if you see me doing something that doesn't follow the rules don't worry about it.

Mainly what you need to know is that I started with an empty world, 3 households who are not part of my rotation but are there to help populate the town (druid camp, knights barracks, and the Ladies' manor), 5 peasant families (du Lac, Smith, Hopper, Emrys, and Ealdor), 2 Yeomen families (Macken and De Grance), and the royal Pendragon family. As my save is currently I have 9 community lots, 3 peasant families (Hopper, Ealdor, Oliver), 1 yeoman family (Emrys), 1 Merchant family (du Lac), 1 Gentry family (Macken), 1 Noble family (De Grance), and the royal Pendragon family that have all dramatically changed as they intermarried, had kids, built up their businesses, and rose in the ranks.

My plan is to make a post on each of these families explaining their story. This will take time though as I plan to give you guys family portraits, before and after tours of their homes, any screenshots I happened to have taken while playing, as well as writing out the twists and turns of their tales. So please bear with me while I sort that out.

In the meantime here's some screenshots of some shippy poses I did with my sims that aren't part of the save

Tagging those who expressed interest in knowing more about my save (let me know if you want me to tag you in future posts about this): @tansyuduri @building-camelot @chairwiththreelegs

[secular-jew]

A Dose of Clarity on the Palestinian Storyline

~~ By Valerie Sobel

Whenever Western media, Western governments, Israel, or anyone draws an intentional disconnect between the Palestinians and Hamas, a myriad of lies and warped presumptions are activated.

The political correctness machine, invented by liberals but operated by everyone today with respect to the current war in the Middle East guarantees 100% detachment of the poor Palestinian and his cause from terrorist Hamas. But the cost of this on-going theatre is egregious intellectual corruption; a complete reversal of truth and entire revision of Middle East history.

If Hamas is, indeed, a rogue terrorist regime under which the poor Palestinian is suffering, are we to erase all irrefutable knowledge and evidence of the following?

1. Palestinians elected Hamas as their ruling government in the year 2007 by an overwhelming majority. In their charter, Hamas boldly states aspirations to wipe Israel of the face of the earth in not one but 36 separate articles.

2. Before Hamas, Palestinians produced one Yasser Arafat who founded the art of terrorism and airplane highjacking. No amount of concessions and negotiation with this father of terrorism, for decades, convinced the Palestinians to adopt a two-state solution for peaceful co-existence.

3. Before Yasser Arafat, Palestinians produced another leader, Mohammed Amin al-Husseini, the Mufti of Jerusalem who actively worked against the UN’s two-state solution platform of 1948, led the 1920 Nebi Musa riots against the Jews in the very Jewish Palestine, and established himself as an ally in Fascist Italy and Nazi Germany. During World War II he collaborated with both Italy and Germany by making propagandistic radio broadcasts and by aiding the Nazis recruit 25,000 Bosnian Muslims for the Waffen-SS. The more Jews killed the better for this Palestinian also. On meeting Adolf Hitler, he demanded Hitler opposes the establishment of a Jewish national home in Jewish Palestine.

4. Since the failed Oslo Accords of the 1990s, more 2400 Israelis have been killed or wounded in terror attacks by the Palestinians.

5. Beside popular Hamas membership, Islamic Jihad, The Palestine Liberation Organization (PLO), Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine (PFLP), Fatah, Tanzim and Muslim Brotherhood -all made up of “innocent” Palestinian citizenry.

6. Palestinian children, from nursery age are systematically taught to regard Jews as the infidel enemy who took their land. Schools employ maps where Israel doesn’t exist. Children are instructed to kill Jews, join ISIS and Hamas for the glory of Islam. This is proudly exhibited to the world as a moral duty for young Palestinians.

7. Palestinian children are also reared for martyrdom by their parents and families. Islam’s promise of eternal life with 72 virgins and the favour of Allah is the goal of life, not life itself. Highest honor is given to families of martyrs who execute Jews.

8. Palestinian families are paid a monthly stipend for life by the Palestinian Authority when a family member is martyred in the duty of slaughtering Jews. It is estimated out of 2000 Gazan terrorists who came into Israel on October 7th to behead, burn alive and kidnap - one half (1000!) were Palestinian citizens who were promised 17,000 shekels and up for broken limbs, rapes and savage killings. For every person kidnapped, they were promised an apartment.

9. Kibbutz Kfar Azza was entirely penetrated and terrorized by scores of Palestinians on foot, on bicycle and motorcycle for the job of massacring babies, children and anything that moved. This was documented in vivid color by a CNN reporter, Hassan Eslaiah.

10. Maps of Sderot police station (first venue of slaughter), homes, businesses and everything inside, including what the family dog looks like and where the safe rooms are….information all meticulously collected by 20,000 regular Palestinians entering Israel on permits to work daily. Without these details provided by everyday Palestinians allowed to enter Israel on goodwill, Hamas had no way to execute the massacres.

