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djuvlipen · 10 months ago

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A young mother, Marica Mihajlović, posted a horrifying account of obstetric violence she experienced at the hands of a brutal doctor, mistreatment that culminated in the death of her baby. “He put his hand over my mouth, twisted my hands, threatened to knock out my teeth. He also insulted me based on my nationality, and he also told me that he would hit me and that I would have two skulls.” Worse was to follow.

The 27-year-old mum’s ordeal began on 11 January 2024, when she was admitted to the General Hospital of Sremska Mitrovica because she was a week overdue. Until then, everything had been fine and normal with the pregnancy. It was decided to induce the birth, and when nothing happened after an hour, it became apparent that she could not deliver naturally and that a c-section would be necessary.

When the gynecologist-obstetrician on shift, named by the news portal Republika as Dr. Marko Maksimović, turned up after some hours later, Marica recounted that “then the nurses tell him that nothing is happening, that I can't open up, but he insisted that everything continue ‘as it should’.” After hours of agony, she described her shocking ordeal:

“I beg and beg for the doctor's help to deliver me by caesarean section, to save my child, where at that moment he hits me and squeezes my jaw, threatening that he will hit me.” Then, as reported by Republika, the doctor jumped onto her stomach and tried to push the baby out, but it got stuck in the birth canal.

Marica told the reporter, “At that moment, I lost consciousness and was receiving oxygen, but the baby remained stuck. My rib was broken from that pressure, and the baby inhaled meconium. She could breathe in, but she couldn't breathe out and her heart stopped at 11:05 p.m.” The infant was resuscitated and rushed to a hospital in Novi Sad. The next day, at 6:00 a.m., Marica received a phone call informing her that her baby had passed away. The General Hospital of Sremska Mitrovica told Republika that an inquiry is underway.

Marica asked people to share her Facebook post and spread the word, for “I am not the first or the last victim of this doctor. The midwives say I have all their support and whatever it takes they will testify, as will the women who were with me in the delivery room. Beware of this man.”

Obstetric violence against Romani women ‘commonplace’

While in recent years, obstetric violence against women has gained growing attention globally, revealing it to be widespread and systematic in nature, it still remains highly underreported and in urgent need of being addressed from a rights based perspective. According to Hungary’s EMMA Association, young Romani women are particularly vulnerable to obstetric violence, and no European country has so far put in place legislation specifically criminalising it. Romani women often find themselves at the cruel intersection of racism, gender-based and institutional violence. This abuse implies

“the appropriation of women’s bodies and reproductive processes by health personnel, which is embodied in a dehumanising treatment, in abuses of medicalisation and pathologizing of natural processes, thus causing loss of autonomy and of free decision-making on a woman’s own body and sexuality, negatively influencing women’s quality of life.”

In 2017, a Romani women won her case before the Equality Body in Budapest following harassment and racist abuse by hospital staff while she was giving birth. The ERRC provided support to the litigant, in what was a first of its kind. The woman was alone in the hospital and intimidated by staff who threatened to put a pillow over her face to silence her, and to take her child away:

“The doctor also walked in and said ‘if you had shouted once more, I would have called the psychiatrist who would have taken your child away and then you wouldn’t receive the child benefit, because anyway, you gypsies give birth only for the money!’”

Research by the ERRC and its partners has revealed such forms of abuse to be commonplace across central and eastern Europe. A fact-finding investigation in Bulgaria revealed that Romani women routinely experience discriminatory treatment, segregated maternity wards, verbal and physical harrassment and obstetric violence in various public hospitals in Bulgaria.

Similar stories of abuse surfaced in North Macedonia, in one case a Romani women recounted how attempts to induce her contractions left her in such acute pain for hours that she could not refrain from crying out, prompting the nursing staff to insult her:

“Why are you screaming so loud? Shame on you, and you knew how to make five babies, you Gypsies are good only for that!” … Once the second nurse arrived, the childbirth started. I had no strength and was feeling dizzy. Both nurses continued to insult me and scorned me for having screamed. Suddenly, one of them slapped me across the face. I asked: ‘Why do you hit me?’ Instead of responding, the second nurse slapped me again saying: “because you squeal like a stuck pig. At that moment another person entered, most probably he was a medical assistant, and pressed my abdomen hard, so the baby came out.”

In Slovakia, according to Poradňa and the Center for Reproductive Rights, the widespread and historical practice of forced and coercive sterilization of Roma women is just one example of reproductive rights violations that Romani women face in Slovakia. Their monitoring over recent years has revealed that Romani women continue to face multiple forms of discrimination in the context of reproductive health care, including segregation in maternity wards, Roma-only bathrooms, verbal racial abuse, and ill-treatment by medical personnel.

Globally, obstetric violence has a long history, which reflects and amplifies different forms of social and political discrimination, oppression, and exclusion. As EMMA put it, this abuse is compounded by outdated and harmful birth practices, lack of soft skills and trauma-informed attitudes, the lack of transparency and accountability within maternity care are among the many factors that contribute to the abuse and harm done. Across Europe today, Romani women find themselves caught in this cruel intersection with traumatic consequences, and it’s time to end the silence. After her ordeal the Macedonian victim said: “I am still shaken from what I have gone through – being slapped, humiliated and inhumanely treated by nurses at the Clinic. I wonder whether this happened because, for them, I am a ‘Gypsy’ or are all women delivered like that.”

The ERRC has written to the Smremska Mitrovica General Hospital, the public prosecutor, and the Health Inspectorate within the Ministry of Health, to request that they consider the likely racist motivation for the doctor’s actions in their ongoing investigations. The Regional Medical Chamber of Vojvodina was also contacted in order to request that they initiate a disciplinary procedure to revoke the doctor’s medical license and protect future Romani mothers from violence.

01.23.2024, Newborn baby dies 'after doctor jumped on pregnant Roma woman's stomach while hurling racist abuse at her during labour' in Serbia

#roma #medical malpractice #reproductive rights #Marica Mihajlović

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ladyloveandjustice · 2 years ago

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Listening to Carmilla on tape because I can’t stand the thought of having read Dracula but not the lesbian predecessor. About three chapter in

-I was like ‘maybe since it’s only 150 pages or whatever it will manage not to say anything horrifically racist?’ but it’s already failed that test’

-It’s not quite the level of Jonathan being ‘whatever’ about the peasants, but the fact Laura’s dad has a woman crash next to their house and be like ‘listen I have to go to a location to do things i cannot tell you about and I cannot be delayed and my daughter is sick so I can’t take her. I’m totally okay with giving her to you for three months, random strangers I just had a five minute conversation with! by the way she’s not insane’ and his reaction is ‘cool’ is incredible. They don’t even get this woman’s name I think???

-At the same time it’s a little more believable since people generally weren’t scared of teenage girls, but also his daughter was specifically haunted by a mysterious woman in her bedroom when she was younger and they took this seriously enough to call a doctor to check out where she was bitten and have her nurse stay up with her after that,implying they believed her!!! so you’d THINK he’d be cautious, but no

but there is some self awareness with him being like ‘idk why she felt the need to specifically mention she wasn’t insane, weird thing to say. Haha hope we haven’t made a big mistake but MY DAUGHTER NEEDS FRIENDS”

-I do hate Laura’s dad because he’s obsessed with asserting his Britishness in this ~foreign land~ though, I know Carmilla probably avoids sucking the blood of men when she can, but she can snap his neck or something, I won’t mind.

-really slick of Carmilla to explain away Laura recognizing her with ~oh we must have dreamed of each other when we were children how very destined romance of us~. She is way better at lying than Dracula. This woman has vision. She has drive.

-The line about how Laura’s repulsion only intensified her attraction to Carmilla is better than anything in Dracula so far tbh. Girl is just out there, speaking for all the past and future monsterfuckers.

-she’s only been around for a chapter yet if you do a drinking game for how many times Laura mentions Carmilla is hot you will die.

#nev reads carmilla

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fortressofserenity · 2 years ago

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‘Unrelatable’ POC

For some romance readers, they’d eagerly drop a book if it features a person or couple of colour. They’d even dismiss the things that say black people want in a romance, like they say they can’t relate to those people. Even if they’re cool with vampires, werewolves and aliens but for as long as they look white, they’re relatable to racist readers (and writers).

I do think it’s unfair to dismiss nonwhite people as unrelatable since despite whatever cultural differences we have, we also have universal experiences. I can relate to how nursing students and young athletes get bullied, despite being neither involved in medicine nor sports. Why can’t white readers and writers do the same with people of colour?

To put it this way, with the Arrow fandom they dismiss Laurel Lance as unrelatable while they overly identify with Felicity Smoak. To be very honest, I can’t name any woman in real life who’s like Felicity Smoak but I can name a Laurel Lance and her name is Marianne Faithfull, who is an actual musician. It’s like they only have empathy for those they like.

It would be magnified if it were about people of colour, mostly because I think people focus too much on cultural differences and ignore the experiential and mental similarities. A Kenyan medical student would have more in common with a British medical student than they would with a fellow Kenyan from time to time. The same can be said about British people.

I could even imagine fans complaining about how unrelatable the newly Anglo-Indian seamstress Felicity Smoak would be, even though it ignores the many Asian women involved in the garment industry in whatever country they go to or are part of. Like they mourn the Felicity Smoak they know, while dissing or criticising the newly ‘ethnic’ Felicity Smoak.

