#and was total of 60 marks

[asukachii]

"I have no idea what's going on... but the plant has completely stopped moving, and it looks like his breathing came to a standstill at the same time".

(I don’t like putting watermarks so, PLEASE, if you want to post these gifs somewhere GIVE CREDITS! Also, don’t use them in edits/videos. Thanks~)

[niennanir]

Listen to your elders

So last week I posted abut the importance of downloading your fic. And then three days later AO3 went down for 24 hours. No one was more weirded out by this than I was. But while y’all were acting like the library at Alexandria was on fire I was reading my download fic and editing chapter eight of Buck, Rogers, and the 21st Century. And also thinking about what I could do to be helpful when the crisis was actually over.

So first off, I’m going to repeat that if you’re going to bookmark a fic, you really need to also download the fic and back it up in a safe place. I just do it automatically now and it’s a good habit to get into.

But let’s talk about some other scenarios. Last October I lost power for over a week after hurricane Ian. Apart from not having internet or A/C I did find plenty to do, I collect books so I had plenty to read, but maybe, unlike me, your favorite comfort reads aren’t sitting on a bookshelf. So let’s do something about that, shall we?

In olden times many long years ago around 1995 we printed off a lot of fic. It was mostly SOP to print a fic you planned to reread and stick it in a three ring binder. And that’s totally valid today too, but you can also make a very nice paperback with a minimum amount of skill and materials.

Let’s start with the download; Go to Ao3 and select your fic, we’ll be working with one of mine. This method works best with one shots, long fic tends to need a more complicated approach. Get yourself an HTML download

Open up the HTML download and select all then copy paste into any word processor. Set the page to landscape and two columns, then change the font to something you find easy to read, this is your book, no judgement. This is all you have to do for layout but I like to play a little bit. I move all the meta, summary, notes to the end and pick out a fun font for the title: 

No time like the present to do a quick proofread. Congratulations, you’ve just created your first typeset. On to the fun part.

Now you’re going to need some materials:  8.5x11in paper ruler one sheet of 12x12 medium card stock (60-80lb) scissors pencil pen or fine tip marker sheet of wax paper white glue two binder clips 2 heavy books or 1 brick butter knife

You’ll also need a printer, if you’re in the US there is almost a 100% chance your local library has a printer you can use if you don’t have your own. None of these materials are expensive and you can literally use cheap copy paper and Elmers glue.

Print your text block, one page per side. Fold the first page in half so that the blank side is inside and the printed side out:

use the butter knife to crease the edge. Repeat on all the sheets. When you’ve finished, stack them up with the raw edge on the left and the folded edge on the right. I used standard copy paper, because you’re only printing on one side there’s no bleed to worry about. Take the text block and line everything up. Use the binder clips to hold the raw edge in place.

Wrap the text block in the wax paper so that the raw edge and binder clips are facing out. I’m going to use my home built book press but you don’t need one, a brick or a couple of books or anything else heavy will work fine.

Once the text block is anchored down, take off he binder clips and get out the glue.

You can use a brush but you don’t need one, smear some glue on that raw edge.

Go make a margarita, watch The Mandalorian, call your mother. Don’t come back for at least an hour

In an hour smear some more glue on there and shift your brick forward so that the whole book is covered. This keeps the paper from warping. While glue part 2 is drying we’ll do the cover. Get out your 12x12 cardstock

Mark the cardstock off at 8.5 inches and cut it. Measure in 5.5 inches from the left and put in a score line with the butter knife (the back edge not the sharp edge)

Carefully fold the score line, this is your front cover. You have some options for the cover title, you can use a cutting machine like a cricut if you have one, you can print out a title on the computer and use carbon paper to transfer the text to the cardstock. I was in a mood so I just freehanded that beoch. Pencil first then in pen.

Take your text block out from under your brick. Line it up against the score mark and mark the second score on the other side of the spine

Fold the score and glue the textblock into the cover at the spine. Once the glue dries up mark the back cover with the pencil and then trim the back cover to fit with your scissors.

Voila:

I’m going to put this baby on the shelf next to the Silmarillion.

The whole process, not counting drying time, took less than an hour.

If you want to make a book of a longer fic, I recommend Renegade Publishing, they have a ton of resources for fan-binders. 

[ananke-xiii]

No disrespect to all the other actors (I seriously love them all) but can we take a moment and appreciate Misha Collins and Mark Sheppard's acting skills?

I mean, let's just think about it.

60% of what Cas says is "Dean" in infinite inflections, the other 40% literally makes zero sense and it's totally unfunny if the lines are not delivered to perfection. Yet, Misha slays every effing time.

On the other hand, 60% of what Crowley says are sexual innuendos, the other 40% are pop culture references that I personally don't get half of the time (I'm not from the US). Yet, Mark eats and leaves no crumbs every effing time.

And they both have spent 8+ years in the same frigging costumes.

I mean, I'm just blown away, they literally carried the show on their shoulders and I'll appreciate them forever.

[doyoulikethissong-poll]

Robbie Williams - No Regrets 1998

"No Regrets" is a song by English singer Robbie Williams. It was released on 30 November 1998 as the second single from his second studio album, I've Been Expecting You. The track was written by Williams and Guy Chambers and features backing vocals from Neil Tennant of Pet Shop Boys and Neil Hannon of the Divine Comedy. "No Regrets" was another top-five hit for Williams in the UK and became a substantial hit around the world. It went on to sell over 200,000 copies in the UK, where it was certified Silver in October 2004, almost six years after its original release.

The album I've Been Expecting You was a critical and major commercial success, it debuted at number one on the UK Albums Chart, marking Williams' second consecutive chart-topper, and has been certified 10× Platinum. It became the UK's best selling album of 1998. Six of Williams' albums are among the top 100 biggest-selling albums in the UK, with two of them in the top 60, and he gained a Guinness World Record in 2006 for selling 1.6 million tickets in a single day during his Close Encounters Tour.

"No Regrets" received a total of 61% yes votes! Previous Robbie Williams polls: #129 "The Road to Mandalay" (see also: Take That)

[batboyblog]

Things Biden and the Democrats did, this week.

January 19-26 2024

The Energy Department announced its pausing all new liquefied natural gas export facilities. This puts a pause on export terminal in Louisiana which would have been the nation's largest to date. The Department will use the pause to study the climate impact of LNG exports. Environmentalists cheer this as a major win they have long pushed for.

The Transportation Department announced 5 billion dollars for new infrastructure projects. The big ticket item is 1 billion dollars to replace the 60 year old Blatnik Bridge between Superior, Wisconsin, and Duluth, Minnesota which has been dangerous failing since 2017. Other projects include $600 million to replace the 1-5 bridge between Vancouver, Washington, and Portland, Oregon, $427 million for the first offshore wind terminal on the West Coast, $372 million to replace the 90 year old Sagamore Bridge that connects Cape Cod to the mainland,$300 million for the Port of New Orleans, and $142 million to fix the I-376 corridor in Pittsburgh.

the White House Task Force on Reproductive Healthcare Access announced new guidance that requires insurance companies must cover contraceptive medications under the Affordable Care Act. The Biden Administration also took actions to make sure contraceptive medications would be covered under Medicare, Medicaid, CHIP, and Federal Employee Health Benefits Program. HHS has launched a program to educate all patients about their rights to emergency abortion medical care under the Emergency Medical Treatment and Labor Act. This week marks 1 year since President Biden signed a Presidential Memorandum seeking to protect medication abortion and all federal agencies have reported on progress implementing it.

A deal between Democrats and Republicans to restore the expand the Child Tax Credit cleared its first step in Congress by being voted out of the House Ways and Means Committee. The Child Tax Credit would affect 16 million kids in the first year and lift 400,000 out of poverty. The Deal also includes an expansion of the Low-Income Housing Tax Credit which will lead to 200,000 new low income rental units being built, and also tax relief to people affected by natural disasters

The Senate Foreign Relations Committee voted for a bill to allow President Biden to seize $5 billion in Russian central bank assets. Biden froze the assets at the beginning of Russia's war against Ukraine, but under this new bill could distribute these funds to Ukraine, Republican Rand Paul was the only vote against.

The Senate passed the "Train More Nurses Act" seeking to address the critical national shortage of nurses. It aims to increase pathways for LPNs to become RNs as well as a review of all nursing programs nationally to see where improvements can be made

3 more Biden Judges were confirmed, bring the total number of Judges appointed by President Biden to 171. For the first time in history the majority of federal judge nominees have not been white men. Biden has also appointed Public Defenders and civil rights attorneys breaking the model of corporate lawyers usually appointed to life time federal judgeships

[comradeocean]

1. i found myself explaining it to people i know who weren’t there, and realized that the defining thing about the phenomenon was the way they were working class in a specifically british way - not unique but very distinct from the us boy band (was explaining this to a zoomer mark fisher fan so she got it). people remember that liam wanted to be a fireman but forget what he actually said was “i would have worked in the factory or maybe been a fireman.” liam specifically

I have not been able to shut up about this since it happened. like, I have this whole half-baked theory about 1d being the last act to be globally popular before the total hegemony of the US centric (internet) monoculture. it seems quaint now, how Liam still talked about things being American or Hollywood, and then self-consciously defining himself in opposition to that. I feel celebs don't necessarily do that anymore? like influencer culture has cut off tall poppy syndrome and assorted post-war anglo inferiority complexes off at its knees. which are, again, also such classed expressions as well!

the other wild thing about Liam's vocational aspirations is fireman was probably like fourth or fifth down the list. closer to soundbite fodder. in the same interview where he talks about his family being in massive amounts of debt, and the aeroplane factory where his dad worked as a fitter, he reveals this whole plan he had, where at the age of sixteen he'd done up the sums of the apprentice wages he was expecting at the factory, the 60 pounds given to his parents for boarding, and then made a budget for SAVING UP FOR PROPERTY. bc SINCE CHILDHOOD he'd been obsessed with renovation shows and the idea he'd buy a shit place, fix it up, then rent it out, over and over again, AND somehow key to this scheme as he was describing it, was that he himself would continue living in rentals or with his parents, at sixty pounds a month! I mean it's possible I've misremembered, but I'm fairly certain that was the gist. and don't even get me started on the whole nft thing or him being a depop girlie!!!!!!!!!! talk about being a child of post thatcher's britain

[also so funny you are the second person to bring up mark fisher unprompted in response to that post]

EDIT FORGOT TO MENTION as part of my Why 1d rabbit hole, I was trawling through the bios of other 2010s boyband wannabes and the majority of them were soooo posh like I shit you not the xfactor product the following year had a member who was an award winning ex jockey

[crescent-blades]

Michikatsu Tsugikuni in a Sengoku Era Battlefield || Part 1: Formations

As we know, the Sengoku era was a period of chaos and bloodshed; lords turning against one another and vassals turning their backs on their lords. In my last post, we attempted to figure out 'What Michikatsu's distinction would be as a samurai.' This did not provide clarity into his specific role within a military context—his position and responsibilities during warfare. Therefore, in this article, we will examine his placement within a battle formation and clarify his role in combat.