11. For as long as the Palestinians have invented themselves as Palestinians to illegitimately lay claim to Jewish ancestral land Romans called Philistine…they have publicly cheered and celebrated every Jewish death. Whether it’s candy distribution or singing and dancing or setting the Israeli flags on fire. The elation at Jewish suffering is generational and feverish and has nothing to do with Hamas origins.

12. Palestinians are first and foremost Sharia Law Muslims of the Quaran. They are no different than the 22 Arab states surrounding Israel that share no love loss for Israel simply because it exists. For Islamic law, the very existence of Israel is diametrically opposite to Quran’s instruction of slaying Jews “wherever you can find them”. Or Qurans’s 177 instructional statements that Jews are “descendants of apes and pigs” and must be slayed.

13. Every sign of millions of Palestinians on the streets of Europe and America today that reads “from the river to the sea” is from the Palestinian charter of driving Israel into annihilation. Every mouth that utters it is calling for the explicit desire for Jewish extermination.

What’s happening today is simple; this is a religious war. It is NOT terrorism. It is certainly no land dispute. It is Jihad in the name of Allah. And every government of the western world knows it.

So why the continued farce of separating and detaching the Palestinians and their “cause” from known history, from Hamas, from Islamic Jihad, from Fatah, from PLO, from Tanzim and PFLP, all Palestinian groups aiming at Israel’s annhialation?

Because an admission of truth will, perish the thought:

a) Delegitimize the UN at its core

b) Force European nations and the US to admit utter failure of decades of foreign policies

c) Force a myriad of civilized countries to quit financial aid to the Palestinians, hence admitting billions of dollars of taxpayer theft.

d) Elucidate the fallacy and fraud of that two-state solution, which was invented by the west (prior to the establishment of the State of Israel in 1948) in order to appease the 22 Arab states. But more importantly…

e) Will immediately unite the Arab world, including nuclear Iran, in a war against the west. This very real and justified fear of Islam and its 2 billion followers who believe in the supremacy of the sword, in beheadings, rapes, massacres and annihilation of western civilization in the name of Allah is palpable. This very basic of human emotions, fear, is the catalyst for every lie, for all the theatre, for all the fraud around the fabricated Palestinian victimhood. It will continue to the end of time until Islam’s demographical strength reaches a critical mass for the destruction of an entire society of Judeo-Christian culture. And then, and only then, truth will be allowed, Islamophobia will be understood not as racial discrimination but as a rational fear rooted in evidence and posing an immediate threat to our existence. And finally, that survival-of-the-fittest meter will begin ticking.

As for Israel and the Jewish plight - the sacrificial lamb, the Jews will continue to repeat “Never Again!”through every atrocity, every raging antisemitic-crime statistic, every American campus pro-Hamas rally with “Kill The Jews” signs, every Jihad war, every Palestinian stabbing and every missile launched at Tel Aviv…until the end of time. Mindlessly parroting something that has never been true, because there is simply no other hope.

Until the west finds its balls against Islam, nothing changes. Western governments’ and media’s established theatre of lies and fraud narratives for the Palestinians and their cause …IS the very manifestation of real justified Islamophobia. Until the west feels an immediate threat to its survival, no matter how many times Israel screams “You’re next!”, nothing changes.

[sterina-sims]

Sul sul! I'm living for your medieval charter posts. Could you please explain how the challenge works? And possibly how to set up such a flawless medieval style neighborhood? Thank you 😃

Sul sul! 😊 Thank you so much! I'm thrilled that you're enjoying my medieval charter posts. Ok, this is a daunting question, but I'll do my best to explain how the challenge works!

How the Challenge Works

First off, here's the MTS thread from the original creator of the challenge. I've also re-uploaded the document here for convenience/easy reading.

The Medieval Charter Challenge is all about building a medieval-style community from the ground up. You start with a small group of sims and gradually expand your neighborhood, adding different types of lots and families as you meet specific goals. Here's a quick rundown:

Create Your Founders: In CAS, create a Royal Steward (single Sim; they won't be played until a monarch is crowned), 4 peasant families, 2 yeoman families, and 1 gentry family (the head of this household will be the Squire). Move any secondary adult males into their own homes within the same social station, and assign farming and artisan trades accordingly. Create 1 group of 4-8 adult males (military barracks) and another of 4-8 adult females (almshouse), as a pool of eligible sims for marriage.

Seasonal Play and Taxes: Play each family for one season, stopping at the first Quarter Day (this is the first day of a season) to assess and pay taxes, tithes, rent, fees, and fines to the Royal Steward using Christianlov’s Wallet Controller.

Growing Your Settlement: Track the Treasury Funds. When the total reaches $5000, add a communal well, village green, and hedge tavern. At $8000, add a church with a cemetery and a weekly market.

Leveling Up: The levels are as follows: settlement (starting point) -> hamlet -> village -> town -> charter city. Each level has fiscal and infrastructural requirements, as seen above. As you continue through the challenge, you collect enough taxes to build the necessary lots and add more families, thereby growing the settlement. The challenge is completed once you reach the level of charter city and crown a monarch.

