#Cash Carraway

[conte-olaf]

Da leggere assolutamente. Da avere. Una voce incredibile, la nostra voce.

[carmenvicinanza]

Cash Carraway

https://www.unadonnalgiorno.it/cash-carraway/

Cash Carraway, scrittrice, performer e attivista britannica.

Definita dal Times La nuova voce di una generazione ha creato e scritto la serie HBO Rain Dogs tratta dal bestseller autobiografico Skint Estate.

La sua è una narrazione cruda e onesta della vita nei quartieri poveri di Londra.

Nata il 6 gennaio 1981 a Penge, sobborgo nella parte sud-orientale di Londra, quartiere disagiato in cui ha dovuto affrontare, sin da piccola, situazioni difficili in una realtà di povertà e criminalità.

Rifugiandosi nella scrittura e nell’arte, ha potuto raccontare di se stessa e delle persone che vivono ai margini, ignorate dalla società.

Cacciata di casa dalla madre quando era ancora minorenne, ha avuto una vita deragliata alla costante ricerca di un amore, un tetto, un lavoro. Ha incontrato un uomo violento che l’ha messa incinta e, picchiandola, le ha intimato di abortire. Selvaggia e incazzata, scriveva per siti che pagano in base alle condivisioni, per mangiare ha rubato cibo nei supermercati, fatto la spogliarellista e venduto il suo corpo, nonostante il pancione.

La sua scrittura è denuncia sociale e lotta per giustizia e equità.

Il primo amore è stato il teatro, ha iniziato come attrice e, nel 2001, ha iniziato a scrivere e recitare in sketch comici, la sua prima opera teatrale, The Last Peepshow in Soho le ha dato la possibilità di pubblicare un libro che è diventato subito un caso editoriale.

Nel 2019 è stato dato alle stampe Skint Estate: A Memoir of Poverty, Motherhood and Survival, tradotto in Italia col titolo La porca miseria.

Un romanzo vero, ironico e tagliente, la Bibbia disperata e sarcastica della working class del Terzo Millennio.

Un libro punk lucido e ribelle su speranze tradite, su vite come vuoti a perdere. Una denuncia forte che l’ha consacrata voce autentica e potente nella letteratura britannica contemporanea.

Importante è il suo impegno su questioni come povertà, accesso all’istruzione e violenza sulle donne.

Voci anonime avevano urlato al plagio, tanto da portare The Guardian a indagare sul suo conto per frode letteraria.

Dopo aver dimostrato l’autenticità del suo libro di memorie, in un’intervista, ha sostenuto: “Non sono stata trattata come una scrittrice ma come qualcuna che ha venduto la sua storia a un tabloid. Ho scoperto che scrivere è davvero lo sport più pericoloso per una donna della classe operaia e per questo ho deciso che non pubblicherò più nulla di autobiografico.”

Ha anche scritto e diretto il film della BBC L’Opera del Lavoratore, presentato in anteprima al Glasgow Film Festival del 2022.

Cash Carraway è una voce dissacrante e fuori dal coro, che scandalizza quando racconta cosa significhi essere una reietta della società in una Gran Bretagna in cui i prezzi delle abitazioni sono aumentati sette volte più velocemente dei salari medi, che i proprietari di appartamenti non vogliono più inquilini con sussidi per l’alloggio, anche se con un lavoro a tempo, pieno come lei.

Utilizza un’ironia feroce quando racconta la miseria quotidiana di una madre single destinata soltanto a pulire latrine e vivere in stamberghe piene di topi.

Si è guadagnata un’occasione di riscatto, ma non può certo dimenticare da dove viene e cosa ha patito per diventare quella che è e per questo continua incessante il suo attivismo per una società a dimensione di tutte e tutti.

[suchananewsblog]

Stream It Or Skip It: ‘Rain Dogs’ On HBO, Where A Woman And Her Daughter Navigate Her Crazy Life

TV loves to give us shows about “found family.” Some of them may be relatives, but usually it’s friends, or at least friends in a dysfunctional relationship that has each other’s backs in interesting ways. A new HBO/BBC series has one of those families. RAIN DOGS: STREAM IT OR SKIP IT? Opening Shot: We pan down from the London skyline to a housing project. “The thing is, bubs, if you lead an…

[annasvinyl]

Rain Dogs (2023-) created by Cash Carraway

[grcetxt]

When your money makes you money What's the well-to-do, to do But buy another pony with the interest they accrue? While right across the bay they're making fortunes on the go Over there, the rich are 'riche' And the money is 'nouveau'

Oh, the nouveau riche are reaching for the sceptre of the kings And some are high above us You've got Gatsby pulling strings Faster and faster, no slowing them down Lucky boy, you got the hottest ticket in town A whole new ruling party and your neighbour wears the crown

New money Young, rich and wild, revelled, reviled You can't stop that New money Filling your pockets, spend it while you got it Heaven knows if it'll last (new money) Watch it as it goes (new money) Watch it as it go-go-goes (new, new money) Ba-da-ba-ba-ba!

In West Egg, there's no nest egg (oh-oh-oh-oh) No need to sit and brood (oh-oh-oh) On piles of cash (oh-oh) They spend their stash at shocking magnitude! (Oh-oh-oh) The kind of wealth you gotta see to believe (oh!) A level of luxury that's hard to achieve (oh!) No, I don't wanna live here but I never wanna leave Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh!

New money Young, rich and wild, revelled, reviled Don't you want that new money? Filling your pockets, spend it while you got it Heaven knows if it'll last (new money) Everything top shelf (new, new money) Can only top itself (new, new, new money) Ba-da-ba-ba ba-ba-ya! New money!

High roller, comin' through! (Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh) Ram-bam-da-bo do-bo da-bo ow!