If being relatable means being an awful lot like a certain white person (not so much about being poor, disabled or LGBT) then it seems the fanbase is incapable of relating to anybody else who might have a similar experience despite being disabled/poor/LGBT/not geeky.

If I can relate to athletes, they can do the same thing with people of colour. For as long as relatability pertains to able-bodied, well-off straight white people it will only serve these kinds of people and their empathy for everybody is undeveloped at best.

#racism #anti-olicity #laurel lance #fandom #arrow #black canary #felicity smoak #personal #romance novel #romancelandia #anti-felicity

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sometimes-men-need-help-too · 3 years ago

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What does modern feminism do that you don't agree with? This is genuine btw

A couple things before I start:

- This is not meant to bash all the feminists out there unless they fit into what I’m saying. I know there are good feminists out there

- When I say ‘you’ I’m not meaning you, I’m saying it in a general way

-I hope I get my point across and it’s clear. I sometimes struggle with that

Also I’m sorry this is so long and it’s in no particular order and I hope none of this comes across as being aggressive or anything

A lot of my issues with the movement boils down to attitudes. To me, that is very telling of its true colors. And I do try not to necessarily judge an entire movement from just the bad people because I know that isn’t fair, although I do feel like the bad feminists have taken over the movement and end up drowning out the good voices and that’s why we hear more negativity than positivity.

One thing that I have issue with the lack of respect towards those that disagree whether it’s with the movement itself or it’s a particular thing. For a movement that preaches about a woman’s choice, I don’t feel that really happens like it should. I don’t know, maybe I’m wrong here but depending on what the topic is I get a general impression like you’re not really supposed to disagree with what’s being side. You do and you might have someone lash out at you (that’s another point I have). Or if you say you’re anti feminist, you have people coming up with these reasons why they think you are; one being internalized misogyny and you get called a pick-me which I find a bit insulting. I should be able to have an opinion without someone assuming I’m trying to get a man’s attention or I can’t think for myself or I hate other girls. That isn’t it! Wouldn’t you think that is misogynistic?

And if it’s not internalized misogyny, then there are other factors; her being white (which usually then goes on to sound racist) or it’s because she has money or internalized racism or whatever they come up with. And it sounds condescending and that just bugs me. Hey, maybe instead of some underlying reason, we just don’t agree.

or you have people try to stick the label on anyway.

‘If you believe in equality you’re a feminist’

The label means nothing. I don’t understand why some will focus on this so much. I don’t want to be called a feminist. I don’t need to. In the same way, it’s not necessary for me to refer to myself as an MRA (men’s rights activist). And yeah, I know this says it’s an “MRA blog” that’s what I had when I started. But ultimately, the label isn’t important. I’m all for equality. It’s cool, it’s great. But I see this sort of thing (online that is) being forced on people and the thing is, with that wording it makes it sound like the movement is all inclusive when it’s not. You have to have certain politics and for the most part (unless you’re a religious feminist) you have to be pro choice otherwise you’re not a ‘real’ feminist.

My next issue is all the aggression. You can just tell sometimes with how people respond online or if you catch a video that someone posted. And not only that, but how quickly people fall into name-calling or just all around acting like a child. And for the most it seems pretty acceptable to some because it keeps happening. It’s not hard to find on this site or otherwise. If you can’t communicate your opinions about something without having a fit or blocking someone (excluding if they just keep harassing you) then you’re not mature enough. That shows me you don’t really care about having a real discussion. And some can say that it happening on here is probably done by teenagers and to an extent they’re probably right. But it happens on other sites and in real life as well and it’s more than just teens. It’s people my age and older and that’s not cool.

And then we have how some like to ignore the differences between men and women. Sure, yes, there are many things a woman can do just like a man but we also have to acknowledge our differences. I don’t see a lot of that with some forms of feminism. STEM, for example, is something I would attribute the differences more to just how men and women tend to be rather than sexism. Could there be certain circumstances where it is sexism? Sure, I suppose you can’t rule it out entirely. Otherwise I would say it’s just what they’re happy doing. I know girls who are doing science stuff or business things but I also know girls who are going to be teachers or psychologists or nurses. It’s not that they're actively being told by everyone that they can’t do it(I suppose unless they live in some other country like that). That’s just what they want to do, you know, their choice. Just like how some men go towards a job like with computers or farming or they’re pre-school teachers or gynecologists.

I found an interesting fact (source will be posted below) that said women are actually preferred over men two-to-one for faculty positions. The study was done by psychologists from Cornell University with professors from 371 colleges/universities in the US. It also noted that: “recent national census-type studies showing that female Ph.D.s are disproportionately less likely to apply for tenure-track positions, yet when they do they are more likely to be hired, in some science fields approaching the two-to-one ratio revealed by Williams and Ceci.”

Yet, we need to ask ourselves honestly, how often do facts like these get passed around vs the idea that women are suffering from misogyny and therefore are unable to fully represent in STEM jobs?

The next thing I want to address is misandry. Now there are a good portion of people who don't think it exists or if it does, it's really not much of an issue because of the "power" and the "privilege" men have within society. And to me, I have a problem with that. If feminism is supposed to be for men as well, I would think they would want to combat misandry as well as misogyny. If someone really doesn't think it exists, I would suggest that the person really take a look at what goes on in real life and online that's directed towards men.

There's the whole "male tears" thing which is on coffee mugs and t-shirts. There's the kill all men/yes all men thing. All of which are supposed to be jokes and if a man says something about it he gets mocked for his "fragile masculinity"

That's just not okay. They're being immature and a bully which they usually try to justify (men have done this and that throughout history to women) but you just can't.

I found this article, this really really atrocious article. It's one of those open letter things and found on this feminist website (feminisminindia) and I almost believed it to be satire with how.... stereotypically Tumblr it was. I did research and looked at the info regarding the site and nope, it's a serious site. I'll post the article below but I'll also summarize it:

Basically this woman is telling the men in her life that she will not stop saying "men are trash or other radical feminist opinions." She's saying it because women and others have suffered so much at the hands of the patriarchy because they're not straight white men. She goes on to say:

So let’s establish: misandry isn’t real. Just like unicorns and heterophobia, misandry is a myth because it isn’t systematic or systemic. Unlike misogyny, cis men don’t face oppression purely based on their gender. While they may encounter instances of racism, homophobia and ableism, they are not dehumanised as a function of their gender identity (read: cis privilege).

That is wrong. Absolutely wrong. Misandry is real. "Cis" people do face oppression purely based on their gender. Anyone can. To deny that lacks understanding.

And the rest is just saying that: It is time to start hating on men-as-a-whole and starting celebrating the men that you are.

And: Because at the end of the day, feminists need men. Whether it’s because you wield structural power or because we genuinely value your existence, we need to band together to destroy ‘men’ because men are trash, but you, if you made it to the end of this, are probably not. Prove me right.

I would imagine this is a common viewpoint. And it's not a good one. If you genuinely think a whole group as a whole is bad you need to reexamine your thoughts. It's not "men" that are bad, it's the sexist people.

To wrap this up (I'm sure you might be tired of reading this lol); like I said, the attitudes play a huge part of it. Modern feminism, in my opinion, is just not good enough for me to say I agree with it and want to identify as one. I just can't

Here is the link to the feminist article: https://www.google.com/amp/s/feminisminindia.com/2020/09/23/men-are-trash-and-other-radical-feminist-opinions/%3famp

And here is the link for the STEM thing: https://news.cornell.edu/stories/2015/04/women-preferred-21-over-men-stem-faculty-positions

#mens rights #answered asks #i might have overdid this a bit....

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xneens · 4 years ago

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love me, hate me - part one

Warnings: swearing, angst if you squint, mild violence

Word count: 3.7k

Summary: Who knew Ransom would get so worked up about a few stolen beers?

Or: In which he's a sucker for you but those were his favorite beers.

He didn't know why he put up with your shit. If you had been anyone else, you'd be working at a dead end job that barely covered your bills instead of walking around the mansion in your brand new Lois Vuitton purse, Jimmy Choo heels that screamed for him to fuck you, and a tight dress he wanted to tear off.

You even had the balls to call him Hugh, a name he specifically reserved for the help. When he informed you, you had rolled your pretty powdered eyes, sneering at him for being an inconsiderate asshole before asking why he wasn't calling himself Hugh due to the massive help sign that was disguised as his cashmere sweater.

Ransom didn't know if he wanted to hurt you or make you his. He preferred the latter but with the way you were pushing him, he wouldn't be surprised with himself if you somehow found yourself in the backseat of his car, tied up and awaiting for him to fuck you senseless. If you had been anyone else, he would ruin your life without hesitation.

He tried to hate you, he really did and usually, it wouldn't be hard for him to hate someone. Most of the time it barely took him a glance for him to decide to loathe the person. But as he tried harder to hate you, forget you, and ignore you, the more you wiggled your way into his every thought. Even then he couldn't hate you. It made part of him want to ditch family gatherings where he knew you would show, being Meg's best friend, and another part of him was exhilarated.

You on the other hand dreaded being dragged into another Thrombey's family gathering where it all ended in arguments and racists comments. The only people you were able to stomach were Harlan, his adorable nurse, Martha, and of course, your best friend Meg. Whenever the conversation began to look like a shouting match, the two of you would sneak away to get high with the maid, Fran.