A brief overview of the earlier post just in case: I proposed that Michikatsu must have served as an ashigaru kumigashira, likely leading either a spear or archer unit [since his men depicted in the manga panels did not possess any significant weapons during the demon attack]. With this out of the way, let us proceed.

⚠ SPOILERS AHEAD ⚠ | Masterlist

⨳ How Foot Soldiers used to be Deployed

Of course, the organisation of soldiers in an army during the sengoku era varied clan by clan, although many elements remained consistent across. The illustration provided [credits to Emmanuel Valerio] depicts the Takeda clan.   

× Starting off, let's examine the illustration above. This gives us a basic understanding of how the foot soldiers used to be deployed. At the bottom left, we can see the Taishou (大将) the General, who used to lead an entire tactical unit consisting of about 300-800 men; as well as an Uma-jirushi (馬標), which served to mark his location.

× To the left, there is a lengthy formation of samurai, with ashigaru positioned directly behind each samurai to provide support. Behind them consists a group of similar size and structure. All of these men are armed with yari [spears] and and these are the troops that will take the fight to the enemy.

× Each unit is led by a mounted samurai with foot soldiers, all positioned behind them. The foot samurai are organised into groups, each overseen by a mounted ashigaru/samurai Kumigashira (組頭) the luitenant who is accompanied by two foot soldiers, as well as a mounted troop Kumigashira, the captain having a larger supporting foot soldier. 

• The Archer squad:  

I couldn't find any illustrations that exclusively feature archery, as firearms were likely not in use during Michikatsu's era. However, I do believe the formation would have been the same, if not similar, considering that the archers were initially few in number and belonged to the same infantry as the yumi ashigaru (archers). 

The image above depicts a complete gun/archer squad positioned at the forefront. All five of them are organised under the leadership of a single troop kashira. In total, 10 squads with two captains will be commanding them.  

▪︎The Spear squad: I couldn't find anything for the spear group; however, based on my research, it is likely to resemble the archer squad mentioned earlier. Positioned at the front lines, they would be arranged shoulder to shoulder in a long formation, numbering approximately 60–70, with their mounted commanders stationed behind them.      

⨳ The Battle Formations

The image above gives us a condensed form of the archer unit [a spear unit would have the same formation], where:  

A. Yumi Bugyo (Archer Manager/Commissioner) B. Yumi Gumi Gashira (Archer Group Foreman) C. Samurai Yumi Gashira (Samurai Archer Foreman) D. Samurai Yumi Gumi (Samurai Archer Group) E. Yumi Ashigaru Gashira (Ashigaru Archer Foreman) F. Yumi Ashigaru Gumi (Ashigaru Archer Group) G. Yumi Ashigaru Ko-Gashira (Ashigaru Archer Sub-Foreman)

 [Names by EValerio; full credits to him]  

× Yumi Samurai are depicted in a more dispersed formation compared to the ashigaru, who maintained a tight and disciplined line at the front. While the samurai engaged in combat as a collective unit, the ashigaru adhered to a more structured arrangement. The ashigaru and the samurai Kumigashiras for both the troops were well equipped for battle and would join their men in combat when necessary.   

For instance, Michikatsu above could be represented as 'E' [as mentioned in my previous post; this is supported by the canon manga panels where he leads a small troop of ashigaru. I don't see any evidence to suggest he would be classified as 'B', unless someone can provide additional insights that I may have overlooked.]            

⨳ Conclusion

A follow-up of my previous post where we attempted to find out his distinction as a samurai. However, this one goes into much more detail about where he would actually stand in a Battlefield. There are many things that i have skipped over, as to keep this post focused and concise, ensuring it remains dedicated solely to Michikatsu.

[jthealien]

This isn’t really a theory, just an observation. But I wanted to point it out anyway.

TLDR: Buddy is so cooked for the season finale (and so are we).

So in Dreams by Night, Buddy has the little tally marks over his heart.

I’ve assumed they symbolized counting up to something, but maybe they’re counting down.

Since Dreams by Night, the arcs (or stories) have been:

—All That Glitters

—Honor Among Thieves

—Requiem of Blood and Moonlight

—Unnamed Fourth One (assuming this season ends on episode 60, that leaves probably one more arc)

So 4 arcs since Dreams by Night.

Looking at the number of tally marks, while making the assumption that they denote the number of “chances” Buddy has left… wuh oh. The season finale is going to leave us in shambles, isn’t it.

Side Note: A requiem traditionally refers to a christian mass or a musical composition in honor of the dead. The first episode of Requiem is the only episode so far to feature music. Considering ATG and HAT have meanings to their titles — and Requiem is the penultimate arc — that’s uh. ominous!

While I have the number of arcs brought up, there’s a little something else I noticed while writing this.

Including the 4 arcs I’ve already mentioned, the major arcs/stories have been:

—Cinderfella

—Rules of Engagement

—Toffee Break

—Beach Boys

—Sick Day

(I’m not including Flea Market or We Need To Talk About Buddy since they don’t really focus on a specific book.)

That’s 9 major stories/arcs in total.

Cats have 9 lives, right? :]

[sourbites]

Wildsun

Pairing: James Hetfield/Reader (circa 1997) Contains: Cowboy/Rancher James AU, stupid banter, mentions of a breakup, overall just James and reader self-sabotaging, slowburn-ish (i time skip a lot), sappy James at the climax and resolution of the fic, and smut (i had to stay on brand). Notes: FIRST AU HOW ARE WE FEELING. hopefully i didn't keep you guys hungry for cowboy James for too long. if this was enjoyable (it sparkled and pleased with the masses), please let me know you'd like more AUs for future sourbites posts <3 Word count: 7,716

The only thing that is ever guaranteed in life is change. The backbone of life: progression. You needed that. Desperately. No more did you revel in bustling city life or cheesy billboards at every glance. Or the fact that no one seemed to stick. Your world had quickly morphed into an unknown landscape where your heart no longer had the zeal to beat.

James Hetfield had recently rescued a thoroughbred racing horse whose career was cut short. He had an accident, leaving him unable to race again. His original owners were going to euthanise him. Instead, they sold him to James. The horse, originally named something stupid like Mustang Haze, wasn't strong enough to be transported back and forth to the nearest place that was qualified to care for horses. Which also happened to be where you were employed. You, needing a change, and James, needing a professional to handle Blue (his James-given name), seemed to come to an agreement.

It's all so new and exciting. The sun's premature sunbeams scatter on the horizon, the mountains scraping the light around until it looks washed out. The fields are wide and open— the wind is screeching in your ears, amplified by the trees, prickling with its needled breeze at your spine. It's so flat; there's not much architecture to shield you from the wind or the sun. It's barely even daybreak. James wanted you here early for your first day. (You suspect he thinks you're some city-slicker, as the cowboys say.)

Just before the train ride to the ranch, you had researched him a little. Just to know who you're working with. He's a simple guy who keeps to himself, it seems. Unlike Blue, who's decorated in plaques and rosettes for his shows. It's a shame he won't be able to perform again— though something within you is glad he's out of his jockey's hands because the facts tell you he wasn't being loved in his former life.

"Hi," You offer James a professional, friendly smile. "I'm here for Blue?" He's got massive shoulders. He's kneeling on the floor of the barn, you think either tying up or cutting the string keeping a haystack together. Wind rocks straight through you as you wait for him.

His acknowledgement comes in the form of a grunt. "Stables." James answers, monosyllabic, his well-muscled back facing you. Weren't cowboys supposed to be, like, charmers? Isn't that in all the Western movies? This guy's so rude. Foolishly, you stand there for a few moments, expecting something. Maybe he'd shake your hand, welcome you, introduce himself. Or at least point you in the direction of the stables. Nope. Nothing. As if you're not even there, he ignores you, going about his business.

Eventually, you just kind of... shuffle off.

Okay. Bad first impression. But maybe he had just woken up or something. Maybe he was in desperate need of a cup of coffee.

The ranch seems to stretch on for years. Total neverending, ancient-looking land. Like a set for some 60's folk horror movie. The spindly trees are lonely, naked without their greenery. Spring is hesitant to arrive here. The fields were boundless and near-empty. As you navigated around, you couldn't shake the feeling that you were being watched— but maybe you've got jet lag or something. (If that even happens on trains.)

The stables inside were quiet. Thick with the smell of leather and hay, tickling down your throat. Blue is in his stable, visibly guarded off, his ears turned back. He's mostly brown, with a cute marking on his head that looks like a milk spill going down his forehead. In a way, you and him are alike: in this new place, hoping it'll heal your wounds. For a moment or two, you just observe each other, exchanging an animalistic intimacy.

Hm. There are a couple of scrapes and blotches of lost fur starting from his neck and going down. You know well enough not to go prodding with a strong, skittish horse in a new environment. You purse your lips, thoughtful about what can be done immediately.

The easy, soft thud of footsteps comes from behind you. "He's in a bad way," You turn your neck, sympathy gleaming in your eyes, glancing at James from over his shoulder. He's cutting up an apple with a knife. You cringe each time the blade meets the pad of his thumb, but it doesn't end up slicing him.

"He's tough. He'll make it." James doesn't even spare you a glance. His voice is so low, so certain. Taking the chance while you have it, you turn properly to face him, studying him. He seems more feral than his animals at this moment.

⸻

It turns out that the wounded, anxious horse wasn't the tough nut to crack at the ranch— but its owner.

In the bleakness of April, when everything seems to be keen on swallowing grief, Blue appears to be born again. He's got quite the personality.

The gravel crunches under your boots (you had to swap out loafers pretty quickly on a ranch, you had realised) as you near the stables. James, the early riser that he is, is already there, going about his duties. He hasn't noticed you yet. This means you get to watch him, study him, coloured fascinated. He seems to have an affinity for strays. He'll pick up any pellets of feed that fell from the cup and put them back in, appearing to pluck the exact runaway pellet each time. He'll give Blue two sugar cubes just because he can.

"I can do that," You offer, watching James get a good grip on the horse brush handle. He barely lets you do anything. You're beginning to wonder if he thinks of you as incompetent. He gives you a blue-eyed look of surprise. Wordlessly, he surrenders the brush to you as you step forward to claim it like a trophy.

You smooth a palm over the side of Blue's neck. "Hi, buddy," You speak softly, gliding the brush through his coat. His ears twitch, tilting forward.

Blue isn't the only one observing you. "He doesn't like when you brush like that."