New money When it's scanty New money Up the ante Ooh, ooh, butter me honey Tonight, I'm on a roll (tonight, I'm on a roll)

Wolfshiem! Hey, kitten! (New money) Wanna blow on my dice? (Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh) Are you kidding? I wanna throw 'em! Whoo!

New money Lucky sevens New manna From the Heavens Ooh, ooh, butter me honey Tonight, I'm on a roll

Ha-ha, who's the schoolteacher? (New manna) This is Nick Carraway I see you looking at my cuff buttons (new money) Finest specimens of human molars (new manna) (Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh)

Who was that? That's Meyer Wolfshiem He fixed the World Series You can meet anyone at these parties

So when do we find Gatsby? (Oh-oh-oh-oh) Can you point him out to me? (Oh-oh-oh) I've never even met him (oh-oh-oh-oh) The man's a mystery Every night it seems his notoriety grows I wonder if he's even at the parties he throws I think that it's dandy (oh-oh-oh-oh) That he keeps a brandy handy (oh-oh-oh-oh) But his modus operandi? (Oh!) No one really knows

Well, I heard Gatsby owns the patent For the Model T! I heard he's a spy! I heard he won this place in a horse race! I heard he killed a man! (Oof!) (Eh)

He's selling bathtub gin! He's Prussian royalty! Stock market? He's flooded! Red carpet? Star-studded! Black market? Cold-blooded! Do you wanna dance? (Woah-whoo!)

Do you believe that about Mr Gatsby? What? (The kind that washes up clean) That he killed a man! Wouldn't he be in jail? (My baby has a taste for new money) Not if he didn't get caught! (She likes her legal tender, tender and mean)

Well, what kind of-! (Do-do) Jeez! (Do-do) What kind of a person throws large parties (do-do, do-do) He doesn't attend? (Do-do) A person who likes large parties (do-do, do-do) I like large parties, they're so intimate (do-doowa!) At small parties there isn't any privacy

New money!

New money Young, rich and wild, revelled, reviled Don't you want that new money? Filling your pockets, spend it while you got it Heaven knows if it'll last (new money) Boats against the current (new, new money) Push against the tide! (New, new money) We ride, we ride, we ride We ride!

Oh-oh-oh-oh! (Revelled, reviled) (Don't you want that) Yeah! (New money) (Filling your pockets) Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh! (Spend it while you got it) (Heaven knows if it'll last)

I want that new money (oh) Crisp money (oh) Straight-from-the-mint money (oh, oh) Fresh money (oh) Young money (oh) Push against the tide (oh-oh, oh-oh-oh-oh!) Hey! We ride, we ride! (Ride, ride!)

Don't want that old money Clean money Comes-with-strings money Cold money Funny money Push against the tide We ride, we ride, we ride! (Oh!) Yeah-yeah-yeah-ah!

AGREE

[blogmillymills]

Rain Dogs. BBC IPlayer.

Starring Daisy May Cooper, Jack Farthing and Fleur Tashjian. Created by Cash Carraway. A dysfunctional family on the fringes of society attempt to go straight in an ever more crooked world. Echos of Cathy Come Home. Brilliantly acted.

[qudachuk]

Stars Daisy May Cooper and Jack Farthing, director Richard Layton and writer Cash Carraway all deserve awards for this darker-than-dark sort-of-comedy

[tomorrowedblog]

Rain Dogs premieres today

Rain Dogs, the new TV series from Cash Carraway, is out today.

Rain Dogs chronicles the life of Costello Jones (Daisy May Cooper), a devoted mother who wants more for her precocious young daughter, Iris (Fleur Tashjian). As she hustles to survive, Costello leans on Selby (Jack Farthing), Iris’ pseudo father (and Costello’s pseudo soulmate), and Gloria (Ronkẹ Adékoluẹjo), the duo’s loyal yet chaotic godmother/best friend – together forming a makeshift swaggerous family bound by a complex but deep-rooted love and defiance towards a system built against them.

[jaynedolluk]

BOOKS OF 2019

I am massively behind but I still wanted to post this. So these are some of the books I read + enjoyed in 2019 (all of which came out in the last year or so) - I still have a huge pile to get through. 

I don’t tend to read that many novels (not really sure why as I like a good novel). Read The Revenant Express by George Mann which is the latest in his Newbury + Hobbes series which is about a detective duo investigating crimes/mysteries in steampunk London but w/an occult twist. Also read Royals by Emma Forrest + Daisy Jones + The Six which is an oral history of a fictional 70s band (apparently Reese Witherspoon already has the TV rights) as well as the long-awaited sequel to The Handmaid’s Tale, The Testaments. 

I read quite a lot of books on music. This year I really enjoyed Revenge of the She-Punks + Under My Thumb (which is a collection of essays by women on their thoughts + feelings around music that’s classed as misogynistic/problematic). Also read Meet Me in the Bathroom (which is an oral history of the New York music scene in the early 2000s) plus Prince + the Purple Rain era Studio Sessions 1983 + 1984 which is a comprehensive guide to what Prince wrote/recorded during this period done on a day by day basis. (Apparently there’s a sequel coming out in 2021 which covers 85/86 + looks at the Parade/Sign O’ The Times era which I can’t wait to read). Amy Raphael’s book A Seat At The Table interviewed various women involved in the music business. Iggy Pop brought out ‘Til Wrong Feels Right which was a collection of his lyrics + photos. And I read Withdrawn Traces which was the book about Richey Edwards of Manic Street Preachers particularly looking at the events leading up to his disappearance + written with the co-operation of his sister.

Read memoirs by Lily Allen + Debbie Harry + collections of essays from Lydia Lunch + Brett Easton Ellis. Also read books by Jo Brand + Michelle Visage which were kind of a mix between memoir + advice. I was also pleased I finally managed to get hold of Bobbi Brown’s memoirs, Dirty Rocker Boys. I read Character Breakdown by Zawe Ashton which was a cross between memoir + fiction and a couple of books by Simon Morris.