Ransom was an asshole, a hot, smoldering asshole with enough snarky remarks that would make any sane person hang themselves. You knew he wasn't a fan of yours, which was only good news for you; you hated him, too. The expression "there's a little bit of good in everyone." applied to everyone except him, not that you weren't surprised. Truth to be told, you wouldn't put it past him to kill a family member if they pissed him off enough.

With the number of jabs you made at his expense, you were shocked he hadn't ruined your life yet. Maybe you had a death wish dangling over you, or maybe you just liked pushing him but you made it your little mission to ruin his evening since yours would be the second he stepped in the room.

Meg nudged you with her elbow, leaving a sore spot on your ribs. You gave her a dirty glare, looking up from your Instagram feed. She motioned to the large mansion ahead, the car slowing. "Okay, the plan is to get drunk, but not enough for my drunk relatives to notice and once they're having one of their dumb-ass debates, we sneak off to Fran's room and smoke a few. That sound good?"

Stretching, you nodded, tucking your phone away. "Yeah, that's fine. Remind me how I ended up spending Thanksgiving break with you, again? What did I ever do to deserve such a punishment?"

"You crushed your parent's wishes on becoming a lawyer, instead became an Instagram model, and the holidays with them are too long for you to hear how their daughter could've convicted criminals instead of posting bikini pics," Meg replied, grinning at your sarcastic pout. She stopped the car right beside her mom's. "Come on, it won't be that bad."

"That's what you said last time. Do you not remember how that little reunion ended?" you asked, opening the car door and getting out. The little gravel on the cemented driveway crunched under your new heels, making you grimace.

Meg shut her door, grabbing her purse. She waited at her side of the car and you both walked up to the door. "Actually, I don't. I'm surprised you can especially with all the weed you smoked."

Rolling your eyes, your mind wandered to the man who had killed your buzz. "Your asshole of a cousin ruined my buzz just by opening his mouth. He could be so much hotter if he never utters a single word ever again."

"Please stop talking about Ransom, it's making my lunch come back up." Meg whined, her feet trudging up the steps. Your heels clicked on the wooden porch. "Which reminds me, he kept asking if you were going to be here. Be careful, he might have a little trap to humiliate you in front of my family. If that happens, just knee him in the balls, and we can go to Cabo or something."

You made a face, cringing just thinking of Ransom asking about you, let alone imagining some kind of plan to embarrass you. "Ugh, what a dick. It's time like this that I regret not going back to my crazy family for holidays."

"You'll be fine. Hopefully. Let's go see Harlan." she opened the door, taking off the lush coat draped over her shoulders before placing it on the spacious coat closet by the entrance. She held her hand out for yours and you slid it off handing it over for her to hang up.

Martha greeted you before you could take another step, the Latina smiling at both of you. "I'm so glad both of you are here. The rest came in before you and they've been bickering since."

You both gave her knowing smiles, the loud discussion so heated you could hear it from all the way across the house. Meg sighed, snaking an arm around yours and Martha, pulling you towards Fran's quarters. "Looks like Harlan will have to wait. I'm not going in there sober."

Martha shook her head, slipping her arm out from Meg's grasp. "Sorry, I don't drink and I have to serve them before they get any rowdier. Between the three of us, I'd rather not see another fist brawl this holiday."

You let out a dry chuckle, fixing the hem of your dress. What were you thinking wearing such a tight dress to a party where Richard Drysdale would mentally undress you with his beady eyes. "We'll come with you, now won't we, Meg?"

She groaned, getting pulled by you, her feet dragging on the hard floor. "We're spending Christmas at your parents' house. You can suffer the family drama because I've had it up to here with mine."

"Oh, you big baby." you teased, following Martha to the living room with Meg in tow. You'd think with all the drama she endured from her crazy mother she'd be able to handle a little more from her crazy relatives. "Wanna mess with that racist, whiney troll?"

Meg's lips lifted into a smile. "That's why you're my best friend."

Martha took a turn towards the kitchen instead of the living room, leaving you and Meg to enter the roomful of crazies alone. Some heads turned but not enough to stop the little debate happening.

Jacob sat at the uncomfortable seat in the corner of the room, watching and tapping the screen in front of him, his eyes never tearing from the device. Linda and Donna sat side by side while their husbands had a screaming match with the other. Joni stood by the fireplace, sipping her wine, and occasionally input some random Pinterest inspirational shit. Your eyes landed on the man you thought would take his sweet time arriving.

Hugh Ransom Drysdale sat at his self-proclaimed seat, eating his Biscoff butter cookies, a smirk evident on his face as he watched you walk into the room. He tried to ignore the way his heart raced, blaming it on the cookies and his seven-month dry spell.

You broke free from Meg's arm, pouring yourself a flute full of champagne, swallowing every last drop before making your way to the plush couch, sitting beside your best friend. Your perfume whiffed in the air as you passed Ransom, making him sit up in his chair. You sat close enough for him to reach over and touch you, but he didn't.

Linda gave you the warmest smile she could muster, interrupting the men's argument to greet you. "Hello, darling. Glad you could make it. At least now there's someone in the room with half a brain."

Walt sneered at his sister before giving you a half-hearted smile. "Hey, kid. Your dad still adamant you become a lawyer?"

"Yup," you answered, pulling out your phone, seeing a bunch of notifications from said person. "Why else do you think I let Meg kidnap me, Walt? No offense, but Thanksgiving at the Thrombey's doesn't classify as peaceful or relaxing."

Ransom guffawed, earning glares from his family members. He smirked at you, biting off a piece from his cookies. "Finally, someone who speaks the truth. No wonder she's his favorite."

That subject launched another debate: deciding who was Harlan's favorite. It was no doubt, Martha was but you did come at a close second. Ransom knew, and he didn't want to miss an opportunity to watch his relatives fight. He was a dick that way. He glanced at you, seeing your phone light up as you whispered a secret to Meg. You ignored the phone call, turning over the phone.

While the rest of the family argued, you left Meg's side, getting up from the uncomfortable couch, and walked out of the room. Ransom watched you, licking his lips at the sight of sashaying, hips swaying, and heels clicking. The crotch of his pants grew uncomfortably tight.

Meg watched him watch you with narrowed eyes, suspicious by her cousin's behavior. He may be 33 but he still acted like a teen, and with her best friend pushing him, there was no telling what he'd do. "If you do anything stupid or remotely offensive to her, I'll make sure to send her your head for her next birthday. Maybe she'll have it taxidermied, and hang it up."

Ransom smirked, tossing the last of his cookie in his mouth, chewing as he looked down at his cousin. "That'll only give me a view of a lifetime. My, this college you go to doesn't seem to teach manners does it? Charming as ever, Meg."

She scowled at him, getting up in the middle of the argument. She couldn't stop whatever he was planning if she didn't know what he had in mind but she wasn't going to ruin this holiday for her best friend. Meg followed you to the kitchen, seeing you take a shot glass from Martha. "Drinking already?"

"Don't judge me. Lemme wallow in the warmth and love of the alcohol that your family isn't capable of," you replied, drinking the clear liquid, grimacing as it burned your throat. Martha handed you the chaser, her timid personality making her put a comforting hand on your shoulder. "Thanks, Martha."

Meg took the bottle of vodka, pouring herself a shot before offering it to Martha who had shaken her head. "You sure?"

She nodded, placing the bottle back in its place. "Yeah, I don't need to be drunk when serving those people. It seems like it's even worse out there than before."

"Thank Ransom. That bastard decided to start another fight just by opening his mouth," you said, sipping on a glass of water. Sniffing the room, you smelt the Thanksgiving dinner Martha had to cook by herself. You knew she had to make a special meal for Ransom since he wouldn't dare put the traditional food in his mouth. Too bad, it'd shut him up. "Why is he here, anyway? Isn't he usually the last one to get here?"

"Usually, but he came with Linda and Richard. Don't worry, you're not the only confused." Martha answered. The oven timer beeped and she opened it, taking out the pumpkin pie. She held it out. "What do you guys think?"

"Looks delicious," Meg replied, looking around the room. The sun was setting and soon you would have to face Ransom again, for dinner. "Do you need any help, Martha? We could help you set up the table or something."

"No, it's fine. I have everything taken care of," she said, nearly dropping the big turkey. Meg helped her, carrying it to the counter. Martha smiled sheepishly. "I guess I could use some help. Meg, do you mind stirring the gravy? And [Y/N], would you please place some knives at the table?"

Both you and Meg nodded, helping the poor nurse. Harlan must've let Fran have the day off or else she'd be all over this. Meg grabbed a plastic ladle from the drawers while you took a handful of knives, leaving the kitchen and walking to the dining room. The long table had been filled with plates, glasses, and napkins, the only thing missing was silverwares. Harlan would have to give Martha a raise.

You had just placed the first knife down when Ransom came in the room, leaning against the arch, arms crossed as he took you in. Watching you, he realized he might have a knife kink, only when it comes to you. You raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to make some kind of remark.

When he didn't, you sighed, tossing a knife onto a clothed napkin. "Yes, you pretentious asshole?"

He chuckled, pushing himself off the wood and walking towards you. "Hello to you, too. Why exactly are you doing that? Shouldn't that Mary girl be taking care of everything?"