Setting up Your Medieval Hood

Use the Lot Bin: With regards to building, create 1 peasant hovel, 1 yeoman house/farm, 1 gentry manor, and so on. Save these residential lots to the Lot Bin for future instances when you'll need the required type of home. There is A LOT of building that goes with the challenge, so save yourself the trouble by doing this. The lots can be personalized for each household afterwards.

Communal Spaces (pro tip!): This is my nth time doing this challenge, and so, I suggest staring off with a village green or communal well (or both). It goes against the original MCC rules, but I say this because it gives your sims can have a place to meet and mingle with other settlers, and a break from monotony of staring at the same four walls.

Hood Decor: Hood decor is truly fabulous and can completely change the look of your neighborhood. I would suggest deco grass, deco rocks and cliffs, deco fields and/or flower fields, especially if excessive tree use slows down your game.

Custom Content: Invest in some good medieval custom content, including clothing, furniture, and architecture. Sites like Plumb Bob Keep, Mod The Sims, and Tumblr creators have lots of medieval-themed downloads. I have listed the majority of the mods, hacks, and custom content on my side blog's resource page.

I hope this helps you get started! Feel free to ask if you have more questions, and I'd love to see your progress if you decide to give it a try. Happy simming! 😃

[vivalas-vega]

new perspectives / jake ‘hangman’ seresin x reader / part three

things are happening !!!! jupiter meets the gang !!! things are starting to line up but I just hope they can make it work...

drops of jupiter is literally her and jake’s song, I don’t make the rules I just enforce ‘em. as always lmk what you think and if you want to be added to the taglist!

new perspectives / jake ‘hangman’ seresin x reader / part three

add yourself to my taglist

prologue - one - two

word count: 4.4k

warnings: language, drinking, a smidge of jealousy, a very cheesy moment at the piano but I could not help myself

The days were passing by in a blur, a monotonous blend of the same thing day after day… You were fighting to stay focused but a few days of mild cases and routine patients had you double and triple checking each chart before entering a room to make sure you were keeping everybody straight. You were officially entering the lull period of your residency where attendings gave you a long leash and let you take the lead, and you were even getting out of work at a decent hour which allowed you to start up a workplace romance with the hospital's forensic pathologist. You’d met him in the bar a few weeks ago and he didn’t take offense to the fact that you didn’t call him by his name, which was Blake, but rather Dr. Death, and he simply thought it was cute when you said he was the reaper and forced him back down to the basement anytime he tried to visit you during the day for fear his energy would affect your patients and send them circling down the drain. At first you’d tried to find something wrong with him, like really truly searched for red flags but there just weren’t any. 

He was supportive and encouraging, definitely wasn’t hard on the eyes, and was endlessly understanding of your work schedule because he endured the same difficulties. You’d sneak out of the hospital late at night and go to that 24 hour diner a few blocks away where you would load up on fries and milkshakes, meet for lunch over soggy cafeteria pizza and surprise each other with a cup of coffee when you could. He waited until the third date to take you home and for some reason you’d hoped he would be terrible in bed because then at least you would have a reason to call the whole thing off but he wasn’t and all of your friends got along with him if they overlooked the fact that you were slumming it with a basement dweller… a fact that never went unchecked by either of you with the reminder that he did in fact go to medical school like the rest of you. 

He was good, and you were seemingly happy yet you couldn’t really figure out why you hadn’t told Jake about him… you’d been seeing each other for two months now (you wouldn’t go far as to say you were in a relationship yet) and it was something you had chosen to leave out of every facetime or phone call. It just never felt like the right moment, talking about your dating lives was really the only thing you two struggled with, it always felt awkward and in a way you felt like you were cheating on Jake. Logically you knew you weren’t, logically you knew (through Coyote) that he was a bit of a ladies man and made his rounds wherever he was stationed that month but it just wasn’t something you ever talked about. Which was why as you sat in the Chief of Surgery’s office early one morning you felt a pit develop in your stomach when he let you know you’d be headed to San Diego for the day.

“UCSD got your fellowship application and they were very impressed… I spoke with their Chief and they’re requesting you for the day, I reckon they’re about to woo you,” he chuckled. “You’ll take the hospital’s charter and return tomorrow evening, you leave in an hour,” he said and you just stared at him in shock.

“Woo me, sir?” you asked and he nodded.

“You’ll spend the day in their facilities, get the lay of the land and meet the Head of Trauma, they’ll likely let you scrub in on something cool… they’re putting you up in a nice hotel in Coronado on the beach and giving you tomorrow to explore the city, likely in hopes of you falling in love with the San Diego lifestyle,” he said and you were still looking at him skeptically. “This is the part where all of your hard work starts paying off, Jupiter. This isn’t going to be the first hospital that tries to get your attention but they’re certainly hoping to be the last,” he said.