I read Feminists Don’t Wear Pink + Other Lies which was a collection of essays by various celebrities + What Would the Spice Girls Do? (which was an examination of how the band influenced + were influenced by feminism/popular culture) and Period by Emma Barnett which examined all aspects of menstruation. Also read Pearl Lowe’s book on interiors, Faded Glamour - love her style! - and Hitler’s Monsters which was an in-depth examination of the occult influences on the Third Reich.

So my favourite books of the year - Skint Estate by Cash Carraway (a memoir that covers domestic abuse, sex work + poverty - that makes it sound very bleak which it is in places but it’s also funny + engaging) + Lost Dog by Kate Spicer (about how she adopted a dog then how she coped when he went missing - no spoilers but it does have a happy ending). Diary of a Drag Queen by Crystal Rasmussen (a memoir by a fat femme queer working class drag queen) + Defying Gravity by Jordan Mooney + Cathi Unsworth (Jordan was the face of punk + her memoir is a brilliant read full of background details on punk).  And finally Vanishing New York by Jeremiah Moss which is a really interesting look at how hyper gentrifcation + mega tourism affects a city like New York. 

[i-ate-the-whole-entire-pie]

Call Me Mother, Chapter One

I languidly drained the last breath from my cigarette, the drag filling my lungs. My garter straps hung down lazily, tickling my thighs, as they awaited their purpose. Music thumped rapidly, and whoops of delight resounded through the hall. The dressing room door swung open; a small, but curvaceous woman behind it.

Her eyebrows were tweezed to perfection, eyes deeply shadowed, eyelashes false and curled into large feathery swoops; her mouth was like a plump strawberry. I’d always harbored a mild curiosity about how it tasted.

“Mary, you’re up in 10 minutes. I want you at the curtain in five," Cristella said, her hispanic accent thick.

“Is that a new corset?” I asked. Cristella turned me around, and yanked the laces of my corset together. Thank god I haven’t needed to breathe for the last 150 years, I thought. I floated a small influence her way. Gentler, please. She complied, unwittingly. They always do.

I don’t normally use my influence on people I like, but I’m far too hungry to risk her pinching me with this corset. I couldn’t forgive myself if I lost control. She was far too kind to die a death that violent.

“It is. This papí chulo I’ve been seeing said he wanted me to wear it for him. Maybe he’ll tip better," she said, carefully pulling the slack out of the lower half of my corset. I placed my hands over my belly, holding everything in place.

“What’s the crowd looking like?” I tucked the ties away. She jutted a hip out, and began counting off on her impeccably manicured fingers.

“The usual crowd. Old Man Carraway, that one divorcee who drinks like a fish. College kids. Oh, there’s also these dudes in silver masks. Low-key kind of demonic. And some weird guy in like, face paint? He’s painted up like a calavera. I figured they came from that concert that was in town. You know, the one that church was protesting? Say they like worship Satan or something?”

“Sounds about right." I bent down to attach my straps to the garters of my stockings.

“They’re probably here for a private room, so I figured I’d put you on now. You’re good at handling the weirdos." Cristella giggled, watching me struggle to get the backs of my stockings attached. She and I broke into fits of giggles, as she chased me in circles, trying to help me attach my stockings.

“Let me get that. Hurry up and get on stage!” she said, giving me a playful smack on the ass. I pranced out of the room, trying to avoid her grasping mitts.

“Hey! No bruising the merchandise!” I giggled, linking arms with her as we strutted backstage, perfectly in step with one another. She grabbed the microphone from Mike the Mic Guy, gave me a wink, and stepped through the curtain.

“Aaaaand we’re back! Now, this next lady I’ve got lined up for you is quite a treat. She’s as pale as cream, thicker than a bowl of oatmeal, and will definitely step on you. Well, she might if you tip well. For legal reasons, we can’t call her “Elvira,” so I guess we’ll settle for… MOTHER! MARY!” That was my cue. I sauntered through the curtain, my hips moving like a figure eight. I moved across the stage, “Lullaby” by the Cure playing. I always chose various genres of rock for my acts. Not that I have anything against the other girls’ music choices… but there’s only so much female rap you can play in one night. As I began to dance, I noticed the group that Cristella had mentioned earlier. They were sitting front and center, near the edge of the stage.

Seven of the masked figures sat around the Painted Man, as I had labeled him. Two of the masked figures seemed effeminate, and the other five seemed more masculine. They all ranged in different shapes and sizes. Maybe the masks are a fetish thing? Cristella did say that they came from a concert… Something about them seemed off. I did a swing around the pole, dropping into a fireman, trying to catch a scent. It was a whirlwind of scents, none of them too out of the ordinary. Except the beefy one. He smelled like midnight. I don’t know how to explain it. What really caught my interest though was the Painted Man. Specifically, his eyes. One of them was grey, the iris almost black. The other eye had a pale, white iris. It suited him, and it was beautiful, in an eerie way. Those eyes looked at me, as I danced around the stage, and they knew me. If I had a working heart still, it would be racing.

As Robert Smith crooned, I descended the stairs of the stage as sensually as one could in Pleaser heels, making my way to the Painted Man. If I wanted to know what these people were, I’d have to get a closer look. The Painted Man patted one of his legs with a gloved hand, and cocked his head to the side. I took the invitation, but not before I teased him. I crouched between his legs, running my hands up his thighs. As I rose, I walked my hands up his thighs, bringing my face closer to his. His breath graced my skin, smelling faintly of licorice. As he leaned in, for what I could only assume was a kiss, I rose again, strutting over to one of the masked beings. It was the smaller of the male ones. I sat in his lap, letting him run his hands over me as I began to grind on his lap. His growing erection told me I was going to have a busy night.