Oh, the urge to stab a knife in his face--it was almost too much to resist. "It's Martha and unlike you, I'm nice enough to offer help rather than be a lazy prick who no one loves. Karma's gonna bite you in the ass one day, baby."

Ransom snorts, walking up next to you, so close you could feel the heat coming off of him. "You know, my dear cousin mentioned something about some prank she thinks I'm going to pull on you. Do you know what's going on in that stoned brain of hers?"

"Ransom?" you asked, making your way around the large table, placing knives where they belonged. Gritting your teeth into a smile, you turned to him. "I mean this in the best way possible: fuck off."

He would never dare admit it, to himself even, but that hurt him a little. Not enough to break his smug exterior. "Aw, I like you, too, sweetheart. Hurts when you don't admit you do, too. Want some help on the other silverware?"

Your jaw dropped, the knife slipping through your fingers and Ransom caught it quickly. He placed the knife on the empty, designated napkin. "You're fucking with me."

"No, but I sure would like to fuck you." he grinned, the hidden objective twinkling in his eyes. You rolled your eyes, returning back to the kitchen with Ransom following. "Can't a guy help out around here?"

Ransom grabbed your hand before you could push the kitchen door open. He gently led you to the dark, almost hidden hallway beside the dining room. You snatched your hand back, your elbow grazing the wall behind you. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Spending time with my favorite person," Ransom answered, the smirk gone as he backed you to the wall behind you, leaving you no room to escape. Not that you wanted to. His eyes dropped to your lips, only to darken when yours flashed to his. "Why're you so special? Why do you keep invading my thoughts, my dreams, huh? What're you doing to me?"

That made you smile, amused he couldn't stop thinking about your body. You drag your manicured finger down his blue sweater, earning a shaky breath from him. "Glad to know you have wet dreams about me, Hugh. Hmm, what do you get off to, anyway? Degradation? BDSM? Or are you vanilla in bed? With the way you act, it makes me wonder if you even have a dick."

He growled, slamming you into the wall so hard your head made a loud thud. You'd be lying if you said it didn't turn you on a bit. You did like it rough. "Your a guest here, act with respect, [Y/N]. Close that mouth before you say something you'll regret."

"Wouldn't you like it if I used my mouth for something useful?" you breathed, hands resting on his shoulders, pulling him closer to you. His eyes drifted to your lips, tongue darting out to moisten his own. "Yeah, you would."

"What that mouth do, sweetheart?"

You heard the oven timer ding and you smiled, moving your lips to his ear. "Eat."

—

His thigh brushed against yours, a hand "accidentally" landing on your bare thigh, his fingers wrapping around the leg. You flashed him a hard smile before moving your thigh away, almost kicking his wife across the table. You scooted closer to Ransom, hoping to avoid his father's uncomfortable advances. If it wasn't for Linda, you would've stabbed the knife you were holding in his hand.

Apparently, you scooted a bit too close to Ransom for him to raise an eyebrow at you, the hint of a soft grin appearing. You glared at him. "Don't."

Ransom chuckled softly, moving closer, close enough for your shoulders to touch. "Now who likes my company?"

"I do like your company... said no one ever." you snapped, keeping enough distance from Richard's wandering hands. If you could, you would've rip his fingers off, but the Thrombey's were too powerful. Ransom threw you a glance, looking between you and the gap between your chairs. You grit your teeth. "What?"

"I didn't say anything."

You pushed away from the table, frustrated with everything about your situation. Tossing your napkin on your plate, you stood up, catching everyone's eye. "Excuse me."

Meg was in the middle of eating her share of the turkey, looking up with a piece of the skin hanging from her mouth. If you hadn't felt so uncomfortable, you would've laughed. She sat up, tilting her head in question as she covered her mouth. You shook you head, assuring her you'd be fine.

Ransom's eyes followed you as you walked by Harlan, giving him a gentle peck on the cheek and a hug before walking out of the dining room. He didn't think he'd ever be jealous of his grandfather. He waited a few seconds before following you, Meg's narrowed eyes watching him as he walked with purpose—he just didn't know what that was yet.

He heard your door slam before he could take a step up the stairs, leaving him confused on what to do. Ransom knew you would reject his company, not that he would blame you. Yet, he felt a little pang in his chest that he ignored, blaming it on the salty turkey. He'd have to go to the doctor soon, check out what was going on with his heart. It might be something serious like palpitations.

Sighing, he went to the kitchen, grabbing a beer and dragged his feet back to his room, trying to forget about the effect you had on him.

It didn't work.

—

Crawling out of bed, you tiptoed down the hall, careful not make a sound as you made your way downstairs. The stairs were loud and you cringed, hoping everyone was deep asleep. Meg had passed out after smoking Fran's stash, plopping down on her bed in your shared bedroom. She reeked of weed and that hadn't help you sleep at all.

You snuck into the kitchen, the soft counter lights bright in the dark room. Walking over to the fridge, you pulled it open, seeing Ransom's alleged "best" beer right at the front. Rolling your eyes, you grab one, popping the cap off. You took a sip, agreeing with the asshole; it was great beer.

Unfortunately, he chose that right moment to have a midnight snack. The kitchen door opened and Ransom was greeted by the sight of you drinking his beer in your tight tank top and booty shorts. It was enough for him to lose it.

Angrily, he walked up to you, snatching the beer from your hand, some of it dripping on the floor. He held it up in front of you with a sneer on his face. "What the hell do you think you're doing with my beer?"

You flinched when he threw it across the room, the shards sprinkling out on the floor. If his yelling hadn't woken up anyone, that certainly would've. Rolling your eyes, you sighed, crossing your arms. "Don't you mean Harlan's beer? It's not like you bought that beer from your own pocket since you don't do shit."

"Oh, I don't do shit? Unlike you I don't depend on horny men and lesbians for likes in order to keep a roof over my head." he spits, pushing you back against the counter.

"No, you just take money from mommy and daddy." you fired back, amused by his anger. You decided then you had a death wish. Or maybe it was just hot seeing Ransom so riled up. Either way, you weren't complaining.

Ransom growled, hands gripping your waist so tightly you were sure it would leave bruises. "Shut up."

Smirking, you lean towards him, lips hovering his. "Make me."

Before he could kiss you, you shoved him away, took another beer from the fridge and walked away without giving him a second look. Ransom stared after you, gripping the kitchen counter.

This wasn't over.

part two

#chris evans #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans masterlist #chris evans x reader #ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x reader #knives out #steve rogers #captain america

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cherienymphe · 5 years ago

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Can’t Be Bought (Ransom Drysdale x Reader)

{This is my very first dark fic, so let me know what you think. I have @sherrybaby14 and @darkficsyouneveraskedfor to thank for giving me the courage to finally join this side of tumblr.}

Part II

WARNINGS: NON-CON! {IF THIS OFFENDS YOU PLEASE DNI! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED}

Summary: You’ve gotten a job at the infamous Thrombey mansion with the help of your best friend Marta. It isn’t perfect, but it pays well. Your only true complaint takes the form of one Ransom Drysdale who seems to have had a problem with you from day one.

You forced a smile, collecting the empty champagne glasses as Walt and Morris laughed at the joke they’d made at your expense. Joni grimaced in response, shooting you an apologetic look as you turned away and decided to make yourself useful in the kitchen. You set the tray down with a sigh, forcing your shoulders down, reminding yourself that a job was a job, and you had been paid good money.

You didn’t wait on anyone. Not since your last job years ago that you had gotten during senior of high school in order to have a little pocket change. Since then, you had gone to college and had been studying your butt off for the past three years. Unfortunately, circumstances that you had still yet to fully comprehend, had forced you to look for a source of income, and that was how your best friend proposed the idea of working for Mr. Harlan Thrombey himself every once in a while.

The Thrombeys were known for their wealth, and when your best friend had first started working for the patriarch, you had been nervous…rightfully so. While Harlan was as sweet as could be, the rest of his tribe left much to be desired. They were the kind of privileged and bigoted beings that you prided yourself on steering clear of for most of your life. Even Joni, while meaning well, still had her moments where you wondered how a woman her age couldn’t grasp something so basic a 4th grader could understand. Meg was perhaps the only redeemable one of the bunch.

Nevertheless, you were taken on as a part time employee, helping out at whatever weekly shindig the family decided to host. It was tiring at best, but with the money you pocketed, there really wasn’t much room for complaint. Really…there was only one true problem with the job.

Marta, your best friend and nurse for the wealthy novelist himself, was in the home somewhere having to deal with unnecessary demands and racist jokes from her employers just as you were. Her main concern however was always Harlan, and you never envied that position more than you did now as you heard a newcomer enter the home, his arrival welcomed by a chorus of groans and protests.

You swallowed, shoulders tensing for just a moment before you forced the negative feelings down. As delightful as the family was, there was only one person who could warrant that kind of reception.

“(Y/N)…I was worried that you wouldn’t be here tonight. What a disappointment that would have been…”

You looked up, dark eyes connecting with those of the devil himself.

Ransom Drysdale.

Ransom was Harlan’s grandson, tall and muscular and dark-haired, the epitome of handsome some would say. Hell on earth, others might add.

“Hugh,” you greeted evenly.

He preferred “the help” call him Hugh.

“(Y/N),” he replied just as evenly with that familiar smirk ghosting along his pink lips.

He stepped through the doorway of the kitchen, and you looked away, continuing your task of filling up some more glasses. The drunker the family became, the rowdier they got, and keeping the alcohol flowing was always the best thing for you.