“But sir, I have patients… I’m supposed to take Mrs. Murphy in for her-”

“You’ll still have patients when you get back, go… maybe have a little bit of fun,” he said with a smile and you nodded as you left his office. Having fun wasn’t something you really did often, your life existed within the walls of this hospital. For you, fun was cutting people open and maybe you could constitute what you were doing with Blake as fun but you really thought of it as more of a time filler.

And they’d done exactly what he said they would… you were given a tour of the hospital by an overly eager resident (who had a million questions for you about the clinical trial you’d worked on with your Head of Neuro during your second year) and you learned cutting edge trauma techniques during a GSW surgery that you’d only read about in medical journals all before they sent you packing while the sun was still out to get settled in your hotel and see everything San Diego had to offer you. Jake was still here, he’d returned from his mission a few weeks ago and there was talk about keeping him and all the other pilots that were recalled for the detachment here permanently as a squadron while teaching new recruits at Top Gun. You changed out of the scrubs you’d been wearing since Boston and showered, throwing on a sundress and sandals before walking out of your hotel and strolling along the beach… Following your phone's maps you knew you were only a few minutes away from the bar where Jake told you he spent most of his time nowadays and you dialed his contact, hoping he was around and not up in the air somewhere.

“Hey angel, perfect timing. I just got to the bar, man it was a crazy day at work today,” he said and you could hear the chatter in the background as he greeted Penny and ordered a beer.

“Yeah? Tell me all about it,” you said and you listened as he went on about a new recruit who reminded him a lot of himself but not in a good way, mentioning something about almost losing total control of his jet and taking Phoenix out and you shuddered as you imagined it, stopping right in front of the entrance and taking a deep breath. “Hey, what was the name of that bar you’re always at?” you asked, a soft smirk playing on your lips as you walked in and recognized the group of pilots around the pool table from the photos he sent you.

“The Hard Deck, why?” he asked as you made your way through while praying you weren’t in his line of sight and you saw him leaning against the bar with his back to you and you leaned against a beam a few feet away.

“Huh, that’s weird… I just walked into a bar called the Hard Deck, must be a coincidence,” you said, doing your best to sound nonchalant.

“The Hard Deck? In Boston? That doesn’t make any… are you fucking with me?” he asked and you stifled a laugh.

“I don’t think so? Yeah, there’s this red neon sign out front, a lot of coffee cups hanging from the ceiling which is an interesting design choice,” you said as you watched his head tilt upwards, “a lot of people in khaki. Actually… there’s this guy at the bar wearing the hell out of a khaki uniform that I think might be cute but I can’t really tell, he’s got his back to me… do you think I should make a move?” you asked and he turned around slowly as if he was in a horror movie expecting the killer to be right behind him and you were worried his face was going to split in half from how wide he smiled when he spotted you. He was crossing the distance in an instant, wrapping his arms around you and lifting you off the ground as you giggled.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he asked, squeezing you tight. 

“I was at UCSD for the day getting the star treatment,” you said a touch dramatically as you threw your hair over your shoulder. “Thought I’d surprise you.” 

“Well I am certainly surprised, what do you want to drink?” he asked and you shook your head.

“In a minute, I’m quite liking this surprising people thing…” you said, walking over to the pool table where Coyote was so thoroughly invested in the shot he was lining up he didn’t even notice you.

“What’s a girl gotta do to get a drink around here?” you sighed, leaning against the edge of the table and ignoring the confused looks from the other pilots… 

“Well, give me a moment here darling… I’d be happy to oblige once I win this game,” he replied and you chuckled at the suave voice he’d put on to try and impress you, still not realizing who you were. “Holy shit, Jupiter?” he said after he sank his shot and you laughed as he pulled you in for a hug. “What are you doing here?”

“Thought I’d come see what all this Top Gun nonsense was about,” you replied and he brought his hands up to cup your face and squish your cheeks.

“It’s been far too long, what are you drinking?” he asked, already halfway to the bar and you called out beer after him. 

“The Jupiter?” the dark haired woman you recognized as Phoenix said, sticking out her hand and introducing herself. “Those two talk about you so often I honestly thought you were a myth at this point.” 

“I’ve heard a lot about you too… thank you for keeping this one’s ego in check,” you said with a laugh as you gestured to Jake and he just rolled his eyes at you.

“Someone has to,” she muttered before going around and introducing you to everyone else and you smiled as they all eagerly hugged you, seemingly you were already a part of the family with how often Jake and Coyote mentioned you. “Rooster’s around here somewhere, you’ll meet him eventually.” 

“Okay, tell me all about UCSD,” Jake said, directing you to a chair and you filled him in on all the details… maybe leaving out a few about the surgery at first but Bob had appeared out of nowhere and expressed an interest in the gory details which you were happy to share, and Jake took that opportunity to excuse himself when Coyote brought you your drink and challenged him to a round of pool. His friends were great, they asked a lot of questions and hung onto your every word when you answered and they were thrilled to tell you all about their lives as pilots.