“Your boss is a little too eager," I whispered, getting a good whiff of him. He smelled faintly of smoke. I put my hands on his chest, trying to keep my balance. No heartbeat.

“What makes you think he’s my boss?” The being asked petulantly. He grabbed onto my waist, as he began to grind with me. I moved his hand to the small of my back, and leaned back in a dip. The being ran his other hand over my belly, in between my breasts, and up to my throat, bringing me back up to his masked face.

“You’re the one wearing a uniform." I darted my tongue out to lick my lips. What is he? My mind raced as I tried to run through every supernatural creature I’d ever known. But then I heard it. I barely even understood it. All I picked up was price and one night. It was Ghoulish. The taller female ghoul was asking about what I can only assume was my hourly rate. Most strip clubs in this part of Vegas were just fronts for brothels. However, it’s hard to sell the idea of prostitution to Mid-Western vanilla tourists. So most of my income was made from stripping. I usually had one or two clients I went to bed with a night. It wasn’t very stable, but then again, I had less expenses than the average stripper, considering my “condition."

“Tell your friend my basic hourly rate is $500. My Ghoulish isn’t any good." I stood up, and made my way to the female ghoul’s lap.

“How do you know Ghoulish?” she asked, a bit of surprise in her tone. I bent over in front of her, shaking my ass for her. She put a couple of bills in the waistband of my panties, punching my previous ghoul in the arm. He forked over some cash as well.

“I’m not human. I’ll leave it at that," I said, stuffing the cash into the top of my corset. Dear lord… All hundreds… The female ghoul rubbed my thighs, turning me back around slowly, so as to admire my ass.

“Could we get a room after your number? I think a private dance is in order," she said, in broken Ghoulish. I nodded, and as if on cue, the lights and music began to fade out. As I began to walk back up the stairs to the stage past the Painted Man, his hand darted forward to smack my ass. God, it really is not the night for this shit. My more animalistic nature took over, and before I could stop it, a hiss left my lips. As if of their own accord, my fangs sprung painfully through my gums. I heard a snap, and looked over to see the largest ghoul stand up. He shook his head. Thank god the lights were low. Embarrassed, I covered my mouth, and made my way across the stage.

“What the fuck was that all about?” Mike the Mic Guy asked, handing a mic to Cristella. I still had my hand over my mouth. Cristella looked worried.

“Are you okay Mary? I can get you some tea if you’re keyed up." I shook my head.

“Please get a room ready. The Freak Parade wants a private dance," I said as I walked away, silently cursing myself. Once back in the dressing room, I threw open the mini-fridge I normally kept padlocked. I looked to the last bottle I had left in my stash. Hopefully it hasn’t clotted, I thought, throwing the bottle back. This wouldn’t end my thirst, but it would certainly quell the burning in my throat. You nearly lost it. You need to bag one of these stupid fucks tonight, or else. I hadn’t had a bad case of blood lust in decades, but the combination of winter holidays, my strict schedule, and FOSTA-SESTA had really cut off my food supply.

The door opened, and Cristella came in with a cup of tea. She looked at the flask in her hand and cocked a brow.

“And you didn’t offer to share. What is that? Cuervo? Henny?” she said, reaching for the flask. I shook my head, and put it back in the fridge, closing the padlock.

“It’s cough syrup. I keep it under lock and key because of that bitch Ronnie. She’s not fooling anybody. You ever see how much her hands shake? Too much caffeine? Yeah, right. We all know what the DTs look like." I began changing into a burgundy velvet bra and panty set, pairing it with some burgundy gloves and stockings. Finally, I found a pair of sparkly Loboutins Lydia had left me. My mind rolled back through the streets of Paris to 1991, when Louboutin opened its first salon. Lydia smiled, as I kissed her shin, helping her into the heel. She looked down at me, her eyes full of love, and the corner of her mouth hiding a kiss just for me.

“Yeah, she is pretty suspish. What happened with those weirdos out there?” Cristella interrupted my memory. I shook my head. Are you just imagining your heartache?

“Oh the big guy was just mad because I didn’t get around to him. That’s why I wanted you to get the room. Plus, I might be able to secure a nice check from these guys. They all seemed absolutely randy," I said. Cristella shook her head, giggling. The gloss in my hand made a popping noise, as I pulled the wand from the bottle. It was my favorite flavor, watermelon.

“I can ask one of the boys to sit in, to keep them from getting too handsy," Cristella said. I shook my head. It would only keep me from getting too handsy, I thought to myself. Bless her heart. I could never make a kill here. I loved the crew here far too much. Plus, I didn’t have a coven. No one to protect me when I fucked up. They kicked me out long ago. It’s the main reason I ended up in Vegas, avoiding the sun when I could, doing my best to keep a legal and convenient profession. Where else could get a job with only night shifts, and a never-ending supply of useless assholes no one cared about?

“I’ll be okay Crissy. Even if they do try something, we have a panic button in there. Don’t worry." I gave her a slimy, glossy kiss on the cheek, earning a shriek from her strawberry mouth. She batted at me, narrowly missing me as I bounded out of the room.

As I approached the bigger of our three private rooms, I noticed two of the larger male ghouls standing outside the door. All of the ghouls dressed similarly, including the female ghouls. But I now noticed the alchemical symbols dangling from their belt chains. The shorter one had a quintessence symbol, the other larger one, an earth symbol. The earth one opened the door, and the quintessence one escorted me in.

“Thank you, Aether. Back to the door with you. Come, have a seat. Dewdrop says there is more to you than meets the eye. Let me pour you a glass of wine, cara," a thick, Italian accent beckoned to me. I walked to the ottoman in the middle of the room, where I usually found myself during private dances.