Initially, you want to argue with James. Animals have ways of showing discomfort, don't they? Blue's fine. But then your whole body does that flaring with embarrassment thing, realising he was judging you so intensely. Sighing, you look to him, "How would you do it?" You ask. You extend the brush to him. Show me, then.

And fuck. His skin is so hot in that brief morsel of a second where his big hand swipes against your own. For someone so rugged, he's so tender with how he interacts with the world. Then it's an awkward stare-off where the hair at the back of your neck stands up.

True to his word, James schools you like a pro. One broad hand scratches at Blue's coat in a downward motion, and then the brush follows. You've worked with animals long enough to know when to push and when to leave it be. But after two, three beats of silence, you square your shoulders and clear your throat.

"So..." You begin, stomach immediately twisting in knots at your impulsive decision to be chatty. You're not sure what you expect from him. This distance between the both of you is heavier than the awkward silence that hangs in the air like a noose, swinging around and around no matter how hard you try to catch it and unwind it. "You, uh... going to do anything with Blue once he's better?"

James pauses. Glances at you. You can't read him— he looks at you like you spoke in a foreign language. Sheepish, you smile, seeking and searching to understand him. To make your job go down easier. Sure, the city was awful, but at least you had human interaction then. Even if it was just ordering coffee or getting hollered at by a motorist when you jaywalked. But here? You're going crazy. Not in the cute I love Jeff Buckley crazy, but the drawing on walls and singing nursery rhymes to myself crazy.

One low, rumbling hum comes deep from within James' chest. "Nah." He decides coolly. "Jus' gonna let him be. Let him live. He's done enough in his life." He adds, brushing Blue, looking at him with so much respect— so much regard. You'd kill to be viewed by James like that.

Contrastingly, something within this moment unfurls. Noiselessly so, creeping up upon the both of you. Your hands swipe up the horse's coat, doing it for the love of it, soft fur scraping against your skin. You mull over what James said. He won't put Blue to work. He'll give him a noble life, just being fed and caressed and free. That's not very entrepreneurial of him. However, something within you likes that. He didn't see this broken-down, injured horse as a business opportunity— but a life. To be respected and cherished as life should be.

There's no real need to ruminate, but you do regardless. When your district manager sent out a mass e-mail detailing this job, you didn't accept it solely because an animal was in need. Guilt gnaws at the marrow of your very bones. You saw it as an opportunity. When you had given your yes, you had imagined yourself as some outlaw, freed from the weight of your life's missteps, wind in your hair, the whole nine yards. That maybe... wasn't the noblest of your decisions. But James? He had visited Blue multiple times. Invested time, and money, and love and fuel (yes, that's important. Have you seen fuel prices?) into him. And not because Blue had a use for him, a benefit. James didn't need any more incentive other than he was needed. So he answered.

Stupid, girlish embarrassment writhes within you once you realise you haven't exactly replied to James. You flick your eyes over to him, wide with what could only regally be described as mortification, already rolling around generic responses in your arsenal. But James... doesn't even care. He's contented with the silence, which honestly makes sense now that you think about it. He does have a weird tendency to lean towards solitude.

You genuinely try not to think about him too much. You're just so hyperaware of him. Aware of every soft sigh, of how he shifts his weight on his long legs, of how some metal will clink if he moves too much: his belt buckle, his ring against his necklace if he adjusts his collar. Your heart is racing— why is it racing? You're just... petting a horse. You're not a gazelle being hunted for sport. Why can you feel every pulse of your heart, rattling the bones of your ribcage?

Maybe you're just psychic. James slides the brush into your hands, his burning hot palm on the back of your hand, guiding you, moulding your dexterity to be sufficient for his impossible standard. He smells like leather, obviously, but also some hazy, nostalgic molasses-sweetness. Citrusy, you realise. He smells like a fucking elixir. You can physically feel every single atom of his against yours. He holds your hand (and the brush by proxy, but who cares about that) with so much skill, and yet you get this taste in your mouth that tells you he's withholding himself. His fingers flex around the sides of your hand hesitantly, the fingertip of his pinky finger unintentionally - or maybe intentionally. You pray it's intentional - sweeping down the base of your hand, hooked under the side of your outer wrist. You shudder. In your head, you blame it on the cold wind. But that excuse won't be around for much longer when May comes bumbling in like an idiot.

He mystifies you, just standing there behind you.

"You're good with animals." The words tumble from your mouth before you can stop them. You're pinned between Blue and James. Each heavy thump, thump-thump, thump of your heart drums within your ears between every syllable you speak. You don't really expect a reply from him. Monosyllabic as he is, you thought you'd get a low-effort, Mhm, and nothing more.

"I find 'em easier than people." James lets his hand uncurl from your own. Palm flat against your forearm, where it drags up until the inside of your elbow, then he cruelly withdraws all that safe body heat from you. "Most days." He adds with a smoky chuckle, the vibration within his chest smothering against your back.

He's reeled you in perfectly. Sucker. "I'm listening, James."

He seems pleased by your words because he leans in to pat Blue's flank, giving you a nice view of his juicy forearm, tanned from working outside all the time, his sleeves rolled up an inch or so before his elbows. "There's no judgin'. No hate, war, violence. Anything they do is to live and persevere. S' noble, don'cha think?"

Your smile slanted into a thoughtful frown. There's more to James than expected. Maybe you're overthinking it; maybe you want to be close to him because you know he's the only human connection you've had in three weeks and, by the looks of it, for a few months more. Humans are social creatures, after all. You just want to know him, understand him. He wants to be understood— doesn't he? Or is that you projecting? Point is, you were too critical of the poor guy. He speaks with so much clarity, yet so absent of vehemence or frustration. Like he's just accepted it all.

"You're wrong." You murmur, unsure if these are the right words. Unsure if they're your words or someone else's, like a book character or a politician. They can be borrowed words, then. "About people, I mean," You add quickly, not wanting to slander any cute puppy or silly little chipmunk. "Hate and war comes from humanity, not humans. And animals are violent, too, with their prey or to assert dominance." The brush against Blue's coat pauses for a moment. "Humans are just as capable of love and art as they are of some nuclear blast. Good and bad in everything, y'know?" You end awkwardly, trying not to come off as too philosophical. You're a hired hand on a ranch, not Socrates.

All the warmth you've ever known is filtered away from you as James withdraws, not without a parting pat to Blue. "Yeah," He wipes his hands on his jeans, "maybe you're onto something, huh?"

⸻

"I'm fine— stop fussin' over it." James gruffs out, steering your hand away from his own. You grumble, exasperated. The stupid idiot basically punctured his finger with a nail. Summer thunderstorms are kicking up, which means the inevitable weather wreaks hell on manmade structures outside. James was repairing a broken fence when it happened. He didn't even tell you he was hurt; he just soldiered on as usual. You only managed to notice he was hurt because you've recently been, uhm, attentive to his hands, one could say.

You try again, reaching for his hand. He flexes it, hesitant, but somehow doesn't recoil from your touch just yet. "S' fine. Wasn't rusted, so I don't have tetanus or anything. Leave it." He urges again. Through your eyelashes, you glare at him warningly.

"You don't get tetanus from rust, James. Try literally anything else. Like dirt." You deadpan. You've learnt that James listens most when you're blunt and honest. Though he's smart enough to decipher any flowery language, he doesn't prefer it most days. You wonder if he'd be any good at writing those sappy birthday cards people throw in a scrapbook.

His brows raise, those mesmerising blue eyes gleaming as he smiles. "Seriously?"

You wonder how he managed to get by alone for so long. He's no sage, that's for sure. Maybe a nomad? You know he moved a lot when he was younger. And besides, his accent is a funny amalgamation of valley girl meets brooding cowboy. By the threshold of his doorway, on the welcome mat, he looks as golden as ever. The sun dips low into the horizon, reaching out by the sunbeams to caress and lave all over James' complexion. You cannot bite back the smile that infects you. James already forgets about the pulsing cuts on the back of his knuckles.

To humour you, James walks through the entryway and into his kitchen, sitting comfortably up on the countertop. He points you in the direction of the first-aid kit (you're surprised he knew where it even was, considering he likes to walk any injury off or some stupid thing like that), watching you with some unfamiliar yet welcome glimmer in his eyes. It is sturdy, unwavering as he observes you like some long-lost friend, with the same heat of a lover and the same affliction of a betrayer. He studies you like poetry. Unsure how he feels while trying to assign a meaning to you. Interpret you. While furiously dissecting you piece by piece. But you can't prosecute him for his curiosity— you do the same to him.

"I can't believe you managed to whack yourself with a nail like that." You laugh, preoccupied with rolling gauze around the base of his finger and the side of his hand. James' legs are between you, brushing against your side ever so slightly. The slight touches of your skin on his births brief bursts of electric contact. There are tiny little flecks of blood staining where the gauze settles onto James. You watch in real-time as his cheeks colour red, his lips pursing nervously. You didn't realise he was squeamish.

"I know," He agrees. It almost sounds like a thank you in that masculine, velvety timbre that you've grown to recognise (and revel in).

Once you give him a once-over, ensuring he'll live, you step away, satisfied with your work. "All done, Cowboy." You call him, decided in a fraction of a second. Impulsivity seems to suit you— because James is more than pleased with your nickname, giving you the best performance of schoolboy shyness on a man's face and build. He throws in a little aw, shucks, scraping his uninjured hand over the stubble along his mandible, palm eventually falling down into his lap.

James watches you for a moment, wetting his lips with his tongue. There's a hesitant gleam in those blue eyes of his, reaching out and staring at you. After living alongside him for a few months, you can tell when his nerves are needling around in his guts. He clears his throat, looking at his hands in his lap for a second— gathering his bearings. You watch him, amused and admittedly a little curious. "Thanks. For, uh, for being here. You're actually a good help."

You raise your brows, smiling. Your open palms press into his hands gingerly— because they're resting on his lap, and he's been messing with them all day, and they're right there. The perfect place for you to rest your hands. His skin is so warm; it climbs up your arms in steady, tingling bursts. A deep, low sigh drains from James, his shoulders un-tensing. He squeezes your hands back, revelling in how it feels to be touched like this. He hasn't had it in a while— touching someone, feeling the tender stumble of girl's hands along his skin. His heart lurches and writhes within his chest.

A warm, steady palm cups the swell of your cheek. Your entire nervous system implodes with all those good, buttery and fluttery feelings. Maybe there is a God above— because things don't just feel like heaven if you haven't had a taste of it yet. The easy, subtle throb of hot skin against your cheek lures you in. You look up at James, peering at him through your eyelashes. You want to peel that armour of his, strip him to the bone until you can see all those wires that make him tick.