“This could be good for you two,” Phoenix said when the two of you found yourselves alone standing by the window overlooking the beach, “did Hangman tell you we might be getting permanent stations?”

“He mentioned it, but definitely downplayed it,” you answered and she nodded.

“It’s looking more like a serious possibility now,” she said and your eyes brightened, “this is the best squad I’ve ever been a part of… if you overlook half of what Hangman says,” she said and you chuckled. “Turns out the bigwigs feel the same and want us to instruct at Top Gun permanently in between deployments.” You tried to temper your excitement.

“I’m sure you’re all loving that idea… might be nice to officially call someplace home,” you mused.

“We’re all excited… besides, the last mission really bonded us, I don’t know if I could just go back to my old squad after that.”

“He didn’t tell me much, assumed he couldn’t, but from what I hear it looked like a few of you weren’t going to make it back for a minute?” 

She nodded, “Rooster and Maverick, Hangman is actually the one who went after them and saved them,” she said and you turned to look at her with wide eyes. “Disobeyed orders too, surprised the hell out of all of us. He’s a jackass but if you ignore all the bravado he’s kind of a good guy,” she said, “but don’t tell him I said that.”

“Your secrets safe with me,” you chuckled before excusing yourself to grab another drink. You knew from Coyote that Jake had a bit of a rough exterior when it came to work and was often off putting to a lot of other pilots and you were happy to see that he was finding a place here, dropping some of the ego and making real connections. You met Penny who gave you your next round on the house despite how you tried to protest and just as you were about to rejoin the group you came face-to-face with a tall redhead who had an annoyed expression on her face.

“You’re Jupiter?” she asked and when you nodded tentatively you could have sworn she scoffed. “Look, I’m just going to be blunt… Do I need to be worried about you and Hangman?” she asked and you were truthfully stunned and glanced at Penny who gave you a look that seemed to say tread lightly. 

“I’m sorry, you are?” you asked.

“Hannah, he and I are kinda…” she trailed off and you nodded in understanding. You looked her over once more and felt your heart twist as you did, if you looked past her somewhat aggressive disposition she was absolutely stunning. 

“Got it, no you have nothing to worry about… just childhood friends, I’m actually seeing someone back home,” you offered, hoping it would appease her and it seemed to because she disappeared back to her friends and you shook your head in disbelief, tossing back the tequila and smiling at Penny who was already pouring you another. “Thank you,” you said.

“No problem… that happens all the time, there’s always some kind of turf war happening in this bar over the pilots… especially Hangman,” she said and you nodded softly as she went to serve other customers. This shouldn’t hurt, you knew this already but it didn’t do anything to ease the sting or stop the nauseous feeling that took hold in your stomach.

“You’re seeing someone?” You heard Jake ask from behind you and you turned to meet his eyes, letting out a sigh as you did so.

“Kind of? It’s not serious,” you shrugged and really it wasn’t a lie… you weren’t exclusive with Blake, you knew he might want to get there eventually but you weren’t yet. “Didn’t know you were seeing someone,” you added.

“Kind of… it’s not serious,” he repeated your words and you nodded, taking your next shot and looking over to Coyote.

“Your pool partner is beckoning you,” you said and he looked you over, trying to decipher if you were mad or not but he couldn’t tell and honestly neither could you. You had no room to be jealous, you were doing the exact same thing he was. Maybe you were jealous that he wasn’t confronted with it, Blake was just an idea all the way across the country while Hannah was just a few yards away shooting daggers in your direction… you nodded encouragingly, silently telling him to go back to his pool game and you watched as he did so as you leaned against the bar. 

The rest of the group was smiling and laughing, playing darts or engaged in conversation and you thought about how easy it would be if you could just slip in here… you knew you still had to entertain the offers from other hospitals but choosing San Diego just seemed natural and obvious. Your ears perked up as you heard the jukebox suddenly cut out and the sounds of someone tinkering with the keys of the piano and you followed the noise to the end of the bar where you saw a man with a questionable mustache and a rather loud Hawaiian shirt sitting. “You must be Rooster,” you observed and he looked up at you slightly.

“You must be Jupiter,” he shot back, “the girl who has captured everyone’s attention tonight,” he said as you smiled and leaned against the piano.

“I have a tendency to do that,” you chuckled, listening as he switched gears and you recognized the opening notes of Drops of Jupiter, and you let out a loud laugh. “Oh, don’t do it...” you said, trailing off and he just smirked at you, one that you were sure had reeled in a lot of girls before, and it even would have worked on you if you didn’t have Jake to worry about on the other side of the bar.

“Now that she’s back in the atmosphere with drops of Jupiter in her hair,” he started singing and you couldn’t keep the smile off your face as he looked up at you with mischief in his eyes, nudging your leg with his and encouraging you to join in but you just shook your head. “Come on, don’t leave me hanging,” he said before starting the chorus and you begrudgingly sang along with him, maybe a little out of key but it didn’t seem to matter. The rest of the bar had started to move towards the piano and you had an inkling that this was a regular occurrence in this bar. Rooster seemed to have this natural pull to him, almost like gravity as your new friends circled around you and joined in.