“I don’t drink during work hours, love. Now, what should I call you?” I looked into the mismatched eyes of the Painted Man.

“You can call me Papa. I’m Papa Emeritus, the fourth. My close friends call me Copia, but I suppose we are not quite there yet, sí?” he said, leaning forward to take my chin in his hand. I nodded.

“While I would love to marvel at your undoubtedly exquisite body, There is some business we should take care of first, piccolina. Do you like Type O Negative?” Cue the record scratching. The dreamy look I normally adopt when with my clients evaporated.

“Excuse me?” I whispered. Papa laughed.

“The band, cara. I was going to have you dance for me later. However, you must have a preference."

“I really don’t understand what you mean," I whispered. Papa laughed again, a big booming laugh.

“I know your secret cara. The ghouls told me. One of my predecessors, Papa Nihil, told me if I were to ever come across your kind, I should try to win your allegiance. Your kind have interesting abilities, specifically the power of influence." Of course that’s what he’s after.

“I don’t do that," I said, looking down to avoid his gaze. Papa tsked.

“I think you will. The ghouls say you smell lonely. Where is your famiglia?” He asked. I shook my head. Lydia’s pained screams echoed in my ears, our last moment together wrenching my heart out of my chest decades later.

“We split because of artistic differences," I said softly. Dewdrop and his companions giggled behind me.

“Forcing people to allow you to exsanguinate them for sport is not ‘artistic differences,’” Dewdrop hissed. The other ghouls laughed. Papa shook his head, and raised a hand to silence them.

“Now now, Dewdrop. It is hard to control one’s basic nature. Sí, tesoro? Tell me, how long has it been since your last drink?” He looked at me with concern. I couldn’t meet his eyes. I knew what he saw. Weak, pathetic, useless… The words were like a disgusting mantra, swirling through my mind, angry and acidic.

“Weeks… It’s been weeks," I whispered. He tsked again. I heard the ghouls chatter amongst themselves. Their pity made me feel disgusting, like a child with sweaty, clammy hands, and odorous armpits.

“What if I told you I could offer you a job and a home? A home where you wouldn’t have to hide your nature. A home where you’d never go hungry again?” I looked up at him.

“What kind of job?” I asked. The ghouls laughed again. Papa shot them a glare.

“I would make use of your gifts occasionally. Nobody would get hurt. You would warm my bed whenever I asked. Maybe pick up a trade or two once back with the Clergy. And in turn, you would get protection, and all the blood you could ever need," he said. I finally mustered the courage to look him in the eyes. What do you have to lose? Besides, you’ve done infinitely worse things.

“You swear on your life, nobody will get hurt? Not a single person?” I asked. Papa nodded.

“I’ll do it. I’ll also require a salary as well," I said, extending my hand. Papa nodded, taking my hand in both of his.

“Anything you need, cara. But first, I think you need a drink. And then we will get the night I paid for," he said. He waved his hand towards the door, which the shorter female ghoul scurried to open. I noticed she sported a pocket chain with an air symbol.

“Bring in one of the more rosy siblings, Cumulus. I suspect our new friend will need the sustenance before we get too far into our plans for the night," Cumulus nodded, and shut the door behind her. Papa stood up, and began removing his suit jacket and gloves; rolling up his sleeves. I could see his blue veins pulsating, causing me to become aroused in a way I cannot quite explain. Involuntarily, my pussy throbbed, and my mouth watered.

“Now now, little one. Be patient. Your drink will be here soon enough. But for now, you will seal our little deal with a kiss, so to speak. On your knees," Papa ordered, gesturing to the floor. I slipped from the ottoman to the floor, crawling on all fours to him. His breath hitched as I slid my hands up his thighs. I didn’t break eye contact as I unbuckled his trousers, nor when I reached into his pants to pull out his sizeable cock.

The door opened, and I heard mumbles, as well as a struggle, and a thud. Of course, both my hands and mouth were preoccupied. I watched Papa intently as I sucked him off. His eyes were rolled back, his mouth slack, and his hands threaded into his hair, as he let out an ungodly moan. I kitten licked his frenulum, stroking his shaft, earning another moan. He bucked his hips into my throat. Sit still, I whispered in the back of my mind. Papa grabbed my hair, and pulled me off his cock.

“Never again, my little bat. Continue," he said, grabbing either side of my face as he began to fuck my throat rigourously. Someone behind me cleared their throat. I wasn’t able to look up, due to my current predicament.

“Can’t you see I’m busy, Cirrus? What is it?” Papa let out a grunt, as his cock twitched in my mouth. I began to fellate him with my hands, wrenching more breathy sighs and groans from him. Within seconds, his warm seed was flooding my throat. I heard Dewdrop cheer, and then a slap, which I assumed was a high five. Papa rolled his eyes and smiled, as I dabbed away the bit of cum that had spilled over my bottom lip.

“Just in time. I needed something to wash down all that salt," I stood, and walked over to the person Cumulus and Cirrus stood in front of. It looked like a plumper woman. She was wearing what looked like a nun’s habit, her red ringlets spilling out from under her wimple.

“All for you cara. Come find me when you have finished your meal," Papa walked out, which left me with the ghouls and my prey. Dewdrop, and the other male ghoul, who sported a water symbol, helped the little nun onto the couch.

“You’re going to let me fuck that tight ass later, right? Nearly busted watching you and Copia earlier," Dewdrop said to me, softly enough for just me to hear. I giggled and nodded, batting him away after he began nibbling on my neck. He patted my ass, and began to pull the wimple from the nun’s head.

“I’ve got this. Why don’t you and the rest of the ghouls get started? I’ll be done pretty quickly." Dewdrop nodded.