“All of the festivities are out there, you know.”

He was closer now, not close enough to touch you, but close enough to make you uncomfortable. Truthfully, Ransom had always made you uncomfortable. You weren’t exactly sure when it started. You’d always known of him, of his antics, his personality, and reputation. Before you had even met him, you didn’t like him. He was the embodiment of everything you both hated and feared, and that made you uncomfortable, but it was for reasons even Marta could understand.

However, the first time you’d stepped foot into the eerie mansion all those months ago, nervous yet eager to finally earn your keep, Ransom himself was the first member of the family that you had encountered. He had stepped into the foyer, in the process of saying something to the housekeeper Fran, something incredibly snarky and offensive, no doubt, when he’d stopped short. It seemed that he had taken a few seconds to even notice you standing beside her, quiet and wide-eyed as you glanced around.

You never did forget that look.

He had snapped his mouth shut, tilting his head to the side in the most threatening way as his blue eyes studied you. If at all possible, you would have sworn that his eyes had clouded over, growing darker as the corner of his lip pulled upwards into a crooked smile. You had unconsciously inched closer to Fran, forcing a straight face as you fought to not look away.

“…and who is this?”

It was such a simple question. Hell, after everyone else had arrived, they’d all asked the very same question too, but not like Ransom had. They had simply wanted to know who you were and your purpose, visibly excited at the prospect of more help around the house, but Ransom… Ransom seemed to be most interested in your name. He was interested in your secrets, your weaknesses, what lay beneath your shirt. Ransom was interested in power over you.

“I believe I’m talking to you,” Ransom continued when you didn’t respond to his remark, pulling you from your reverie.

There was a boisterous laugh just as the sound of something breaking reached your ears. You swallowed an exasperated sigh before glancing up at him, quickly looking away as you found his intense eyes on you as he leaned on the counter.

“I’m working, Hugh,” was all you said.

You found it best to keep your responses to the trust find baby short and sweet. He was always trying to engage you in conversation, and while you knew that giving him as little attention as possible only kept the remarks coming, you believed it was better than entertaining his nonsense. There was no telling what the handsome man could talk you into.

“Surely you can talk and work at the same time. They don’t teach you that at school?”

You simply glanced at him again before grabbing the tray and making your way around him. Your shoulder brushed along his chest as you exited the kitchen, the smell of his cologne threatening to cling to your hair and skin, as if trying to suffocate you just like Ransom was.

Your appearance was met with cheers and eager hands as you brought more expensive champagne to the guests. The empty glasses in their possessions were swapped for full ones, and you bent down in order to safely collect the dirty dishes onto your tray.

“(Y/N), we’ve made a bit of a mess over here…,” Linda said, gesturing to the floor beside the couch she was sitting on “…we’d hate for someone to get cut on all this glass. Morris just can’t seem to hold his liquor.”

You forced another smile.

“Of course, I’ll be right out to get that after I put these in the kitchen,” you sweetly replied.

“You’re a saint,” Joni added just as Morris began to protest his wife’s statement about him.

The kitchen was empty when you entered, and you sighed in relief. It took no time for you to swap the tray of glasses for a broom and dustpan as you made your way back to the lively room. You weaved through the drunk guests, approaching the pile of broken glass when you were not so gently pushed. With a shriek you fell to the floor, the glass shards crunching beneath your hands and knees.

“What the hell, Ransom,” you heard Meg scream.

It wasn’t long before everyone else was tearing into your apparent assailant. You threw yourself back onto your butt as you frowned at your bleeding hands and knees. You had opted for an appropriate skirt tonight, pairing it with what you thought was a thick pair of tights, but the ripped fabric and your bleeding knees begged to differ.

“It was an accident,” Ransom finally threw back at the angry mob, but something inside of you knew better than that.

You hissed as you flexed your hands, unsure how to push yourself onto your feet without getting blood on anything. You didn’t have time to dwell on that as an unfamiliar pair of hands gripped your shoulders from behind, helping you up.

“Are you alright?” Ransom asked, lips brushing against your ear as his broad chest pressed into your back.

You flinched away from him, and you could have sworn you heard a soft chuckle escape his lips just before Meg practically shoved him away from you.

“Step away, you’ve done enough,” she snapped.

“I know they’re filling your head with man hating propaganda down in those libtard college courses, but it truly was an accident,” Ransom replied, hands raised in an innocent manner.

“Like anyone believes that,” Joni sneered as Meg guided you towards the bathroom, throwing a glare over her shoulder at the blue-eyed bastard.

Your knees stung as you walked through the house, and you couldn’t hold in the groan as you sat on the toilet seat, the skin on your knees stretching out. Meg was focused as she looked under the sink cabinets for a first aid kit, and the huff she let out told you that she hadn’t found one. She briefly placed her hand on the top of your head.

“I’ll be right back,” she said before hurriedly exiting the bathroom.

The response to Ransom’s assault wasn’t surprising. They hated him, sure, but the family also doted on you, that much was true, and sometimes you wondered if they saw you as something akin to a pet. A token poor person they could use as a charity case to make themselves feel better. You shook your head. Marta and Meg were really close, probably the only one in the family that she genuinely liked outside of Harlan. Meg wasn’t like that.

You heard footsteps approaching the bathroom, and looked up with a small smile, only for it to fall at the sight of a tall figure stepping in the doorway. You swallowed as you gazed up at Ransom, his presence making you nervous.

“Where’s Meg?”

You eyed him before answering.

“She went to go find a first aid kit,” you responded, eyes accusatory.

If he noticed your venomous gaze, he didn’t comment on it, only nodding as he took in your bloody knees and hands.

“Are you alright?”

Your frown deepened, and he chuckled before leaning against the doorjamb with his arms crossed over his chest.

“I really didn’t mean to push you-.”

“I don’t believe you,” you harshly interrupted. “You aren’t a nice person, Hugh. I don’t think you ever have been. I don’t know if you just don’t like me or you feel slighted by me or maybe you just think I’m fun to mess with, but I feel like you’ve had it out for me from the very first moment I stepped into this house.”

You briefly looked away from him, taking a deep breath.

“I’m not leaving. If that’s what you’re aiming for you might as well give it up now, because I need the money, and truthfully speaking, you are the only person who’s truly a pain in my ass here. You’re not as scary as you’d like to think, so just save your energy,” you spat.

His jaw ticked as he stared you down, eyes narrowed, and you heard the sound of approaching footsteps. You leaned back, glowering up at him as he stepped away. He slunk away just as Meg approached, and she stared after him in confusion.

“Are you okay? What did he want?” she demanded, clutching the first aid kit to her chest.

“Just apologizing,” you mumbled the lie.

Meg pursed her lips, a frown on her face before shaking her head and kneeling down before you.

“First things first, let’s get these tights off…”

You sat on the couch, head leaning back as you closed your eyes. There really wasn’t much you could do after Meg had cleaned you up and wrapped bandages around the offending areas. Marta and Fran were more than happy to step in and take over as you sat the rest of the evening out. You mainly sat with Meg, refusing anytime someone tried to coerce you into having a drink.

It wasn’t long before everyone began to retire, some piling into their expensive cars and leaving while others chose to sleep the fancy drinks off, opting to save the drive home for in the morning. Ransom was one of the last to slither away, eyes hardly leaving you for the rest of the night.

Normally, you would have left ages ago, but Marta insisted on driving you home. Your hands were injured, yes, but you were sure you were more than capable of driving yourself home. However, Marta wouldn’t hear anything of it, and eventually wore you down. That was how you found yourself waiting for her to finish up with Harlan as midnight approached.

You fought back a yawn, body worn out from your busy day. You honestly could have been home a while ago, but you knew that Marta would worry, and you figured there was no harm in humoring her. You did your best not to get impatient and fidgety. After all, you knew that caring for Harlan was a whole other job, but the pain killers Meg gave you were starting to wear off, and your hands and knees were beginning to ache again.

You glanced up as footsteps approached the living room, sharply inhaling at the sight of none other than Ransom. You had been under the impression that he’d left ages ago.

“You’re still here?” he chuckled, pulling on his signature brown coat.

You cleared your throat before answering.

“I’m waiting on Marta.”

He scoffed, and you watched as he glanced over his shoulder at the stairs before shaking his head.

“Marta never knows what kind of night she’s in for with the old man. Sometimes she leaves about this time, and sometimes she’s not pulling out of here till almost 2 in the morning,” he responded, approaching you.

You frowned at that, glancing at the stairs.

“Come on. I’ll give you a ride home,” he offered.

You blanched, eyes widening as you looked at him.

“Don’t be ridiculous! My house is nowhere near where you live. You’d be going out of the way… I have no problem waiting for Marta,” you refused.

“(Y/N)-.”

“Really, it’s fine.”

He glanced at his watch before raising an eyebrow at you, that haughty smirk taking residence on his lips.

“It’s getting late. Don’t you have class tomorrow?”

You grimaced. He was right. Tomorrow was Monday. You shifted on the couch as he knelt down before you, one dark strand escaping and brushing along his forehead.

“I know you don’t believe me, but I really didn’t mean to bump into you. The least I can do is make sure you get home. I know your knees must be killing you,” he said.