He slowly eases off the countertop, and he's still infuriatingly tall. The other hand (the one not cupping your cheek) coasts down the length of your arm. You could sit with this feeling for hours. You're scooped in his arms and herded into his steady chest. In a matter of seconds, you have fallen terribly in favour of how all that spiked loneliness drips from your organs like tar, falling asleep the moment your ear rests over his beating heart in his chest. You flatten your hands against him, just under his ribcage. You reach out to each other wordlessly.

His breath is hot against your skin, you want to close your eyes and bask in it like it is your own sun. James' hands on you ease you into him until you're standing chest-to-chest. He dips down low, the tip of his nose gliding against your own for a second. Then, you barely tilt your head up, your lips catching his. You lay your mouth onto his in a burst of impulsivity, and yet, ironically, it was always going to end up this way. You squeeze his tricep, urging him to react. He hums lowly, like an engine purring, vibrating against your frame. He inches closer, his stubbly facial hair rasping across your skin, sinking into you: a steady anchor within a tempestuous ocean. It's one of those kisses that should be framed for the work of art that it is because you can taste his soul through this sugar-lipped kiss, and it tastes like red. Palms outward on his Herculean-chiseled body, you're in his teeth, and he's kissing you with a mouth that tastes like everything you've searched for— looking for it at the bottom of a bottle, in the pages of a book, in the eyes of everyone you've ever been hungry enough to gaze upon. It's all him, and he's right here, holding the side of your face in his hand as if he had never let it go. It puts everything into perspective for you; every single puzzle piece falls into place, every riddle solved, because the two of you have spent an entirety of four months alone, but together. He's here and he wants this. His atoms tell you so.

"Wow," You're stupefied, head fogged with the smell and the heat of him. "That's one way to thank me."

James chuckles, his mouth brushing against your temple, unwilling to truly part so soon. You've never seen him - or any man, really - wear happiness this way before. "Easy, Darlin', don't swoon too hard."

Your fists curl around the collar of his shirt, your back arching felinely as you tiptoe up to reach him since he's not helping you by swooping down like last time. Last time, your heart trembles. Last time, when you kissed him. "Don't backtrack now, Cowboy."

⸻

Late August bites you by the wrists, the sun saturates the earth and refuses to let up. The familiar crunch of gravel under weight creeps up behind you.

"Hey," James rasps, wiping his hands on his jeans, trying to get that sticky, annoying palm sweat off his skin. "Can we talk?"

You pat the warm slate you're perched on, inviting him to sit. You get a morsel of a cool breeze as his weight shifts through the thick, densely heated atmosphere to accept your invitation. Things between you and James have been difficult lately. Not to be a chicken or coward or anything else that would elicit a bunch of nine-year-olds to hurl their meanest insult towards you, but you've been toying with the idea of leaving the ranch.

Two weeks ago, the both of you were playing poker. Or, James was playing poker, and you were emptying out your wallet with the flushed cheeks of a sore loser. You both got talking, just some innocent conversation about your lives before a few months back. To before you had met. "I want to know everything I can about you," James had said, shuffling the cards for the billionth time. "You've got your head screwed on, I'm surprised you came from the city. What were you there for?" He had grinned, pushing the wads of money over to his growing pile. Knowing James, he'd be a good sport and find a way to give you your money back. Save for five dollars or something— just to teach you a lesson. You were giving him a lot of smack-talk in the beginning before he schooled you so hard you're still embarrassed.

"Work, mostly. And some guy I was seeing, but we split up." You dropped your measly hand (a two-pair) onto the table. "Oh yeah? You break up with him?" James eyed you carefully. You nodded: "Yeah, he was cheating on me with a colleague. That's why I'm genuinely grateful for the opportunity to work away from the city, clear my head. I was really lost, you know."

"M' sorry for what I said," James murmurs, taking a cautious glance at your expression.

"Wait, when did you end it with him?" He paused, leaning back in his seat. There were cards and cash scattered over the table. "March. A week before I arrived here." He had scoffed at that. You didn't like that noise. It stung you. "So that's why you're really here, not because you care about helping others. Because all of this - me - it's an escape to you."

"It's fine," You shift your melting limbs in your spot on the stone. Your tone doesn't quite match your words. The air is blurry and fiery, the day is plagued with a heat that gnaws away at your synapses.

"What? No, that's not it at all. It's just that— I don't know if I would've been brave enough to move if I didn't need a fresh start, that's what I was trying to say, that being here's a good thing for me." You had scrambled to salvage the evening, drenched in your own nerves. "Fresh start," James echoed in disbelief. "And what happens when you're bored of playing house? You're going to pack your bags and leave, aren't you?" You bristled at that, too. His voice was growing in intensity, and you felt he was patronising to you, trying to get you backed into a moral corner. "Did you expect Blue to need my help forever? It's a job, James, I came here to make him better, and yeah, I'll probably leave when he's good and healthy— because it's my job."

James had shook his head. You'll never shake that look on his face. He looked so mad, and so hurt. You couldn't fathom how the evening had soured so quickly. You remembered, strangely, that you wanted to pull at his throat and hope he'd reshuffle those syllables into something kind. "Don't hold your breath, now. He's right as rain, so you can leave any time you'd like." James spoke, the final nails in your coffin. The wooden chair squeaked a cry against the floor as you stood up, erect and furious, and nursing an aching heart full of raw upset.

"No," James sighed, pushing a hand through his hair, the other holding onto his hat. "No, it's not. I shouldn't have questioned you like that. It wasn't my place, an' I'm real sorry, Darlin'." His voice is velvet-smooth, softly insisting, coaxing you to melt. You cross your arms, frowning, wuffing out a breath.

"I'm not that mad because you questioned me. I'm upset that you just flipped out on me." Your chest aches. With every deep inhale, your lungs hit this knotted-up cramp as they expand.

He rests a palm on your knee. "Look, I know I treated you awfully. I'm trying to apologise here, okay? Lemme make it up to you, I know you're not using me for an escape or distraction or whatever it was that I said."

Your guts are a mangled mess of guilt and hurt and shame, and it all conflicts and festers off each other, growing like steel and tar and acid all at once. You're not sure about it anymore— are you using James? You do like him, but he's not like anyone else you've ever known. You want these feelings to be real. As much as it hurts, you push his hand off your leg. You can't risk it. Hurting him. Or yourself, because you'll eventually leave the ranch, and probably sometime soon considering how well Blue is doing, and if your feelings are true, and you end up ripping yourself away from a man you have genuine feelings for, then you're an idiot. You feel like an idiot anyway— for letting it all get this far. At the first spark when he touched your hand with his, at the first sign of butterflies in your stomach at his voice, you should've turned back and ran. Stupid, stupid, stupid. This is what you get for jumping the gun, thinking you're ready for such a huge change: people get hurt.

"Darlin', please," James speaks again, his expression crumbling. Fuck, how does he manage to look like a kicked puppy?

"I'll get back to work." You slide off the stone wall, shoes hitting the ground with a crunchy thud. You give him one glance before you walk away, maybe just to punish yourself, seeing that slow, skin-burning upset of James' pretty blue eyes and handsome face sink into your memory.

⸻

The high-pitched squeak of your bags being zipped up holds more weight than a Judge's gavel. September slices everything loose. Just like a guitar string caught between scissors, forcefully exploding, flung at two separate ends.

"Here's the spare keys," You murmur to James, your eyes on the table where you lay them, metal clinking together in protest. James didn't think you were serious about leaving. It had been established since day one: you'd show up, help Blue, and leave. But he just... didn't think it was real. Letting you go would be so much easier if he hated you. He wishes you'd have been rude off the bat, he wishes you weren't so fucking perfect. Then he'd be glad to be rid of you. But he's not, and this hurts so much he cannot breathe. He doesn't want to hate spring and summer because it's too sweet, and it reminds him of you.

"Do you need anything?" James asks, trying to buy some time— delay the inevitable. You shake your head, throat blocked with an aching lump of everything you want to say.

He steps towards you cautiously. His hands are up as if he's approaching an animal, eyeing you for any sudden shift or bristle. "Hey," He coos, laying his palms flat on your shoulders, brushing his knuckles against your jaw. "Come have a drink with me. Even if it's just to make the train ride go down a little easier."

Whiskey-lipped, your blood burns with a buzz that puts all that ugliness to rest. James is the same, shuffling closer to you on his couch, touched with liquid courage. Your head is humming and it won't go.

You lay your head on his shoulder, watching the fireplace cast tall shadows, caricatures of the furniture and your silhouettes. "Whaddya say I give you a kiss goodbye?" James' hot mouth purrs into the shell of your ear, echoing and rattling around until you can't point his words out from your own blood thrumming around your head.

He sweeps your hair from your beginning to flush cheeks, tucking it behind your other ear as you pull away from him to sit upright. His mouth is warm and wetter than you expected. He is lovely even in this maddening heartache. His breath becomes yours, and yours becomes his— in your very own symbiotic relationship. He just wants you to stay. You can taste it on his lips, you can feel it in his touch. Stay, stay, with me, stay here. You want to go back to the golden-winded days where James would chase you with an alien-looking bug, and you squeal overdramatic profanities at him.

But today tastes like an epilogue, no matter how hard you try to gorge on the niceties of last season's harvest. So you break the kiss with a heavy heart, lay a kiss onto James' cheek and whisper the best, proper goodbye you're strong enough to wield. Which is just a measly I'll see you, because you're not brave enough to actually say goodbye. They feel too final.

He follows you all the way to the front door, after a few seconds where he was too surprised to do anything but watch your frame get smaller and smaller away from him. He doesn't like that sight. You hesitate to step out the front door and onto the welcome mat. You get that familiar fear like you've forgotten something. You hope you have. You hope you forgot your necklace in his life, just so you have the excuse to come back and get it. But it's around your neck.

It's a long, gruelling road out of the Garden of Eden.

James locks his arms around you, face shoved into your neck. "Don't go."

Any protest that cooks in your brain is spoiled the second you feel those fucking-hell-big hands on your hips, with his stubble on your neck, with his hot mouth smooshing pleas into your skin as if he thinks you can absorb them like a sponge. You twist in his arms, bags forgotten, and squeeze your arms together, sitting them on his broad shoulders. He pulls you from the welcome mat and back inside.

"M' such an idiot, pushing you away like that," He huffs out, kissing down the curve of your neck, unbuttoning your shirt. His fingers blur together with the speed at which he opens you up, skimming his glowing-hot palms over your exposed midriff.

"It's my fault too. I was such an idiot." You grab onto the collar of his shirt as he swoops down, mouthing at your pulse.

"No." James quickly protests, "You're not an idiot." He stresses this belief with a kiss on your chin. A great deal of heat falls on everything. Give me more, you seem to say, fisting at his shirt.

You're eased onto the floor, which isn't as cold as you anticipated (probably because you're lying on your shirt), near the fireplace. You don't need it to keep you warm from the sinister chill of the September evening because your body is warm enough. James put this heat within you, and now he must ease it.