“C’mon, Rainy. Come play with my cock, while we watch Mary drink," The water ghoul nodded, grabbing Dewdrop’s hand. I turned my attention back to the nun. She began to stir. I pushed back her hair.

“This is going to hurt a little bit. But I will make this quick and painless. You deserve an easy death." The nun, barely awake, nodded, and turned her head. I cradled her head, and brought her throat to my mouth. With a final kiss to her soft, peachy flesh, I sank my teeth into her throat, not letting a single drop of her blood go to waste.

It felt like drinking water after being stuck in a desert for a week. Her blood was sweet, clean, and thick, and it quenched my thirst quickly. Her body began to go limp in my arms, and her skin turned cold. It’s still not enough. I had to force myself to stop. Never drink the last drop. It might just be the last thing you do, my old mentor’s voice reminded me. I let the little nun drop back to the couch, and turned to face the ghouls. Cirrus sat with Cumulus, each with a hand in the other’s pants. Rain was bobbing his head up and down slowly, as Dewdrop played with his hair. Dewdrop looked up at me.

“Hot," he said. Cirrus nodded, and refocused her attention on Cumulus. Rain moaned, causing Dewdrop to hiss. I looked at them all, lust clouding my gaze.

“Make room. It’s my turn," I said. Dewdrop pulled my mouth to his, not fazed one bit by the blood coating my lips. Cirrus began to explore the space between my thighs with her long, gorgeous fingers. Rain held my hair, kissing and nipping at my neck. A girl really could get used to this...

Hours later, after all of the ghouls had had their turn, even the two from the door, I was back in the dressing room. I opened the envelope the earth ghoul, Mountain, had handed me on the way out. My eyes grew like saucers as I counted the money inside. I had only expected eight grand; two hours, eight clients, multiplied by $500. But as I counted, I realized I had 15 grand in my hands. The door opened, breaking my wealth-induced trance. It was Papa.

“If you would really like the job, come to this address in two weeks. Bring only what you must. Put everything else in storage," he said, handing me a card. I was confused.

“Why two weeks?” I asked. Papa smiled.

“Because it’s polite, cara. Don’t forget your letter of resignation."

--------------------------------------------

This is the first thing I've wrote in years! I hope you all enjoy it! A special thanks to @gasolineghuleh for all of their help!

[conte-olaf]

😎ll Times la considera «la nuova voce di una generazione», Ken Loach ha definito il suo libro «straordinario... un'esplosione di forza, ironia e rabbia».

🎉 in libreria il nuovo titolo della nostra collana #workingclass diretta da Alberto Prunetti: "La porca miseria. Memoir di una madre single nei quartieri poveri di Londra".

Cash Carraway è una donna londinese working class e in questo libro racconta la sua storia – tragica e insieme esilarante – di madre single che lotta contro la miseria e la colpevolizzazione a cui viene sottoposta dal governo conservatore e dai media mainstream che descrivono le donne povere come parassite e «welfare queen».

Cash, mentre vive in una casa rifugio per donne vittime di violenza domestica, si trova a fare mille impieghi precari, passando da un lavoro come spogliarellista alla scrittura di copioni teatrali e televisivi. Senza riuscire a superare la soglia di povertà.

Un libro divenuto a sorpresa un best seller in Gran Bretagna, che si inscrive in un filone di narrativa di crescente successo che incrocia femminismo e classe sociale ma che al tempo stesso alimenta un interesse pruriginoso dei lettori che nelle storie delle donne povere cercano solo il "misery porn" e una forma di voyeurismo narrativo. Cash Caraway, con una scrittura schietta e provocatoria, fa saltare consapevolmente il peep-hole da cui la cultura mainstream vorrebbe spiare i corpi e le storie delle donne working class.

⏳Cash sarà tra le principali ospiti del Festival di letteratura working class che si svolgerà dal 31 marzo al 2 aprile presso la fabbrica Gkn a Campi Bisenzio (Firenze).

🛠La working class scrive la sua storia

L'illustrazione di copertina è come sempre del nostro Antonio Pronostico Sileo

https://edizionialegre.it/product/la-porca-miseria/

[axel-fics]

Can I request an axel/reader with your fav trope?? Your stories are very sweet and I'm curious what your fav trope is ;w;

Aww, thanks nonnie! :D Can I just say… that I felt really silly that I didn’t know what a trope was? And then after I did my research and realized I knew what a trope was, I felt even sillier. The 5th grade version of myself is kicking my ass right now. Anyways, I chose The Great Gatsby since it’s one of my favorite books of all time, and the allegories in it are so deep and meaningful. I hope I did the book justice with this! 

Rainy Days and Bookstores

To you, bookstores were a safe haven. If you ever felt down about life or even just a bit more adventurous, you always found yourself skimming through the shelves for new stories to get lost in. It was always a place where you felt free to be yourself, where no one could judge you for sitting in the small reading nook for hours on end reading to your heart’s content. At the end of each trip, you always ended up buying a few books to add to your ever-expanding collection at home; pretty soon you knew you had to stop investing in books and buy a second bookshelf. 

It was a cold and rainy fall afternoon when you decided to pop into your favorite bookstore in Twilight Town. For the first time in a week, you actually had a day off of work and decided to spend it doing all of your favorite things around town. You had wished the weather would be nicer, but a day is a day off, and you were happy to take it. Walking into the bookstore, the bell above the door rang a familiar tune as it dinged above your head, quickly ringing a second time as you shut the door behind you to prevent the cold air from getting in. The bookstore was small and cramped with multiple bookshelves that left narrow passageways throughout the store, but it led to a larger back area with a few couches and chairs, and of course your favorite reading nook. The nook was in the back corner of the store with a large stained glass window of the town’s clock tower that usually glowed on sunny days. Today, however, the colors were slightly muted thanks to the gloominess of the sky. 