But tell me, did you sail across the sun? Did you make it to the Milky Way to see the lights all faded, and that heaven is overrated? And tell me, did you fall for a shooting star? One without a permanent scar and did you miss me while you were looking for yourself out there?

Across the bar Jake was watching you with an unreadable expression on his face as you danced and sang with his friends, and while you were lost in the moment as you lead the bar in song with Rooster he was abandoning his conversation with Hannah mid-sentence and walking towards you on no accord of his own… you had your own gravitational pull, and when you met his eyes he felt like nothing else in the world truly mattered. Not when you looked that beautiful, not when you and Rooster had the whole bar eating out of the palms of your hands. He couldn’t take his eyes off you, and you couldn’t take your eyes off him as he leaned against a beam and smiled that classically Jake smile at you. When you looked away it was to laugh with Phoenix as Rooster really played up the moment and put his whole heart and soul into it and you thought to yourself that this was what you wanted.

Can you imagine no love, pride, deep-fried chicken? Your best friend always sticking up for you, even when I know you’re wrong? Can you imagine no first dance, freeze dried romance, five hour phone conversation, the best soy latte that you ever had and me?

These were the moments that you were missing… and it wasn’t because you didn’t have the time back home, you could make it if you wanted to. It was because you never felt like you could truly let go of yourself until Jake was around, you didn’t know how to relinquish control and go with the flow unless you were in his orbit, knowing that he was watching over you and these were the moments you craved. You wanted more nights in this bar, with these friends and with those green eyes watching you.

But tell me, did the wind sweep you off your feet? Did you finally get the chance to dance along the light of day, and head back toward the Milky Way? And tell me, did you sail across the sun? Did you make it to the Milky Way to see the lights all faded, and that heaven is overrated? And tell me, did you fall for a shooting star? One without a permanent scar and then you miss me while you were looking for yourself?

The bar was trying to stay in time with Rooster as he ad-libbed the ending but truthfully it was just chaos as you danced with Phoenix and laughed with Coyote as somewhere Bob was recording the whole thing. You wrapped your arms around Rooster’s shoulders as he finished and placed a kiss to his cheek, “thank you,” you whispered into his ear and he nodded after giving your arm a squeeze. You lifted your head to see Jake still looking at you and you made your way through the throng of people, giving him a look that said are you coming? as you slipped out the doors. You kicked your shoes off and set them beside one of the picnic benches before walking out into the sand and you heard the bar doors open and shut behind you… you didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked and you chuckled.

“I didn’t fly all the way across the country to not get my feet wet,” you answered, turning around to face him as you continued walking backwards. “Gonna join me?” you asked before running towards the water and he just watched for a moment.

“Ah, hell,” he muttered, pulling his boots off and abandoning them in the sand as he rolled his khakis up as high as they would go and chased after you. The water was biting on your ankles and you laughed as Jake caught up and wrapped your arms around your waist, lifting you off the ground.

Inside the bar the jukebox had been turned back on and the group had gone back to their usual spots before catching a glimpse of the two of you out there splashing around in the water and laughing under the moonlight and soon they were crowded around the window to watch.

“You mean to tell me that’s Hangman out there?” Payback asked in disbelief.

“Can you blame him?” Rooster asked, “if she wasn’t the Jupiter I’d be doing anything I could to get her to look at me like that,” he said, overlooking you beam up at Jake.

“The real question here is how are they not together?” Phoenix asked and Coyote shrugged.

“They were a long time ago… They broke up before college because they knew it was going to be impossible to stay together.”

“What a load of shit, they are so in love,” she replied with a faux-gag and Hannah scoffed behind them, coming to see what they were all looking at.

“I knew it,” she muttered and Phoenix shot her a glare.

“Just go home already,” she said exasperatedly and the boys all stifled their laughter.

“Oh come on, you guys are shameless,” Bob said as he returned from the bathroom. “Let them have their moment.” 

“I’m sorry about Hannah,” Jake said as you settled in the sand and you just shrugged.

“It’s okay… I’m sorry about Blake,” you replied and he shook his head.

“I want you to be happy.”

“I want you to be happy, too,” you said, turning your head to face him.

“Are you?” he asked and you pondered this for a moment. 

“I don’t know… I’m happy right now,” you offered and he nodded. “I really like it here… and you might be stationed here permanently?” 

He sighed, “maybe… I don’t want you making any career decisions on my behalf,” he said and you looked back to the water.

“I know.” It fell silent between you two as you both watched the waves. You really were happy right now, you’d known the other pilots officially for a handful of hours but you felt like you were better friends with them than Holly or anyone else back in Boston… you’d come out of your shell and you felt like you were at home. You knew he was going to encourage you to at least hear out any other offers from other hospitals, and you knew that you should but you just didn’t want to. Even if Hannah was someone permanent and even if you didn’t really know where the two of you stood you wanted to be here. “Would it be such a bad thing if I did choose San Diego because of you?” you finally asked.