"Tell me you'll stay," He pleads, kissing down your stomach, his hands eagerly unbuttoning your jeans. You nod, your appetite for him creating an ache of emptiness deep within you, buried beneath all that tissue and skin. You can't even point out where it aches— it's just all over. A need so intense that you've made it corporeal, and it's demands are undeniable.

"Yes. Yes, I'll stay." You roll your hips up per his request, letting his hands strip your jeans from your legs. Humming, pleased with you, James tugs your bra down, flattening his tongue and licking across your nipple. You squirm, prompting him to nudge his knee between your legs, pinning you to the floor and forcing his bulge to smoosh against your wettening-in-real-time underwear.

He moans once he feels it: your wet cunt, drooling for his cock. "I don't deserve you." He mutters, in between sinking his teeth into your shoulder, groping handfuls of your soft, sweet thighs. It's taken you months to strip him down of all those façades, to unwind the temper and the aloofness to get a taste of the James you always knew was in there. And now you've had a taste of it? A slice of that Paradise? Yeah, you're not going anywhere.

He's got that knife-edged jaw and bewitching blue eyes, golden hair. You're not walking away from that. You slip a hand down onto his shirt, unbuttoning it slowly, with a little less dexterity than he did yours. He unhooks your bra with one clean motion, so unlike anyone else, who would always fumble to get it undone. It's as if your bra undid itself. James kisses everywhere he can think of: your tits, nose, mouth, hair, collarbones, ribs. You cup his bulge.

"Baby," He manages against your pelvis (how'd he get there?), trying so hard to be good and gentle the way you deserve. "Are you sure? I've got a lotta making up t' do first..."

You bump your hips into his, "Please, James? Need you to show me I'm wanted here." You look up at him. For you, it's just a look. For James, it's two big, gleaming, pleading, baby-doll eyes that he'll never be able to shake from his memory, so pretty and sweet his cock hardens fully at just one glance that you spare for him. There's this underlying cadence to your voice— because it's not just about sex, but about feeling like you're welcome here, like you belong, like he wants you, and not just because you're chill with his horses. But you also do want him to fuck you until your brain melts.

"Oh, you're wanted, alright." He confirms, grinning at you. This moment feels like the solution to all hardships. When you lose people, either through death or outgrowing the other, or when you spill a drink you were really looking forward to enjoying, and you think, what's the point of all this? You have your answer in the here and now.

You make a soft, happy noise in the back of your throat, easing his opened shirt off his shoulders as his fingers twist into the waistband of your panties.

"There we go, you're so gorgeous." James rasps against your pelvis, tossing his shirt and your panties aside before subtly shifting his hips. You weave your hands into his short hair, wondering what it'd look like right now if it was long like he told you it was in his early twenties. Your fingers in his hair like this are all the inviting welcomeness that he needs. The way he's kissing you, hovering over you, you know you'll be riddled with homesickness the moment it's over.

His hand cups your pussy for a moment, his mouth busy on your ribs again. James slips lower and lower, and with your go-ahead, pushes his middle and ring finger within you, his thumb, index, and pinky all splayed over the natural fold of your thighs. "Hear that?" He coos, his voice ringing hushedly and sexily beneath the lewd way your wet cunt squelches with glossy arousal. "Hear how much this pretty pussy wants me?" He dips down to press a kiss to your hardened, puffy clit. You tremble, practically dissolving into his mouth.

He gives your slit a couple of flickering licks to your sensitive cunt with his tongue, laving over you, sucking and kissing and making a mess of you. Your skin, coated in his spit and your slick, glistens in the light of the fire, the whole room all orange and pinkish from the burning flames. The raw nerves of your pussy are detangled and worshipped; until he's grinding his constricted cock into anything he can bump it against— until his cute nose is smooshed into the delicious skin above your clit.

He wants to keep going, but he has the rest of his life to indulge in the taste of your cunt. And you're acting super squirmy and whiny. You want him. You want the intimacy that comes with being impaled by a thick cock (which you know James has got, considering it's rubbing in a side-to-side motion against your thigh).

With two eager sets of hands, James rids himself of his jeans and boxers. You're winded by the sight of him. Head all juicy and pink with precum. You make a mental note to suck his cock later. And then another mental note to remember your mental note: because you're not sure how brainless you'll be by the time he's finished with you. He dips his lazy temple to rest on your knee, which is bent and steered to wrap around his waist. He watches himself, his entire length dragging up and down the length of your sex, just wetting his cock with you. A happy purr drizzles out of you, and you stir your hips a little, chasing the friction that consoles your anticipating nerves.

James pulls away. You lock the leg he had around himself, trapping him against you on instinct, both your hands digging into his arms for extra security. "What're you doing?" You ask.

He bursts into chuckles, kissing at your hairline to soothe you. "Was gonna get a condom, Darlin'."

The tensed air rolls out of your lungs in relief. "Could've asked, I would've said I'm on the pill." You lecture jokingly. James, endeared by you, smacks his wet mouth onto your nose bridge. You scrunch it up, giggling out a melodramatic ewww, although you're definitely charmed by it. Or him— just all of him.

"You're phenomenal, y'know that? You sure you wanna do it like this?" His jaw is clenched, holding back that all-possessing urge that demands he immediately takes you up on that offer, sibilating his words into the swell of your warm cheek.

You nod, teetering your fingertips down his spine coyly, feeling the delicious plane of his well-toned back. For good measure, you press your hips into his, immediately slicking up his shaft with your cunt. A bit of incentive couldn't hurt, right? You conjure up the image of James' cum oozing out of you and add it to your vision board.

You're kissed through it, face glowing with heat so intense that the fireplace seems a little dimmer all of a sudden. James inches into you, his cock is one-hundred-per-fucking-cent as thick as you assumed, forcing your hole to open up for him to roll into you enough to bottom out. His bulbous cockhead slots within the deep channel of your cunt so perfectly you're half sure that maybe soulmates are real; because no two people can match up this perfectly without being cut from the same universal cloth.

You squeal out a giddy, keening yes that trickles out from the top of your throat. You're stuffed to the brim with outlaw cock, and you blame this hazy heat on being so close and so low to the fireplace. Goosebumps prickle on your clammy skin. James pours out a low groan into the underside of one of your tits. The head of his cock slicks into your sex so pathetically easily. You can feel the thirst on James' hungry mouth for you, tongue sucking at the tender skin of your breast.

He's on his knees between your legs as you lie spread out below him, his hands scraping up your calves and sides and arms, in pure disbelief that you're still here and you're going to stay. Everything invades your senses, most notably the cindering of wood into ashes, and the smoky, musky leather that seems to constantly cling to James, with the natural earthy-saltiness of naked bodies. Your hips are dragged up to meet the needy thrusts of his cock.

James is a big guy, and it seems he's elected to forget that fact right now— because he's battering your puffy cunt until it's a wet, swollen ring around the base of his relentless cock. Every thrust punches you into and sometimes a centimetre up the floor. You're squeaking out his name like they're hymns. Why not? James is kneeling against you like you're an altar.

In fact, there's something so endearingly first-human about having sex with someone for the first time. It's just intimate learning and enjoyment. You go there, I go here, oh! You like it when I do that! The next time you and James have sex (yes, there will be a next time), he will know exactly how to swirl his tongue around your clit the way you like because he's already discovered it this time around.

He gives you his all, truly a gifted lover, kissing all around you, whispering warm, sweet, and filthy-mouthed things into your sweat-tacky skin. He feels too big for your body to physically take, but by sheer force of will maybe, your cunt easily welcomes him each time he burrows back within you. There's so much pleasure mounting at the base of your spine, seeping into your hips through your bone marrow.

The room is stuffy— and filled with the glorious sound of thick, wet sounds of his cock pounding into you in a rhythm your heart will beat to for the rest of your days. It's sometimes punctuated with the crackling of fire consuming the firewood.

You think James cannot get any better— and then boom! He does! The pad of his thumb scrapes against your clit, and you tighten around him like a wind-up toy, just all springs and well-intended consequences.

Sobbing - truly sobbing his name - you shudder, your cunt tight as a fist as it pulses and gingerly squeezes around him with every rolling wave of your orgasm. You crash against the shore of the hardwood floor, pawing at his thick, broad shoulders. James whispers poetry books full of comforting niceties into your temple, brushing your hair back and cooing at you: at how proud he is, how pretty you are, how perfect and sweet you are to him. Your muscles ache, and your nervous system has been totally and completely scrambled into something new.

While you had the most intense orgasm ever recorded in history, you didn't realise James was filling you up with every hot spurt of his cum. You only realise it when he inevitably withdraws his hips from between your locked-in-place, shaking-like-a-bunch-of leaves-legs.

Spent, James just lays on top of you. His weight is oddly comforting, even if he makes breathing ten times more difficult. In more ways than one, too. He noses into your clavicle. "I'm real glad you've decided to stay. Gotten too used to you, now." You feel him smile against your clammy skin.

You hum softly, patting his shoulder. "You just love adopting strays, don't you?"

[patriottruth]

For All Anti-trump, Pro-Democracy, Pro-America Allies Awaiting the Section 3/14A Miracle That Stops donald trump, Please Remember This is a Chess Game All The Way Until the Moment Checkmate is Revealed.

Please, please remember that in this pro-democracy chess game, time is on our side and, most importantly, the law is on our side. We have to let MAGA implode, fester, and rot until there's no real MAGA support for a civil war or another insurrection; and that structural degradation is happening loud and clear every day; and it's being fueled, fed, and accelerated by orange Thanos' stupidity, ignorance, corruption, and tyranny.

How is time on our side?

Anti-trump American women are divorcing their MAGA husbands for voting against their and their children's, even their own daughter's, lives, human and civil rights, and their futures.

Anti-trump voters are kicking every trump voter in their lives to the curb and cutting them off from holiday gatherings.

MAGA voters are learning that they and their basic survival needs are in the crosshairs for elimination and extermination.

MAGA voters are learning that all of their costs are going up due to trump tariffs.

MAGA voters are losing their holiday bonuses and jobs due to trump tarifs.

The U.S. military is learning donald trump is going to declare a state of emergency and send them into American cities who don't want them there, where the local Democrat governor and their state National Guard is going to be ready to literally combat them to protect that state from trump's tyranny.

All immigrants, legal or not, are learning the hard way they're all going to be denaturalized, gathered up by the U.S. military, put into concentration camps, and disposed of via deportation or otherwise.

MAGA business owners are learning the hard way that their businesses are being shunned and their and their employees' futures aren't looking so great.