The store’s owner gave you a nod as you smiled and gave a small wave before continuing on your merry way of searching for something new to read. You decided today to go down the fiction aisle, which was a change from the mystery novels you were currently divulging into. Running your fingers along the spines of the books, you came across one of your all-time favorite novels: The Great Gatsby. You remembered it being a required text in your junior year of high school and everyone dreaded reading something so outdated. But you? You couldn’t be more excited. Every day you’d volunteer to read aloud, getting lost in the story so quickly that you never noticed all the other kids barely paying attention. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway; F. Scott Fitzgerald was in your top three favorite writers, and nothing would have distracted you from his famous stories. 

Although you were pretty sure you had a copy at home, you couldn’t help but pick up the book and take it with you to your usual spot on the nook along with a few other text you’ve picked up. Instantly diving into the story, you found yourself getting lost once again amongst the classic story of the doomed relationship of Jay Gatsby and Daisy Buchanan and the observations that Nick Carraway described in his first-person narrative. 

‘But I didn’t call to him, for he gave a sudden intimation that he was content to be alone — he stretched out his arms toward the dark water in a curious way, and, far as I was from him, I could have sworn he was trembling. Involuntarily I glanced seaward — and distinguished nothing except a single green light, minute and far away, that might have been the end of a dock. When I looked once more for—’

“When I looked once more for Gatsby he had vanished, and I was alone in the unquiet darkness.”

A man stretched out on a couch not too far from you was looking in your direction, smirking as he finished the exact line you were just reading. How could he have possibly known??

“You were reading out loud. Actually, it was more like whispering pretty loudly,” he chuckled. 

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disrupt you,” you bowed your head completely embarrassed. 

“Nah, you didn’t. I just sat down to get out of the storm, haven’t decided what to look at yet.” He pointed at the book you were now clenching in your hand. “Gatsby. Great book.” 

“You’ve read F. Scott Fitzgerald?”

“You sound surprised.”

“No, no! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that—”

“Relax, I’m just messing with you. And yes, I’ve read Fitzgerald. Almost all of his works. That one there is my favorite.”

“Mine too! The symbolism and depth of the entire story, how people’s lives are intertwined so easily and yet it’s never fully known to them. It just makes you think about how every thing in life has a result, a consequence.”

The man stood up from the couch and started walking over towards you. He was taller than he looked, probably because he was slouching on the couch, and had spiky red hair that went almost in every direction like a fireball. His eyes were a piercing green hue that looked simultaneously looked soft and sincere. He hovered above you for a second before you quickly moved your legs to clear some space for him to sit down. 

“The green light is one of my favorite allegories in literature. Being so close to something so dear to your heart but ever so far away. How he was hoping to bring his past and present together to form a suitable future with Daisy. I mean, everyone has a green light in their lives, right? It comes in different forms, but there’s always something that you’ll always desire and hope to have in your future.” You continued pouring your theories over to the man as he silently listened to you. He didn’t say much, but you could tell in his eyes that he actually was listening, and not just showing off to make it seem like he was slightly interested. 

Somewhere in between talking about the Valley of Ashes and Tom Buchanan’s mistress Myrtle Wilson, you caught yourself talking way too much and stopped. “I’m rambling, aren’t I?” 

“No, no, you’re fine. I like hearing your theories. It’s been a while since I read this, so it makes me wanna read it again.”

Blushing you closed the book and held it out to him. He raised an eyebrow at you in confusion. “I thought you were going to buy this?”

“I have a copy at home. I just couldn’t resist re-reading it today.”

The man gladly accepted the book and started carefully flipping through the pages before looking back up at you. “Maybe… after I finish reading this, we can compare notes?”

“Depends, are you asking me out?”

The man laughed. “Yes, I’m asking you out. Although I’m pretty sure I never got your name.”

“And I’m pretty sure I never got yours,” you smirked. 

“Fair enough. Name’s Axel, got it memorized?”

“It’s nice to meet you, Axel. I’m [Y/N].”

“[Y/N], huh? Pretty name for a pretty girl.” You instantly felt your cheeks burn as he gave you a wink. “Think I can get that number of yours?”

“Oh, right.” You took a pen and a piece of paper from your notebook that you stashed in your small backpack and wrote your name and number down before handing it to Axel. 

“Alright then, take a guess at how long it’ll take me to finish.” Axel stood up from his spot on the nook and started walking backwards to the cash register. 

“I’d say… three days.”

“You’d bet on it?” 

“Sure. If I win, uhm… you’ll have to buy me some sea-salt ice cream.”

“‘Kay, and if I win, I get a kiss on the first date.”

“Wait, what??”

“Catch ya later, [Y/N].” 

“But you never wagered how long you’d take!”

By then Axel had already purchased the book and was exiting the door, giving you a devilish smirk once again that made your heart skip a beat. A few hours later, while you were finishing up your day at the bookstore, you felt your phone vibrate in your pocket. An unknown number showed up on your screen. The text was of a picture of a notebook, lined with notes and observations from The Great Gatsby. Axel, that sly fox. 