“I don’t know… I just don’t want you missing out on other opportunities,” he answered.

“They made me a really good offer,” you said, turning to look at him and he raised his eyebrows questioningly. “The salary is way above a standard fellows, they basically greenlit my rural health initiative, and offered to cover my relocation costs, a mortgage allowance and to absorb all of my loans,” you said and his eyes widened. “Even if I consider other hospitals all they’ll be able to do is try and match that, and it’s a really good hospital… you being here is just kind of the final thing that makes it perfect.”

“If you took me out of the equation and another hospital offered you the same, would you take it?”

You shrugged, “I don’t know. San Diego was my number one before I even knew you might be here permanently.” 

He nodded, “don’t get me wrong, I want nothing more than for you to be here but I just want you to consider all of your options.”

“I know,” you said, refocusing on the water. “But I just don’t think making a decision because of you would be a bad thing.”

“I didn’t say-”

“You kind of did.” you cut him off, “and I get it… I wouldn’t want you doing the same for me but… Hannah? That sucked, and I know it didn’t feel good hearing me say I was seeing someone,” you said. “I just… I’m tired, Jake. I had more fun tonight than I’ve probably ever had, I can see myself living here and I just don’t want to have to justify that to you because you think I should keep my options open.” 

“I’m sorry,” he said, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and you leaned into him. 

“Everything has been hard… the last ten years of my life have just been hard and I’m finally in a position where I can do something that would make everything so much easier so if that’s what I decide to do just… let me, okay?” 

“Okay,” he said, holding you tight as you let your eyes drift closed. “I’m really proud of you, Jupiter.”

“I know…” you said, twisting your neck to look up at him. “I’m really proud of you too...”

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[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Hamza Howidy, Palestinian from Gaza City

Published: Apr 25, 2024

Protests are spreading across the United States at college campuses, where university students are gathering in the name of Palestinian rights and occupying campus spaces with tents. Sadly, not everyone who purports to support Palestinians is truly interested in safeguarding our rights.

It pains me to say this as a Palestinian from Gaza. As my home is destroyed and too many killed, I never thought I would find myself criticizing those speaking up. And yet, I cannot be silent about what I am seeing. The truth is that the manner in which many gather to voice their support for Palestinians does more to hurt our cause than help it.

You know what would help the Palestinians in Gaza? Condemning Hamas' atrocities. Instead, the protesters routinely chant their desire to "Globalize the Intifada." Apparently they do not realize that the Intifadas were disastrous for both Palestinians and Israelis, just as October 7 has been devastating for the people of Gaza.

They should be speaking up for the innocent victims of Hamas—both Palestinian and Israeli. Instead, they endorse Hamas's ideology with posters announcing resistance "by any means necessary" and chants of "from the river to the sea," effectively glorifying the Al-Qassam brigades, Hamas' military wing, whose ideology is entirely based on the elimination of more than 6 million Israelis from the land.

I assumed individuals who initiated these slogans were uninformed about what they were advocating for. I saw the LGBTQ flag frequently flown among people chanting lines from Hamas's charter, and I initially wanted to educate them, to warn them that the group they are honoring would most likely toss them from the top of a building or murder them like they did to Mahmoud Ishtiwi, a Hamas commander accused of homosexuality. Hamas harasses women who don't cover their heads. Hamas tortures those who demonstrate against their authoritarian rule, as they did me when I protested.

All of this seems to be lost on the people who have named themselves our allies, to our misfortune.

Hate speech on college campuses starting with the one at Columbia has recently reached a frightening pitch. I've seen people yelling antisemitic things at Jewish students, including "Jews go back to Poland" and other horrible phrases. It has deteriorated to the point that Jews are no longer attending university classes due to the current hostile environment, and they are attending their classes online to avoid the demonstrators.

It's unconscionable. But it's not just the antisemitism that has me despairing. It's the hypocrisy. Where were these caring young people when Hamas took over Gaza and slaughtered hundreds of Gazans, or when Hamas held 2 million Gazans captive for more than 17 years? Why didn't they speak out about the fact that Hamas led Gazans into this conflict, which resulted in more than 30,000 dead and 80,000 injured, according to Gazan municipal authorities? Where were they when Hamas's failed missiles claimed the lives of hundreds of Gazans on October 17, or when Hamas murdered young people in order to steal aid and resell it to Gazans at massively inflated prices?

The only conclusion that can be drawn from these demonstrators' silence concerning Hamas' atrocities and their antisemitic chanting is that they are not concerned with protecting Palestinians. They are out in their tents because of a hatred of Jews and Israelis.