The insane MAGA cabinet appointments for the trump administration have MAGA voters pushing back.

elon musk...ha, ha, ha, ha, ha... He's pissing everyone off every second of every day. Chef's kiss! Literally an unprotected chewable face surrounded by hordes of hungry leopards!

The more MAGA overplays its hand in Congress, the more Democratic Leaders Schumer and Jeffries are going to realize they and the Democrat party have no other survival options than to force a Section 3/14A vote to disqualify donald trump from ever holding federal office again.

The more MAGA promises political prosecutions and imprisonments of pollsters and political activists, executions of federal and state prosecutors who've investigated and prosecuted them, and the more MAGA promises to shut down media outlets such as NBC, ABC, and CBS for not making Kamala Harris look bad enough, or not making trump and MAGA look good enough, and the more MAGA clarifies the American public will have no way to communicate and stay informed via the internet or social media, and have access to pro-democracy and anti-trump/anti-MAGA content, the more anti-trump and even trump voters are going to be willing to contact their representatives to protect their rights and freedoms.

Tomorrow, November 19th, is the official two-week mark since the election; and we're only just starting to see some of the final vote counts across the USA. Once all of that counting is done, the nationwide canvas and individual voter ballot confirmations, the checking of the final vote count against the total amount of voters, scrutinizing the vote and looking for any irregularities, investigating and challenging any potential election fraud, individual voter ballot curing/correction so that every vote is counted, and any and all recounts and challenges to the actual vote counts of all races will occur so that the national vote can be certified, and the Electoral College can vote and issue their official certificates on December 17, 2024. Remember, 33% of Republicans and 33% of Independents said they'd never vote for trump, 60% to 80% of the United States said they wouldn't vote for donald trump because he's too old, American women made it clear they weren't voting for him, Puerto Ricans said they'd be throwing him in the trash, Black and Jewish voters said they weren't voting for him, and yet the majority of all of those voters, along with abortion initiative voters, and Democrat voters who voted for all down-ballot Democrats, allegedly all voted for donald trump, anyway. The next stages of election certification will verify who actually voted for trump, and who didn't, so the next several weeks could get very interesting!

Every day that I post the trump disqualification reminder is a day that more people are engaging, fighting, sharing the information with everyone they know here on Tumblr and elsewhere, contacting Democratic Leaders Schumer and Jeffries, and contacting Marc Elias and Democracy Docket and Citizens for Responsibility and Ethics in Washington to finally stop another donald trump presidency via Congress and the Electoral College. Time and the law is on our side! Thank you so, so much to everyone who refuses to accept the lie that donald j. trump, his MAGA cult, and their American dictatorship is inevitable and unstoppable; because the only undeniable and unstoppable truth is that in this fight, when we fight, we win!

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Eartha Kitt (Anna Lucasta, St. Louis Blues)—My friend and I have a saying: NOBODY is Eartha Kitt. A thousand have tried, and they've all come up empty and will continue to do so. Everyone knows her for something: from "Santa Baby" to Yzma in Emperor's New Groove to Catwoman to making Lady Bird Johnson cry for the Vietnam War. She was a master of comedy and sex, an extremely vocal activist, and she aged like fine wine... I honestly don't know what I can say about her that hasn't already been said, so I'll stick to linking all my propaganda. Like what else do you want from me. She was iconic at everything she ever did. Literally name another. How can anyone even think of her and not want to absolutely drown?

Ann-Margret (Bye Bye Birdie, Viva Las Vegas)—While she started as a singer, the lovely and talented Ann-Margret also left her mark as an actress in Hollywood. She won a Golden Globe for her first role in Pocketful of Miracles and was nominated again for Bye Bye Birdie, and very nearly stole the show from Elvis Presley himself in Viva Las Vegas.

This is round 3 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Eartha Kitt:

"A hot vintage woman who was not just known for her voice, beauty, poise, and presence, but also her unapologetic ways of speaking about how she was mistreated in the show business as a girl who grew up on cotton fields in South Carolina in the 1930s through the 1940s coming to Broadway first and then Hollywood."

"Have you watched her sing?? Have you seen her face?? Have you heard her talk?? How could you not fall instantly in love. She makes me incoherent with how hot she is."

"She can ACT she can SING she can speak FOUR LANGUAGES she is a GODDESS!!! Although she is (rightfully) remembered for her singing, TV appearances (Catwoman my beloved), and later film roles, her early appearances in film are no less impressive or noteworthy!! She’s an amazing actress with so much charisma in every role. She was also blacklisted from Hollywood for 10 years for criticizing the Johnson administration/Vietnam War, so. Iconic. Also Orson Welles apparently called her “the most exciting woman in the world.”

"She had such a stunning, remarkable appearance, like she could tear you to shreds with just a glance- but the most undeniable part of her hotness was her voice, and it makes sense that it's what most people nowadays know her for. Nothing encapsulates the sheer magnetism of her singing better than this clip of her and Nat King Cole in St. Louis Blues, she pops in at 2:49. Also I know it's post-1970 but her song that was cut from Emperor's New Groove is likely to make you feel Feelings."

Even with as racist as Hollywood was in the 1950s and 60s, Eartha Kitt STILL managed to have a thriving career. She also once had a threesome with Paul Newman and James Dean, and called out LBJ over the Vietnam War so hard that it made First Lady Johnson cry. Eartha Kitt was talented, sexy, and a total badass activist.

Ann-Margret:

She can sing! She can dance! She had excellent chemistry with Elvis! She reportedly survived a 22 foot fall off of a stage! The movies and old and problematic but I love her 1000%

[vintagelasvegas]

Sands Hotel & Casino '52-'96

Sands, December 1952

'46: Kit Carson Club opened by H. Bynum, D. Anderson, G. Frisbee on US Hwy 91 outside of Las Vegas, adjacent to Kit Carson Motel. The club will later become LaRue nightclub, then the Garden Room of the Sands Hotel.

'50: Kit Carson Club reopened as LaRue nightclub opened by Billy Wilkerson, Nola Hahn, 12/23/50.

'51: LaRue closed by summer. Mack Kufferman buys LaRue, and hires architect Wayne McAllister to build around the existing club. Kuffman and partners apply for gaming license. The project is called Sands by 12/51.

'52: Kufferman gaming license denied in Apr., sells to Jake Freedman (RG 4/9/52, RG 6/13/52). Partners running the Sands are B. Barron, E. Levinson (casino manager), S. Wyman, J. Entratter (showroom & restaurants). Hidden partners are believed to include J. Stacher, M. Lansky. Sands road sign designed by McAllister, built by YESCO. Sands opens 12/15/52 with 200 rooms in five buildings arranged in Y-shaped layout. The guest wings are named after race tracks: Arlington Park, Belmont Park, Haileah, Rockingham Park, Santa Anita. Three other wings of equal size were added circa ’53-54 (two were named Churchill Downs, Hollywood Park), another by ’58, and larger wing by ’60. The total room count in ’60 was 465.

'53: Frank Sinatra plays his first engagement at the Sands and becomes two percent owner in Oct; Carl Cohen joins the Sands as shareholder and casino manager in Oct.

'54: Sign modification: Second reader board added below the main board, Feb or earlier. Antonio Morelli joins the Sands as musical director for the Copa in Jul.

'55: Sands partners assume control of the Dunes in Sep. They sell the Dunes in four months later.

'58: Jake Freedman dies 1/19/58; Jack Entratter becomes Sands president.

'59: Sign modification: Attraction board attached to the sign, Feb or earlier. Baccarat begins at the Sands.

'60: Sinatra, Dean Martin, Sammy Davis Jr, Peter Lawford, and Joey Bishop (the "Rat Pack") are first billed together in the Copa in Jan-Feb. during the filming of Ocean's 11. Senator John F. Kennedy visits during the Democratic primary campaign.

'63: Opening of Aqueduct hotel wing (83 rm) in Apr. Julius Gabrielle, architect (RJ 4/28/63). Sinatra surrenders ownership 10/7/63.

'64: Sands acquires the former Kit Carson Motel; Belmont and Arlington buildings (base of the Y) moved southward to accommodate construction of a hotel tower.

'65: Second sign in Aug; tower completed late in the year and officially opened Jan. ’66. Martin Stern Jr, architect.

'67: Howard Hughes buys the Sands, 7/23/67. Sinatra leaves his Sands residency after confrontation with Cohen, 9/11/67.

'69: Dean Martin leaves Sands to join Riviera.

'71: Entratter dies, 3/8/71.

'73: Cohen leaves the Sands, Jan. '73.

'80: Inns of America buys the Sands from Hughes heirs Summa Corp in Oct.

'82: Third sign, new porte-cochère, marking the completion of remodeling effort including new Copa room, 1/15/82.

'83: Summa Corp reassumes control of the Sands, 4/5/83.

'88: Kirk Kerkorian buys the Sands in Jan. Kerkorian sells to Interface Group led by Sheldon Addison in Apr.

'90: Sands Expo and Convention Center opens.

'94: Remodeling of the casino.

'96: Sands closes 6/30/96. Tower demolished 11/26/96.

Photos of the Sands

Sources include David G. Schwartz. At the Sands: The Casino That Shaped Classic Las Vegas, Brought the Rat Pack Together, and Went Out With a Bang. December 1952 photo courtesy of Slidetreasurehunt.

Construction of the sign, 1952. The pylon sign pedestal was 56’ high, 21’ wide, with the S at 34’ tall. Design by Wayne McAllister, fabricated and installed by Young Electric Sign Co. Photo: YESCO Corporate Records (MS-00403), UNLV Special Collections & Archives.

Opens Dec 15. Danny Thomas, Connie Rusell, Lou Wills Jr, Ray Sinatra Orchestra. Nevada State Museum, Las Vegas, 0007-0345.

Aerial view of Kit Carson Motel and the Sands, '62

[heartbreak-sandwich]

Summary: Getting caught speeding has its consequences. When you realize it's all fun and games for the both of you, you're willing to play along for the reward. A secret and spontaneous getaway in the woods -- it's the perfect place to work out your differences, don't you think? Words: 2.2k CW: Gator being kind of a dick, police encounter (pulled over for speeding), unprotected p/v sex, fem!reader, misogynistic overtones if you squint, minor oral fixation, technically public encounter. A/N: I'm sorry it has taken me so long to post! I really struggled through this one, but I've gotten it to a place where I'm okay with it. I hope you enjoy it, and thank you so much for reading my thing!!!

NSFW below the cut, 18+, MDNI as usual ✨

The air is thick with fog, and you let out a long sigh while you wait for the deputy to approach your driver’s side window. The red and blue lights flash in your rearview mirror, and you start to feel heavy with resentment for last night’s power outage that reset your alarm clock, causing you to wake up half an hour later than usual. You know you were speeding; you can’t deny that. You’re late for work, and this pitstop is the last thing you need right now.