A: Finished, sweetheart. Looks like you owe me a kiss :*

[suchananewsblog]

‘Rain Dogs’ star Daisy May Cooper once auditioned to be a stripper

British actress Daisy May Cooper stars in “Rain Dogs,” a dark comedy about an unconventional family premiering March 6 on HBO (10 p.m., and also available on HBO Max). The series, created by author Cash Carraway, is set in England and follows struggling and impoverished single mother Costello Jones (Cooper), her daughter Iris (Fleur Tashjian) and Costello’s best friend Selby (Jack Farthing,…

[annasvinyl]

Rain Dogs (2023-) written by Cash Carraway

[roseofdarkness0]

Natsby Demon Au

So I got this idea when I reading the book and I decided to expand that idea, you might have seen it when I had sent an ask to @ask-the-great-gatsby​, so without further ado. here some expanded ideas. (1/?)

|> Gatsby had encountered many souls and all of them had something in them that made them unique, be it their passion, hate or love, they were unique and special in their own way but after thousands of years, it gets boring and repetitive. So Gatsby decided to visit the mortal world to see how the mortals’ lives and maybe get the experience for his own.

|> Supernatural beings always liked Nick Carraway because he always ignored all the weird things that happen and treated them fairly normally. What they didn’t know is that he simply didn’t make the connection between the weird things and them

|> *Sudden screams in the woods*

     Nick: Must be children playing or birds

|> When Gatsby meets young Daisy Fay he was absolutely floored by how indecisive she is. Her soul can’t decide whatever to follow the heart or expectations that her family has and it’s just fascinating for Gatsby

|> Time skip to the events of the book. Gatsby had been living in the enormous mansion and everything is just normal, until, someone moves next door.

|> Gatsby is watching the shack from his window and just watches as a guy moves in with boxes and a ‘local’ teenage werewolf pack helps him with some teenage vampires and Jay just watches trying to work out what is happening in front of him.

|> Later that night he uses his power to see if his new neighbour is secretly a nymph or something similar because of how easily he is to gravitate to, a lot like a rose, but once again he is shocked to find out that he is just a human. His soul, on the other hand, is something different- it’s calming, open and sad- he hasn’t met this kind of soul in a long time (Daisy being an expectation as she was quite recent) so he dices to observe this soul and see what would happen.

|> When Nick was moving to West Egg he had trouble with moving all the boxes and his rented car had broken down. Luckily a group of teenagers had passed by him and they offered to give him a lift to west egg as they were going in that direction anyway (they weren’t but doesn’t need to know that) and he just thanks them and talks with them like they were friends all this time, kids are surprised and offer to help to move the boxes to the house. After they done it Nick makes everyone Nick offers hem some cash for the help under the pretext of “these are the gas money.

|> Of course after a while he notices that his neighbour seems to be observing him and just passes it on as a curiosity (Gatsby  beliefs that he is sneaky, but he doesn’t use his power so he is just being subtly obvious)

|> One day Nick is dragged to his neighbour party by Jordan who just wants some ‘company’ (she just likes to talk to Nick and complain about anything stupid that Tom or someone else did as Nick gives the best answers- and if he lives next door to the best parties that she ever been to? That’s just luck) and nick is amazed by how lavish the party is with so many famous people. He is having a splendid time but he decides to see the library as it should be quiet. He finds it completely empty and he is amazed by the sheer amount of the books that he finds, he decides to take the first book from the shelve (The Picture of Dorian Grey) and just seat and read for a while.

|> Gatsby is nervous as he can fell Nicks soul (he learned his name from a ‘friend’ from the office that Nick works at) in his house and decides to finally introduce himself to Nick. Problem is, there are too many souls in one room and unless he really wants that killer headache he has to search by the old fashion way. After few hours of everyone distracting him with mindless chatter and Nick escaping him just by a nick of time, decide to go to the library. When he arrives, he feels like he found a gold mine as he finds Nick reading in the sofa, being all comfortable like he always belonged there and that was his place. Being thrown off by that thoughts he doesn’t notice that Nick had looked up from his book and is staring at him,

|> When Nick heard the library door open, he decided to finish the paragraph he was on before looking up. when he does he is shocked by the absolutely handsome man standing in the doorway, wearing a suit that should be illegal cause hot damn. After a while Nick introduces himself and learns that the man name is Jay Gatsby and that he saw Nick few times ‘but you seemed to be busy, old sport’ and he can’t help himself but talk to this Jay Gatsby.

|> They talk until the party finishes and the party goers are trying to find Gatsby, they decide to make plans for the next day to have a luncheon at a cafe Nick knows.

|> Jay wants Nick and he only meets him properly once, he gives himself a trial period of two weeks to see if it’s lust or want to mate/keep/mine and after that, he might start a show his affection, like a demon.

|> Their date, goes well and many other follows.

[adayinbookland]

June 10th, 2019 || Exciting book mail from last week! 🙌🏼 — 🌻Three Women by Lisa Taddeo. “A riveting true story about the sex lives of three real American women, based on nearly a decade of reporting.” I requested this and I was so happy I got sent an arc. Thank you Hannah at @bloomsburypublishing! I started it during the weekend and I can say it’s truly fascinating. — 🌻Skint State by Cash Carraway. “Skint State is the hard-hitting debut memoir about impoverishment, loneliness and violence - set against a grim landscape of sink states, police cells, refuges and peepshows.” Thank you Matthew at @eburybooks for the review copy. I have read a couple of chapters and so far, so good. — 🌻Others; edited by Charles Fernyhough. “Through stories, poems, memoirs and essays, we look at otherness in a variety of its forms, from the dividing lines of politics and the anonymising forces of city life, through the disputed identities of disability, gender and neurodiversity, to the catastrophic imbalances of power that stands in the way of social equality.” — 🌻Rife: Twenty-One stories from Britain’s Youth; edited by Nikesh Shukla & Sammy Jones. “Anthology of 20 passionate writers, all under the age of 24, which holds a mirror up to the experience of young people in the UK today, with essays on money, mental health, sex, gender, inequality, education, crime and the future.” These two titles were sent to me by Becca over at @unbounders and I cannot wait to dive into them during this week. . I hope you had a good weekend. What books are your currently reading pile? • • • #bookhaul #bookstack #stackofbooks #readeverywhere #fortheloveofreading #nonfiction #unitedbookstagram #bookstagramfeauture https://www.instagram.com/p/ByieqCcAfxX/?igshid=1tro4sfb5cnyw