As a Gazan and as a Palestinian, I want the protesters and the organizers of these protests to know that their hateful speech harms us. The Jewish person or Israeli you are intimidating during your rally may be the granddaughter of a Holocaust survivor or a family member of an Israeli slain or abducted by Hamas on October 7. These folks would be your partners if the protests were about achieving lasting peace and justice for Palestinians and Israelis.

I do not accept hateful speech or terrorist chants, and all of these foolish dreams about eradicating Israel are disgusting—and will never be achieved. Both of us—Palestinians and Israelis—are here to stay.

But the protesters aren't interested in peace. Some of the groups have been blocking Palestinian peace activists like me—and I am from Gaza, the very place they claim to care about! Instead of blocking peace activists, they should be inviting us to join these protests and guide them in the right direction—a place without hatred with a focus on calling for the release of the hostages who have been held captive by Hamas for more than 210 days.

If the protesters cared about Palestinians, they would have one central demand: Hamas must surrender, because we have all suffered from Hamas and can no longer live under the rule of a terrorist group. Only then can a ceasefire be achieved.

Hamza Howidy is a Palestinian from Gaza City. He is an accountant and a peace advocate.

==

Told you so.

I've been calling these protestors "pro-Hamas" not "pro-Palestine" for months. I've invited dozens to condemn Hamas and none of them will. The "ceasefire" they want is for Israel to surrender so Hamas can murder them all, as they've consistently promised to.

Imagine people who pretend to want a "ceasefire" not just chanting for "intifada" (violence) and celebrating barbarous Islamic terrorism but blocking actual Palestinian peace activists. This was never about peace. It still isn't. They're useful idiots whose antisemitism is being used by Islamic supremacists to undermine western society.

[taylovelinus]

every single time i see some goober on instagram (or here on tumblr for that matter) demonizing jews and israel, all I want to ask is:

1) what is your opinion on indigenous rights?

2) are jews white?

3) have you read hamas’ founding document (their 1988 charter)?

because these really get to the root of their hypocrisy. these so-called leftists always claim to support indigenous rights and land back movements until it comes to jewish people, because they have a fundamental lack of understanding of jewish history, jewish ethnic and racial ancestry and identity, and the relationship between jews and that land. (also it shows how American-centric their worldview is that they see this conflict almost exclusively through an overly-simplistic lens of color, wherein they see jews as white/white europeans and palestinians as a generalized, vague group of people of color who are only ever victims instead of as a complex group of people with their own history, culture, and identity). and you KNOW they haven’t read the charter because they sincerely believe this is all solely about “liberation from oppression” and have no idea about the very real and very violent direct, explicit antisemitism that is the very basis for Hamas’ ideology. their original charter completely denies that jewish people originate from the very same land they claim to originate from; they say that they only way for the three abrahamic faiths to coexist peacefully is under islamic rule and regulation (which if you know literally anything about how jews and christians were treated under dhimmi status you’d know that they were treated as second class citizens at best); They directly cite this verse from the quran as justification for a holy war against the jews — "The Day of Judgement will not come about until Moslems fight the Jews (killing the Jews), when the Jew will hide behind stones and trees. The stones and trees will say O Moslems, O Abdulla, there is a Jew behind me, come and kill him.” (and don’t even get me started that the charter also explicitly states that women are valuable to the movement... but only “because they are makers of men” and because they stay home and rear the children.) I’ll concede that their 2017 revised charter states that they have “no problem with the Jews”, however this is moot when you can easily find video after video of young children saying explicitly that they want to kill Jews (yahood) and eradicate them from the land. these kids aren’t being taught to separate Jews and Israel/Zionism like Hamas leads people to believe (like they have convinced you westerners to believe); make no mistake, it’s not about cleansing the land of only "zionists", it is about eliminating all jewish people, denying their equal claim to the land, and denying their autonomy and right to self-determination.

i strongly, STRONGLY disagree with israel’s policies towards palestinians. i fucking hate Netanyahu, i hate his cronies, i hate that they court the far right in israel, i hate everything regarding how they have handled and continue to handle this entire conflict. and EVERY single other jew i know feels the same way. but jews have been stepped on and abused and slaughtered by their muslim/christian/pagan neighbors for literally thousands of years at this point. they were murdered en masse within living memory (and updated estimates put the death toll of the Holocaust at somewhere between 10-12 million, by the way. we are still finding mass graves in eastern europe all the time). jews deserve to govern themselves and live in their historical ancestral homeland. palestinians also deserve to live in peace and security, and israel has a responsibility to ensure that. but i will never ever support the complete erasure of the state of israel because i fundamentally believe in jewish sovereignty and indigenous rights, regardless of how much time they’ve been away, especially considering they were forced out and into a diaspora -- their leaving the land was not their choice. if the notion of jews standing up and making a space for themselves and ensuring their security upsets you, then perhaps the world should have actually treated them as human beings instead of slaughtering them. if we say that antisemitism is part of this conversation, and that the antisemitism should be condemned, and your first instinct is to either deny or deflect, you really need to examine your own antisemitism and how you have been thinking about this.