You sigh with disappointment when you realize Gator Tillman is trudging through the roadside gravel to your window. Why did it have to be him?

“Mornin’, sunshine.” Gator grins smugly, a toothpick hanging half out of the side of his mouth. “Where are you off to in such a hurry?”

“I’m late for work,” you grumble, avoiding making eye contact with him.

You two have a history, if you can even call it that. Half-memories flash through your mind of the one night stand you had after a heart to heart and one too many at the saloon downtown. If you’re being totally honest with yourself, Jack Daniels and summer evenings still make you think of him, but you’d never say it out loud.

“Goin’ 69 in a 60, huh?” Gator holds back a giggle as he waits for your response.

“Really, Tillman?” Your eyes narrow at his juvenile comment, and his smile falls flat. His mood shifts in an instant, and you see him push a small button on his body worn camera followed by a series of small beeps as it powers on.

“Just so you’re aware, you’re being audio and video recorded. The reason I stopped you is you were going approximately 69 miles per hour in a 60 mile per hour zone, clearly marked. License and registration,” he demands coldly, holding out his hand expectantly. You search through your glovebox for the documents and hand them over, steeping in the icy silence surrounding you, thinking that maybe if you had just laughed at his joke, he would have let you go on your way.

Gator takes your documents, shuffling them as he looks each one over before speaking to you once more. “You sit tight. I’ll be right back.” You prop your elbow up against your door and rest your head in your hand, letting your mind wander as you try your best to be patient.

After just a few minutes, you see Gator sauntering your way again through your sideview mirror. The way he walks makes your stomach flutter as more flashes of your night together run through your train of thought – his teeth sinking into your plush thighs one by one, the hungry growl rumbling from deep within his chest as he tasted you, and the pathetic whimper he couldn’t hold back as he pushed his desperate, twitching cock into you for the first time –

“Here you go, Miss.” Your daydream is cut short by his drawl as he hands your papers back to you. “I’m going to need you to step out of the vehicle now.” Your eyebrows shoot up in disbelief at his request. Why the hell is he doing this?

“Excuse me?” You ask, incredulous.

“Am I speakin’ Chinese?” Gator was serious. He wasn’t budging. You’re kicking yourself on the inside at this point, knowing he was only doing this to get back at you for bruising his ego over his stupid joke. A pang of regret hits low in your chest as you realize telling him you were late for work was a mistake.

“Gator, please –”

“Don’t make this harder on yourself, sweetheart. Step on out now.” He looks far off into the fog as he waits for you to comply, but you don’t move. Taking the toothpick out from between his teeth, he points it at you, cocking his head to the side. “You don’t want me to ask again.”

“What is it you want from me?”

“What do I want from you?” Gator chuckles, bending down to rest his forearms on your car, his head dipping into your window to meet your eyes. He hits the small button on his body cam once more, and you hear the device power down. “You know what I want,” he whispers softly, being careful not to let the rest of the world hear him. He leans in further until your faces are only inches apart. Your heartbeat hammers in your ears as you take in the scent of his musk mixed with remnants of fruity smoke, and you’re suddenly feeling lightheaded.

And just like that, you’re drowning in flashbacks again – the candy sweet taste of watermelon flavor on his tongue, his hair falling into his eyes as he fucked into you hard and slow, and the way he begged you to say his name as you came for him – and now you’re aching to play his games. You know exactly how to get him going. Softening your expression, you concede to the heat building in between your thighs, and despite the bone-cracking urge to mouth off to him, you try something new instead.

You decide to comply and let yourself out of your car, closing the door behind you, and you see a hint of shock flash over his features as he fights to keep his composure. He clears his throat.

“Place your hands on the hood of the vehicle,” Gator orders, and you follow his instruction dutifully. You palm the hood of your car, a seductive curve in your spine, and you can tell his resolve is starting to crumble with the way he’s eyeing you up and down, biting his bottom lip.

“Do you like me like this? Helpless?” Your eyes grow round and wide with innocence – the look of prey – and you notice Gator’s eyebrows raise just a fraction, but he ultimately maintains his poker face.

“Maybe,” he admits, his voice low and gravelly, dark chocolate eyes boring into yours. “Maybe I like having that kind of authority. Maybe I like knowing I could do whatever I wanted to you right now, and there isn’t anything you could do about it.” He approaches you slowly, each step making your anticipation burn brighter.

“Just maybe?”

“Okay,” he admits with a scoff. “You got me. I do like it.” He leans in closer to you so you can feel his breath on your lips. “I like you helpless because I like knowing that if you were to beg and pray, I would have the power to tell you no.” He lets the tips of his fingers brush up against your arm gently. “I like knowing that there would be nothing you could say or do to stop me from…” he trails off, a smirk playing on his lips as he licks his teeth.

“From what?”

Gator’s hands glide up to hold your wrists, removing your touch from the hood of your car. He pulls one of your hands to meet his jaw, grazing your soft skin over his stubble before pressing an almost chaste kiss to the tips of your fingers.

“From doing anything and everything I could dream of doing to a woman,” he murmurs, grinning against your skin. He grips both of your wrists firmly in front of him once more and pulls you against himself roughly as he makes his demand. “Now, ask me again, politely, what it is I want.”

“I think I already know,” you whisper against his lips playfully before he crashes them into yours, his strong arms circling your waist. He grips your asscheeks from underneath and pushes you up onto the hood of your car as he licks along your bottom lip, and you deepen the kiss. His tongue rolls over and over yours, lips locking perfectly together, and you can taste his familiar sweetness as he pushes his hips into you, grinding his already hard cock against your sweet spot over your jeans.

You moan into his mouth as his thrusts become even more needy, and your nails dig into his shoulder blades through his shirt. You’re not even thinking about the fact that anyone could drive by at any moment and see what’s happening – you’re too tangled up in each other to care. In a swift motion, Gator swipes at the bill of his hat and throws it to rest on the hood of the car beside you. His body weight presses into you before he finally breaks away, taking a deep breath and looking at you with wild eyes.

You suppress a smile as you take in the way he surveys you, soaking up his energy, loving every sick second of stroking his ego, giving him glimpses of the control he craves and getting your own physical satisfaction in return. You have him right where you want him, and he has no idea.

“Should we go somewhere?” Gator’s crooked smile makes your knees feel weak as his gaze flicks back and forth between your eyes and lips, and you can tell he’s doing his best to behave at least long enough to pose the question.

“Where?”

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

The ground underneath the picnic blanket is hard and uneven, but you don’t even feel it anymore. The sun speckles everything around you through the trees, and you vaguely notice the rustling of leaves and twigs as the birds change branches above you every so often. Gator had taken the two of you in his cruiser just far enough up the nearest hill to escape the fog, and the nip in the air didn’t bother you at all as soon as he was on top of you, in between your legs, tactical gear still in place while he ran his hands over your body, his hungry eyes feasting on every curve.

He started slow and gentle, purring soft requests in between light touches everywhere you wanted them. It didn’t take you long to realize he was playing you the same way you were playing him, and now you’re here, rolling your hips languidly as you ride him, using the straps and pockets on the front of his vest for more leverage.

He’s a moaning mess underneath you, his blunt nails digging into the flesh of your thighs as he grips them to stay grounded in reality. You let yourself wonder for a split second if anyone has ever pleased him like this before – if he has ever been so loud, so free, so incessantly desperate for more of someone like he is right here, right now, with you.

You pick up your pace and lean back just enough to put yourself on full display for him, his length reaching the perfect angle inside of you, eliciting a filthy whine you couldn’t stifle if you tried. Your eyes brim with tears as the pleasure builds at your core like an explosion threatening to detonate at any moment. You reach down and pry one of Gator’s hands from your thigh, bringing his fingertips up to your kiss-swollen lips.

He grins through his own bliss as he realizes what you’re about to do. Almost unable to form words, he breathes, “I swear, you’re tryin’ to kill me, woman.” With a sinful smile, you graze two of his fingers past your lips and teeth along your tongue until they reach the back of your throat. Creating the perfect amount of suction, you move his fingers in and out of your mouth in time with your hips, your pussy flexing around his cock with the idea of being just a little bit more full of him.

A strangled half sob slips past Gator’s lips through his gritted teeth as his brows knit together, and his free hand pulls you down onto him harder and faster, the lewd sounds of flesh on flesh filling the space around you.

“Gonna cum. Don’t fuckin’ stop,” he demands, a string of expletives following just as the wave of your own climax crashes over you. Sordid sounds pour from your mouth as you release his fingers from its grasp, gushing and writhing on his cock in a way you know you’ll be ashamed to relive after this.

You feel a bruising grip on your thighs as he holds you down, burying himself up to the hilt in your soaked pussy while his hips buck and spasm against his will.

“Gonna fill you up so good,” he growls just before you feel a hot rush inside of you, his thick release coating your walls in bursts as his mouth falls open and his eyes roll back, his fingertips clawing into your skin, holding on for dear life.

Coming down from your high, you use your hands on his chest to steady yourself, resting your weight on your knees as you both catch your breath. The sounds of the woods in the background become louder again as you take in your surroundings.

“Damn,” Gator breathes, letting out a sigh and a small chuckle.

“Been a while,” you muse, a smirk playing on your lips as your eyes meet his once again.

“Sure has,” he agrees. “Can’t keep me waitin’ like that again.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you promise with a cheeky wink.

tagging: @mrprettywhenhecries @b1tchywheeler @stevesxyellowxsweater @atinyliliflower @darleenjade @floredaqueen - ily guys, thank u for your encouragement and love, it means the world to meeeee!!! 💕

[chaoticace2005]

The list of regrets I totally have and am not just writing because Charlie is making me, Vagina Vaggie is glaring at me, and I want the free rent:

By Angel Dust, 3 time X-X-X award winner.

(Warning, there is some victim blaming in this. The abuse Angel faces from Val is not his fault, but given that I’m writing this from his perspective I figured it would be something he’d add.)