You frowned, wincing as a sharp ache traveled through your left knee, as if to prove his point. You looked away with a sigh before reluctantly nodding. He was right. It was late and you were in pain. Ransom may have been the world’s biggest ass, but you weren’t that prideful to suffer instead of letting him take you home. With his help, you stood.

“Let me text Marta…,” you trailed off, realizing that that’d be kind of difficult with the bandages.

“Don’t worry, I got it,” he said, pulling his own phone out with one hand while he helped you out of the door with the other.

Getting to the car was a rather slow and painful process, but you sighed in relief when you finally sagged into the passenger seat of the fancy vehicle. You leaned your head back against the headrest as the car purred to life, relaxing as the vibrations traveled through your frame.

The car ride was silent, but not uncomfortable. You were on the verge of dozing off anyway, and maybe Ransom knew that and that’s why he didn’t talk to you. You hoped Marta didn’t worry too much, and mentally reminded yourself to text her when you got home. You weren’t exactly sure when you’d fallen asleep, nor for how long, but it couldn’t have been no more than 15, maybe 20 minutes.

When you peeled your eyes open, it didn’t feel like you’d been sleeping for a long time, and you could feel the car slowing down. You frowned in confusion, blinking the sleep out of your eyes as you sat up. You couldn’t have gotten to your house that quickly, and as you glanced out of the window, you confirmed that you were right. Ransom pulled the car off into the grass on a long stretch of road, and your confusion grew as he turned it off.

“What’s going on?” you whispered as you turned to look at him.

Was he low on gas? That’d be so on brand for him. Your confused thoughts were a jumbled mess as he pocketed his keys.

“Hugh, what’s going on? Do I need to call triple A or…?”

He chuckled, reaching over you to open his glove compartment.

“You’re always calling me ‘Hugh’. Hugh, Hugh,” he complained, attempting to mimic your voice.

You scoffed, a confused and humorless chuckle escaping as you watched him pull a bottle of brandy out, and you rolled your eyes.

“You’ve said on numerous occasions that you want ‘the help’ to call you Hugh, so…”

You watched as he leaned back in his seat, opening the bottle and taking a sip as he raised his eyebrows with a nod.

“You’re right,” he agreed, almost regrettably. “I just…I just don’t think it will sound right. You know?”

You huffed, irritation growing as you glanced around.

“What are you talking about? What’s going on-?”

“Do you want some?” he offered, interrupting you.

“No! I want to go home, and you shouldn’t be drinking,” you admonished.

He took another sip, shifting to get comfortable as he stared through the windshield. You swallowed, your nerves standing on end as you watched him. You were so confused.

“You’re so sweet, (Y/N)…so much sweeter than Marta or Fran,” he scoffed her name. “It’s why I was so shocked at your outburst, tonight.”

“…what?”

He turned to look at you, blue eyes almost glowing in the darkness. They were so expressive and focused entirely on your frozen frame.

“Even more so when you admitted that you think I’m trying to get rid of you. As if I would ever let you get away from me,” he hummed.

Your nervousness grew, throat incredibly thick all of a sudden as you stared at him, wide-eyed.

“Hugh-.”

“Call me Ransom,” he said, cutting you off with both his words and his lips.

You gasped as he leaned over, pressing his fingers into the back of your neck as he pulled you into a kiss. He wasted no time and pressed his tongue between your lips. You didn’t respond, simply staring at him as he kissed you, trying to process what was happening. It was only when his other hand dropped the brandy to make its way under your sweater did you finally react.

You yanked yourself away from him as best as you could, slapping him with no hesitation. Your chest heaved as you frantically pressed your back into the passenger door. He clenched his jaw as he stared at you before reaching up to touch his cheek.

“What the hell are you doing?” you exclaimed, a very real fear making its way into your system now.

“You can’t be that dumb,” was his only response, and he gave you a look as if you were exactly that.

You blinked at him, hand sliding along the door as you watched his every move.

“You walk around the house looking like that with those big innocent eyes, pretending like any of the men in my family wouldn’t risk it for a night with you,” he continued.

You opened and closed your mouth in shock.

“What-?”

“…but you’re mine, and they know that. They see the way I look at you, the way I talk to you, treat you.”

“I’m not-!”

“You were from the first moment I saw you. I was always going to have you. That was a given. It was only a matter of when and where,” he said it so matter-of-factly that it scared you.

He reached over and undid your seatbelt. You grabbed at his hands as he reached for your waist.

“You walk around like you’re too good for me. Is that what it is, (Y/N)? You think you’re too good for me? A Thrombey?”

You shoved against him, so hard that his back hit the driver’s door, and you hissed as your hands protested the action. You didn’t know if he was trying to scare you or…or if he was serious. Ransom was a lot of things, a lot of vile things, but he wasn’t…he wouldn’t…

His jaw ticked as he glared at you, and you saw one of his hands clench into a fist, the other sliding into his coat pocket.

“How much?” he finally asked, sounding almost exasperated.

You narrowed your eyes.

“Excuse me?”

He looked up at you from beneath his lashes.

“How much is it going to take, hmm? I know you need money. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be caught dead working for the Thrombeys, am I right?”

Anger rose within you as he pulled out his wallet, and you finally put two and two together.

“Fuck you, Ransom,” you snarled.

He smirked, eyes twinkling with something you were scared to name as he gazed at you.

“You think you can throw some money at me, and I’ll just open my legs for you?”

“Ten grand.”

“I don’t want your money you…asshole,” you spat, opening the door.

You hit at him, screaming as he grabbed your arm to pull you back into the car.

“Let go of me-!”

You cut yourself off with a gasp as he successfully pulled you back into the vehicle. In no time, he was over you, slamming the door closed and twisting his fingers in your hair. You let out a noise of protest, reaching up to push against his face when his other hand wrapped around your throat. Your eyes widened and you dug your nails into his arm, but he simply ignored you.

His other hand fumbled with something along the side of the seat, and before you knew it, the seat was falling backwards, taking you and Ransom with it. Fear began to settle in your gut as he had you completely pinned beneath him, now, his grip becoming tighter.

He’d never been this close to you before, ever. His hard chest was firmly pressed against yours, so much so that you could feel his heartbeat, and the calm rhythm you felt there brought tears to your eyes. You felt like your heart was going to jump out of your chest. You shifted, trying to kick him off or something when you felt it. You froze, eyes widening at the feel of a hard length pressing into the side of your thigh. You closed your eyes, trying to convince yourself that this wasn’t happening.

“Hey,” he shook you, forcing your eyes open.

You trembled as he leaned down, nose brushing against yours as he kissed you. You cringed away from him despite the softness of his lips, wanting to be anywhere else.

“I am going to have you. That is what’s going to happen tonight…”

“No,” you managed to gasp, protesting as you attempted to shake your head.

“Yes,” Ransom replied as he nodded his head with an amused smirk on his face. “I am, and you can either lie back and enjoy it, or I’ll just hold you down and make you. It’s your choice.”

You let out a sob, and he let go of your neck. You coughed as he pulled away, and you looked around for anything to get you out of this.

“(Y/N).”

You glanced at him, fresh tears springing forth as he removed his jacket, the fitted sweater almost laughing at you as it showcased his arms, arms that could hold you down with ease. There was no hope for you. These thoughts plagued you as your eyes landed on the bottle of brandy on the driver’s side floor. Ransom followed your gaze before reaching over and grabbing it.

He held it up to you with raised eyebrows, and you hesitantly nodded. You reached for it, but he snatched it back out of your grasp, opting to open it himself before bringing it to your lips. You choked at first, never having been a fan of hard liquor, but it eventually slid down your throat with ease. He sat up a bit, bringing his hand to your hair to tilt your head back.

“Good girl. Whatever makes this easier,” he said, pulling it away.

You were tempted down the whole thing, preferring to just pass out and let him be done with it. The alcohol barely had time to settle hotly in your chest before he was pushing you back, pressing open mouth kisses to your neck.

“Do you know how long I’ve waited for this?” he whispered against your skin.

You squeezed your eyes shut, wincing when he reached down to twist the fabric of your underwear in his hand, yanking and breaking them with a loud pop. His lips found yours again, and you opened your mouth to him, the brandy making your head swim and your body buzz.

He ground against you, and you couldn’t stop a quiet hiss from escaping as the bulge in his pants rubbed against your naked core. You gripped his arms, you weren’t sure why, maybe to ground yourself. Everything was happening so fast, and your fogged brain couldn’t keep up. One of his hands caught on the neck of your shirt, and he ripped it open, drawing a protest out of you.

“Ransom,” you gasped.

“I’ll buy you a new one,” he mumbled into your mouth.

Your bra fared the same fate, and your nipples hardened from the cold atmosphere. You shivered, and Ransom pressed against you more, his huge frame shielding you from the cold. He bent his head to take one firm bud into his mouth, and you sharply inhaled. He gave the other one his attention, one of his hands sliding down. To your surprise, he slid one long finger inside of you with ease, and you clenched around him. When had you become so wet?

He hummed, adding a second finger as he flicked his wrist, curling them inside of you over and over again. He pulled a moan from you, and you moved your hand to cover your mouth, closing your eyes as you fought against the heat that was stirring within your gut. His other hand grabbed yours, pulling it away from your mouth just as you came, small gasps and whimpers escaping that he was all too eager to swallow.

Your pussy clenched again as he withdrew from you, and you blinked as you came down, realizing that your vision was spinning a bit, now. Everything was blurring together as you collapsed against the seat, head feeling incredibly heavy all of a sudden. You barely protested as he slipped your skirt down your legs, his sweater following soon after.

You may have been drunk, but you still remembered that you didn’t want this, and a part of you hoped that you could speak to something in him to make him stop.

“Ransom…please,” you mumbled.

He ignored you, too busy releasing himself from the confines of his pants. You dared not look, recalling the feel of it against your thigh, and you knew if you looked then he really would have to hold you down.

“Ransom,” you pleaded, and suddenly he was on you again, a hand on your throat.

“What did I say, hmm?”

His voice was soft, soothing even, but his eyes told a different story, and you started to cry.

“Come on, (Y/N)… You were doing so well,” he said in that patronizing tone that always annoyed you.

You turned your head away and gasped as he began to push his way inside of you. You weren’t a virgin, hadn’t been for a while, but you definitely weren’t the most experienced either. What he lacked in length, if he lacked anything at all, he made up for in girth. Your hands flew to his shoulders, digging into his skin with a vengeance as you stretched around him.

He hissed, and satisfaction bloomed in your chest, but it was quickly squashed when he grabbed your hands, one at a time, and pinned them down. His nose brushed along your collarbone as he bottomed out, and you fought to catch your breath. He pressed his face into the crook of your neck and inhaled, a shudder wracking his frame just before pulling back and snapping his hips against yours.

A strangled moan left your lips, and you tried to move your hands, but his grip was firm.

“I’m going to fuck you in every room of that house,” he groaned, thrusting inside of you.

You trembled beneath him, your mind and body at war. You rejected his words, attempting to remove yourself from the situation, but every time he treated, you clenched even more, as if your body was not only trying to prevent him from leaving, but trying to keep you aware. He eventually let go of one of your hands, and you clawed at the dewy window as your back dragged along the seat.

He tangled his hand in your hair, and you winced at the slight pain there, panting when he grazed his teeth along the skin of your neck.

“You want that? You want me to pin you down and let my family hear who you belong to?”

You shook your head, causing Ransom to chuckle.

“I think you do. I think you like what I do to you. You’re shaking your head, but the way you’re gripping my cock, right now says differently.”

“Ransom,” you gasped when his thrusts became harsher, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the car.

“You can beg all you want, but I own you, (Y/N),” he hissed against your lips. “It’s your word against mine, and I can get the best lawyers in town.”

You swallowed, tears building behind your eyes again as he finally let go of your other hand and gripped your neck. There was a thin layer of sweat on his chest, arms bulging and chest heaving from the effort it took to work his hips against yours.

“You even think of leaving, and I’ll just find you. I’ll tell my grandfather that you were fucking your employers, and you’ll be out of a job, no one will ever hire you,” he threatened.

“No,” you whimpered, at both his words and the coil that was tightening within you.

“Mm, and I’ll still have you as much as I want. Whatever you try, I’m going to have you, so make this easy on yourself, (Y/N),” he purred as you clenched around him. “Enjoy it.”

Broken moans escaped you, now and you dug your hands into his back.

“You know how many girls would kill to be where you are? Huh? I’m fucking you, and hundreds of girls would do anything to be beneath me, and here you are crying about it,” he sneered, pounding into you now.

You tried to keep it at bay, tried to stop it, but you came, tumbling over the edge with a choked sob that almost sounded like a moan. Ransom looked down to where you were connected and cursed.

“Shit,” he hissed, not taking his off of where he was rutting into you. “You’re fucking tight. Milk me, come on my cock. That’s it.”

You felt like it lasted forever as he talked you through it, and soon after you felt a warmth inside of you as he slammed into you one final time. You heaved, fighting to catch your breath and make sense of things as the brown liquor still coursed through you. When Ransom pulled out of you, you shuddered, even more so when the cold finally hit you. You were barely coherent as he maneuvered you, drunk and fucked out and on the cusp of sleep.

It barely registered that you were suddenly wearing a large sweater that wreaked of a cologne you’d smelled on numerous occasions, legs and core sticky from his cum. You heard him right himself, no doubt tucking himself into his pants. You could feel his eyes on you, and you barely peeled yours open to gaze at him as he situated himself and turned the car back on. He looked proud, smug even as he pulled back onto the road.

One of his hands came to rest on the inside of your thigh, digging his fingers into your flesh as he chuckled.

“I can’t wait to do this more often.”

That was the last thing you heard before sleep consumed you.

#ransom thrombey x reader #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom thrombey #ransom drysdale #knives out #hugh ransom drysdale #hugh thrombey #hugh drysdale

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91percentpynch · 4 years ago

Text

false god - kevaaron au pt 5

long time no see because i was in a writing block and that sucks but i‘m back and ready to break our hearts <33 thanks to argyro for helping me figuring out what happens here

i listened to false god by taylor swift cuz the angst??? love it!!! anygays this is from kevin‘s pov, i hope it makes sense and i hope you like it <33 stay safe, drink some water and always remember only racists, trump supporters, transphobes and homophobes skip meals!!

to check out the other parts click here

Aaron wasn‘t gone for too long when Kevin‘s phone rang

He didn‘t have the energy to pick it up, just to stare it down as if some kind of magic or his sheer will power would make it stop, let him be alone with his thoughts

But obviously that didn‘t work, it never did

The phone kept ringing, slowly driving the striker mad, slowly taking his sanity.

It would be the fifth or sixth missed call that would make him get up to answer the phone

„KEVIN HI NICKY HERE, LISTEN I TRIED TO CALL YOU FOR THE PAST HALF HOUR OR SO BUT AARON‘S IN THE HOSPITAL AND I CAN‘T GET THERE UNTIL LIKE TOMORROW AND ANDREW DOESN‘T ANSWER HIS PHONE EITHER AND HE WOULD TAKE LIKE HOURS TO GET THERE AS WELL CAN YOU PLEASE GO TO HIM SO HE DOESN‘T HAVE TO BE ALONE I DON‘T KNOW WHAT HAPPENED PLEASE, KEVIN I NEVER ASKED FOR ANYTHING FROM YOU PLEASE JUST GO AND MAKE SURE MY SON IS OKAY“

„Nicky? Hi to you too. You do realize he isn‘t my responsibility and that he broke up with me and that I don‘t really have to go there. I don‘t own him shit. He made my life miserable. He probably deserves whatever happened to him“ was what Kevin wanted to answer, was probably what he was supposed to say. But deep down he knew it was not true, that Aaron never ruined his life. Made it better, made it it bareable. Made it worth living, not just existing. Made it more than Exy and Vodka.

After a few moments of silence that felt like an enterinity Kevin settled for a simple: „Which hospital?“

„OH DIO MIO GRACIAS, MUCHAS GRACIAS. ESTÁ EN EL CHICAGO HOSPITAL“, Nicky replied in Spanish. Something the Latino only did when he was either very emotional, very drunk, very angry or all at once.

Kevin didn‘t have it in him to tell Nicky that he still did not speak Spanish, he understood the hospital and that was enough. For now.

„I‘m on my way, call you later and Nicky? He‘s going to be fine. It‘s not your fault. You‘re a great mother to them, the best I‘ve ever had the pleasure to meet. Now calm down, go to Erik and take a nap. You don‘t have to come, he‘s with us. We got this. Do you want to talk to Jeremy while I go to check up on Aaron?“

„Sí“, was all Nicky had to say. Voice thick with tears.

„JER CAN YOU TALK TO NICKY AARON‘S IN THE HOSPITAL I‘M GOING THERE“, Kevin shouted into the flat.

„Absoloutly“, Jeremy replied and took the phone from Kevin.

„Mi corazón, escúchame“, was the last thing Kevin heard as it hit him. Aaron was in the hospital. Right after Kevin refused to listen to him, right after Kevin refused to let him explain himself. It was Kevin‘s fault. If Aaron died, he would have killed him. He was basically a murderer. His breathing came out uneven, his lungs didn‘t get enough air. He knew that he needed to breathe, but breathing was hard and he was weak.

Jean noticed Kevin having a panic attack when he came to check up on him. „Day, listen to me. Breathe. In... And out... In.... And out... In... And out“

Kevin‘s breathing got better, slowly but steadily.

„It‘s my fault“, the striker whispered.

„It‘s not, Kevin. It is not your fault. If you don‘t want to go there, you don‘t have to. He is not your responsibility“

��Hypothetically if Jeremy was to break up with you and you‘re hurt and sad and blame him for your misery when it‘s more the lack of him that makes you feel that way and his sister or brother or mother or whoever would call you and hysterically asked you to go look after him cause his family is stuck on another continent and the only other person who could call refuses to take the phone cause they‘re too busy doing their boyfriend, would you not go cause he is not your responsibility anymore? Because Aaron is my Jeremy. Just like Jer saved your life and made you see that live is indeed worth living, Aaron showed me the same“

„I don‘t think I would surive Jeremy leaving me, you‘ve always been stronger than me. Should I give you a ride?“, Jean whispered.

„It‘s not a thing of strenght Jean, it‘s an addiction. It used to be alcohol that made me forget, made me feel light and free and carefree. I drank and drank until I couldn‘t live without it anymore. And then I met Aaron, I tasted him, I smelled him and he chose me. Me? What did I have to offer him? A boy broken and raised by Exy. All I can offer is Exy. Nothing more. Until he made me see that it was wrong, that I am more than that. And he might have broken my heart and yes I might still love him even though he will never feel the same but I cannot not go there. I have to. I have to be there for them, the way he was always there for me“

„Get your things, we‘re going to the hospital“, Jean replied, unable to put his emotions into words.