1. Writing this list

2. Verbally complaining about writing this list cause now Vagina wants to stab me.

3. Only taking half my usual hit before starting today.

4. Complaining about not being high enough.

5. Not hiding my drugs better

6. Not having more stashes of drugs

7. Calling TV superior to radio.

8. Not killing that snake before he had a chance to go to the hotel.

9. Not “trying hard enough” at this shitty hotel.

10. Being too close to roof so the CRAZY BITCH COULD THROW ME OFF OF IT.

11. Walking up the stairs with Pentious only to have to go IMMEDIATELY BACK DOWN.

12. Signing my deal with fucking Valentino. Seriously I’m a fucking idiot.

13. Even suggesting the idea that Charlie should come to the studio. She’s just going to get hurt.

14. Mouthing off to Val.

15. Not getting Charlie out of the hotel sooner

16. Being such a pathetic, dick sucking ho who isn’t good at anything beyond sex.

17. Not being able to take all of this.

18. Not acting well enough cause some this bitchass cat is seeing through me.

19. Ever offering that bitchass cat my services.

20. Pushing Husk’s boundaries

21. Not being my true self.

22. Acting for so long I don’t even really know who my true self is

23. Being a dick to Charlie

24. Being a dick to Husk

25. Being a dick to everyone

26. Putting my dick in a vacuum cleaner.

27. Calling Smiles a creepy dommy daddy.

28. Letting Niffty know about some of my more kinky films. She’s getting ideas…

29. Trying to play poker with Husk (and not even strip poker!)

30. Testing if my venom works on myself (it doesn’t and now I have pink bite marks)

31. Leaving what I used to clean my bites out because somehow Alastor found them and is now TEMPORARILY PARALYZED AND I DONT WANT HIM TO KILL ME WHEN HE CAN MOVE AGAIN.

32. Not answering Val’s texts.

33. Wearing boots. Seriously these things hurt sometimes.

34. Having ugly feet so I can’t NOT wear boots.

35. Tracking mud into the hotel

36. Mentioning sex around the Egg Bois because now I have to explain what it is.

37. Describing sex as something their boss “has never had,” it got back to Pentious and I’m scared.

38. Mentioning “Vox” anywhere in Alastor’s vicinity.

39. Agreeing to play Monopoly with Niffty. In general Monopoly sucks but Niffty likes to get knives involved?!?!

40. Getting addicted to drugs.

41. Getting caught in that alleyway by my BITCHASS brother.

42. Not trying harder for Molly.

43. Not saying goodbye.

44. Fucking overdosing.

45. Doing literally fucking nothing with my life and nothing with my death.

46. Taking the easy was out and doing whatever pops told me to

47. Yelling “FUCK” loudly in church that one time

48. Not teaching these people at the hotel how to FUCKING MAKE SPAGHETTI RIGHT?!

49. Getting high with Cherri.

50. Telling Val to “fuck off”

51. Flirting with that one cannibal guy because now they all seem to want to EAT ME (and not in the sexy way)

52. Leaving those pot brownies out. High cannibals, Egg Boiz, and Nifftys are terrifying.

53. Letting myself be named “Angel” because this makes shit too damn confusing plus I think Niffty wants to KILL ME?!

54. Not spending more time with these losers

55. Not opening myself up to Husk sooner.

56. Being too much of a coward to tell him how I feel.

57. Mentioning Pent has two dicks to Cherri cause she won’t stop asking about it.

58. Not doing enough to save Pentious.

59. Not telling him how much he means to me.

60. Trying to lift way more than I should have. Apparently six arms doesn’t mean I’m super strong.

61. Calling Niss a short motherfucker who nobody likes. I’m sorry, I’ll be better (and call him something even worse next time.)

62. Still being too much of a coward to tell Husk how I feel.

63. Flirting with Husk in Italian when he UNDERSTOOD ME THIS WHOLE DAMN TIME?!

64. Getting a room on the same side of the building as Alastor’s because he keeps laughing at 3 in the morning???

65. Kissing Husk in public. Val is mad.

66. Trying to even have a boyfriend with Val around. It’s stupid.

67. Calling yourself stupid for wanting to have a boyfriend.

68. Giving my boyfriend access to this list.

69. No regrets. Only 69. :D (Jesus Christ you’re a child.)

[batboyblog]

Things Biden and the Democrats did, this week #18

May 10-17 2024

The Justice Department endorses lifting many restrictions on marijuana. Since the 1970s marijuana has been classified as a Schedule I controlled substance, the most restrictive classification for drugs that are highly addictive, dangerous and have no medical use, like heroin. Schedule I drugs are nearly impossible to get approval for research studies greatly hampering attempts to understand marijuana and any medical benefits it may have. The DoJ recommends moving it to Schedule III, drugs with low risk of abuse like anabolic steroids, and testosterone. This will allow for greater research, likely allow medical marijuana, and make marijuana a much less serious offense. President Biden welcomed DoJ's decision, a result a review of policy he ordered. Biden in his message talked about how he's pardoned everyone convicted of marijuana possession federally. The President repeated a phrase he's said many times "No-one should be in jail just for using or possessing marijuana,"

The Department of Interior announced no new coal mining in America's largest coal producing region. The moratorium on new coal leases has been hailed as the single biggest step so fair toward ending coal in the US. The Powder River Basin area of Wyoming and Montana produces 40% of the nations coal, the whole state of West Virginia is just 14%. The new rule is estimated to reduce emissions by the equivalent of 293 million tons of carbon dioxide annually, the same as taking 63 million gas powered cars off the road.

Vice-President Harris announced that the Biden-Harris Administration had broken records by investing $16 billion in Historically Black Colleges and Universities. Harris, a graduate of Howard University, is the first President or Vice-President to have gone to a HBCU. The Administration's investment of $900 million so far in 2024 brought the total investment of the Biden-Harris administration in HBCUs to $16 billion more than double the record $7 billion. HBCUs produce 40% of black engineers, 50% of black teachers, 70% of black doctors and dentists, and 80% of black judges. HBCUs also have a much better record of helping social mobility and moving people out of generational poverty than other colleges and universities.

The Department of Housing and Urban Development announced $30 billion dollars in renewal funding for the Housing Choice Voucher Program. The program supports 2.3 million families that are in need of housing with vouchers that help pay rent. This funding represents a $2 billion dollar increase over last year.

The Department of Agriculture announced $671.4 million in investments in rural infrastructure. The money will go to project to improve rural electric grids, as well as drinking water and wastewater treatment infrastructure. The money will go to 47 projects across 23 states.

HUD announced a record breaking $1.1 billion dollar investment in Tribal housing and community development. HUD plans just over 1 billion dollars for the Indian Housing Block Grant (IHBG) program. This is a 40% increase in funding over 2023 and marks the largest ever funding investment in Indian housing. HUD also is investing $75 million in community development, supporting building and rehabbing community buildings in American Indian and Alaska Native communities.

The Department of Transportation announced $2 billion in investments in America's busiest passenger rail route, the Northeast Corridor between Washington DC and Boston. This is part of a 15 year, $176 billion plan to rebuild the corridor’s infrastructure and prepare for increased ridership and more trains. So far investments have seen a 25% increase, 7 million riders, over figures last year. a fully funded plan would almost double Amtrak service between New York City and Washington, D.C., and increase service between New York City and Boston by 50%. It would also allow a 60% increase in commuter trains.

HUD announced plans to streamline its HOME program. Currently the largest federal program to help build affordable housing, the streamlining of the rules will speed up building and help meet the Biden Administration's goal of 2 million new affordable housing units. HUD announced last week $1.3 billion dollars for the HOME program, which built 13,000 new units of housing in 2023 and helped 13,000 families with rental assistance

The Department of Interior announced $520 million in new water projects to help protect against drought in the western states. The funding will support 57 water related projects across 18 western states. The projects focus on climate resilience and drought prevention, as well as improving aging water delivery systems, and improving hydropower generation.

The Departments of Agriculture and HHS have stepped up efforts to wipe out the H5N1 virus prevent its spread to humans while protecting farmers livelihoods. The virus is currently effecting dairy cattle in the Texas panhandle region. The USDA and HSS are releasing wide ranging funds to help support farms equipping workers with Personal Protective Equipment, covering Veterinary costs, as well as compensating farmers for lost revenue. HHS and the CDC announced $101 million in testing an monitoring. This early detection and action is key to preventing another Covid style pandemic.

The Senate confirmed Sanket Bulsara to a life time federal judgeship in New York and Eric Schulte and Camela Theeler to lifetime federal judgeships in South Dakota. This brings the total number of judges appointed by President Biden to 197. For the first time in history the majority of a President's judicial nominees have not been white men.

Bonus: The 11th Circuit Court of Appeals ruled that transgender health insurance exclusions were illegal. The ruling came from a case first filed in 2019 where an employer refused to cover an employee's gender affirming surgery. The court in its ruling sited new guidance from the Biden Administration's Equal Employment Opportunity Commission that declared that Title VII of the Civil Rights Act protects trans people in the work place. These kinds of guidelines are often sited in court and carry great weight.

[afeelgoodblog]

The Best News of Last Week

1. Amazon deforestation falls over 60% compared with last July

Deforestation in the Brazilian Amazon fell by at least 60% in July compared to the same month last year, the environment minister, Marina Silva, has told the Guardian.

The good news comes ahead of a regional summit that aims to prevent South America’s largest biome from hitting a calamitous tipping point.

2. 4,000 Rescued Beagles, Bred for Research, Found Homes and Best Friends

A heartwarming story unfolds as a beagle named Fin marks the end of a heroic 60-day mission to save almost 4,000 dogs from distressing conditions at a breeding facility. Beagles once underfed, sick, and mistreated have found their way into loving homes, enjoying grassy romps and birthday cake celebrations.

From "Sir Biscuit of Barkingham" to "Nervous Nellie," these four-legged heroes are adapting to their new lives with wagging tails and leaps of joy.

3. 'Cancer-killing pill' that appears to 'annihilate' solid tumours is now being tested on humans

A "cancer-killing pill" has appeared to "annihilate" solid tumours in early research - leaving healthy cells unaffected.

The new drug has been in development for 20 years, and is now undergoing pre-clinical research in the US.

4. Petting other people's dogs, even briefly, can boost your health

It turns out even short, friendly interactions with canines can be good for our health. Evidence is accumulating that levels of the stress hormone cortisol drop in people after just 5 to 20 minutes spent interacting with dogs — even if it's not their pet.

5. FDA approves first pill for postpartum depression

The Food and Drug Administration on Friday approved the first-ever pill for postpartum depression.

The medication, called zuranolone, is taken daily for two weeks. In a pair of clinical trials involving women who experienced severe depression after having a baby, the drug improved symptoms — such as anxiety, difficulty sleeping, loss of pleasure, low energy, guilt or social withdrawal — as early as three days after taking the first pill.

6. Taylor Swift Gives Bonuses Totaling Over $55 Million to Every Person Working on Massive Eras Tour

The pop superstar recently gave bonuses totaling over $55 million to everyone (from her dancers to riggers, sound technicians and catering, among others) working on her massive show.

TMZ previously reported that Swift, 33, gifted truckers on her tour $100,000 each ahead of her concert stop in Santa Clara over the weekend.

7. Successful room temperature ambient-pressure magnetic levitation of LK-99

In summary, this paper provides confirmatory synthesis and enhanced magnetic levitation of LK-99 at room temperature. The results support the possibility of intrinsic high temperature superconductivity in this system, but lack electrical evidence. More measurements and theoretical work are still needed to conclusively demonstrate and explain claimed room temperature superconductivity in this apatite material.

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