So Jean and Kevin left for the hospital while Jeremy tried to calm Nicky down with softly whispered Spanish words.

As they arrived at the hospital Kevin stormed in there.

„Aaron Minyard“, was all he was able to say. Too many memories were connected with hospitals. Too many memories he would much rather just forget.

„Name?“, the nurse said in a bored tone.

Kevin just put a finger on his cheek.

„Kevin Day? I can‘t let you to him, only family and spouses“

„What if I sign something, we take a nice selfie and you tell me where he is. You see I‘m basically family. I‘m the closest and the others can‘t be here until at least tomorrow evening and we don‘t want the poor guy to be all alone and confused, do we?“, Kevin said with his press smile and shining eyes. He knew the charme he had on females. It was just not useful for him as he never really was into that. He never was into anyone but Aaron, to be fair.

„I could lose my job for that“, the nurse replied, her eyes wandering from his eyes to his lips and up again.

„I‘m sure I can offer you something that will you let me to go see him“, Kevin replied with a wink, being disgusted by himself that he even thought about all the possiblities this woman could ask him to do with her.

„Room 21, second floor, station E. You clearly care about him, if anyone asks it wasn‘t me“, she smiled at him. „Besides I always liked Moreau more, I‘m sure we can think of something to do while you are with the boy“

„Sorry“, Kevin whispered to Jean as he ran down the aisle trying to figure out where Aaron was.

The hostpital was a mess of busy nurses and angry doctors, but nothing could stop a determinded Kevin Day. No one. Not even Andrew Minyard.

After what felt like forever he made it to the room, kicked the door open and walked with three long strides to Aaron.

„You fucking idiot, what have you done?“, he whisper-shouted, holding back tears while taking in Aaron‘s sorry state.

„I don‘t need your fucking pity“, Aaron replied, exhausted.

„Did you tell them you can‘t have morphine? Because you might relapse, i mean you already did but we don‘t want it to get worse. And this is not pity, this is Nicky yelling at me in Spanish cause you‘re in the hospital and he‘s in Germany and I‘m the closest to you and he does not want his son to be alone“

„Andrew didn‘t care to come, did he?“, Aaron whispered into his pillow.

„Andrew does care about you he‘s just shit at showing it, that fucking asshole“, Kevin replied softly. „C‘mon what have you done Minyard?“

„Car accident, not that it‘s any of your fucking business“

„How are you?“

„Fucking great, I should let a truck drive into me more often. Very freeing. Very calming“, Aaron said sarcastically, avoiding Kevin‘s eyes.

„A truck. Drove into you?“, shock made Kevin‘s Irish accent stronger.

„Not that you would care“, Aaron‘s voice was barely more than a whisper as he turned around, back to Kevin.

„Aaron first of all I can see you naked ass and not that I wouldn‘t mind the view and I‘ve seen it often enough but the nurses don‘t have to see that too. And secondly of course I care. I always did. Always will“

Blushing Aaron turned back towards Kevin.

„Why wouldn‘t you listen to me if you care so much? You‘re exactly like like Andrew, you guys only ever care when I‘m about to die or do something that doesn‘t sit right with you. Never about me as a person. The conecept about me maybe, but me? Me as a person? No one cares about that“

„You are Aaron Minyard. Born on the 4th of November, 8:31:45 am. You grew up in California in the house next to Nicky. Nicky and you were always close and you didn‘t have many friends because of your mom. Your mom might have abused her and I might hate her for that but you still love her and I get that because on some fucked up level I still care about Riko. You are allergic to cats, peanuts and house dust. You have a freckle right on your right hip, under your navel, from under your left eye over to the nose to the corner of your right eye. You like it when you are hold when you can‘t sleep but you hate showing affection in public. You were 13 when you started exy, because it gave you an escape, but you had to stop because the bruises from your mother‘s beating got to obvious. So you started getting into medicine. You borrowed every single book on medicine you could find and read it at night, always hidden from your mom. You had to have straight As or the beatings would be worse. Your mom did go out to have ice cream with you when it was especially bad. That‘s why you hate ice cream so much, especially vanillia because it was her favourite. Your secret hobby is skating. You feel free when you do it. You want to live at the coast, but not close to Cali, never back to Cali. You want Andrew to notice you and you hate how easily he let Neil in because obviously deserve it more and I get that. You tried drugs to escape, to see what was the appeal. Your uncle never helped you but he brainwashed you into believing he did. You grew up very religous and in an extraordinary homophobic household, you watched your cousin and only friend getting shipped away because he was different, not right, so you confinced yourself you were different. Heterosexual. When in reality you knew since you were 15 that you preferred guys. You liked girls as well. At least you thought but it‘s so much more complicated. Actually it isn‘t. You‘re asexual, you do however like the feeling of sex. You think the process is disgusting, but you still like the feeling. It has to be the right person though. It doesn‘t matter wether it‘s a boy or a girl or something else entierly, all that matters are the feelings the person makes you feel. It took you years to accept that you are not wrong, that you wouldn‘t have to go away like Nicky. You apologized to Nicky. You thought you had to be against their relationships, because that‘s what they made you believe. Old habits die hard. But you got over it and I am very proud of you. You sleep with a teddybear or with another person that cuddles you because the thought of being alone scares the living crap out of you. Your favourite flowers are sunflowers because yellow is a happy color. You hate sweets, you prefer salty snacks. You prefer coffee black, like your sould. You use sarcasm and humor as your coping mechanism. You stole my history books because you love history as well. You also love art but you don‘t think you are good enought to become an artist. You would love to work at Jean‘s studio but you are afraid to ask. You and Jean used to be friends but you cut him off and isolated yourself because your anxities and insecurities took over you again. Sometimes you have depressive episodes, in these you crave drugs more than normally. You want to stop it, you really do but somehow your brain tries to tell you you need it. You would love to have five dogs. An Irish Red Setter, an Irish Wolfhound, a poodle a big one though, a labrador and a golden retriever. You also want to adopt at least two kids. You don‘t want any child to go through what you had to go through or Andrew. So don‘t you dare tell me I never cared for you. Because I do. I listen when you tell me things. I remember every single time you came to me, black out drunk, crying and telling me you‘re worthless. Because every single time I wanted to tell you you aren‘t. You are a wonderful human being and I don‘t understand why I wasn‘t enough for you to stay but I will not let you tell me I never cared about you. Because that‘s some fucking bullshit“

Kevin didn‘t even notice the tears running down his cheeks. It‘s been a while since he was that emotional, since he let his walls down and dared to show emotions.

„You really did listen“, was all Aaron had to say.

„Why wasn‘t I enough for you?“, Kevin replied, voice thick of tears, Irish accent strong.

#all for the game #the foxhole court #the raven king #the king’s men #kevin day #aaron minyard #ship: kevaaron #kevaaron

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sigmadecay · 4 years ago

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You said you can info dump about Jonestown massacre? I'm here to learn about Jonestown massacre.

OHOHOHO YES

okay so if I start from Jim Jones’ early life this is literally gonna take me hours to write and probably take you forever to read so I will try to cliffnote the context of....y’know, his life

He didn’t have super present or even very parental parents, his mother worked a lot & his father was a disabled WWI vet. A neighbor took him to church w her family on Sundays and that began his interest in religion. He went to different churches all the time to see what they were about but had a particular interest in the Pentecostal church, it was loud & interactive & joyful but they did get a bad rep for “speaking in tongues”

Jim married his wife Marceline when he was 17 or 18 and she was like 20-21. She was working as a nurse in a hospital that Jim did custodial work in while he was trying to get himself through school. I have a lot of thoughts about Marceline Jones and most of them are “she deserved better” but we will come back to Marceline later.

Fast forward fast forward and Jim & Marcy have a number of kids, their “rainbow family” which consists of one bio child and a number of adopted children I think?? Listen in my defense he ended up with nine (!!! NINE) kids and they’re hard to keep track of but I know Stephan was their biological son and they adopted Jim Jr. who was black and Lew & Suzanne who were Korean which was a bigass deal at the time. More kids cropped up over the course of things but y’know. When Jim founded the Peoples Temple he got the MLK Jr award for racial equality because his church was the first fully integrated church at least in Indiana which was fucking nuts at the time??? Lots of people liked him. It appeared that he was doing good things.

And then shit like faith healings started where he would stage religious healings from cancer and shit and his congregation began regarding him as a deity. Someone would be blessed and would spit out a “tumor” (a piece of chicken liver) or the woman in the wheelchair who got up and walked turned out to be Jim’s secretary. Completely bogus nonsense, but it was a good, integrated church and they all thought he was a good person.

So, (and I’m leaving out details here sorry) Jim starts teasing like an escape to a “promised land” type deal. And he goes to a bunch of places looking for one—he spends time in Brazil especially—until finally settling on Guyana. The Guyanese govt was excited to have Americans coming bc they were at war with Venezuela and it was...sort of like insurance, but yeah. They gave the Peoples Temple a couple hundred acres in the middle of basically the fucking rainforest. And it was touted as like this socialist utopia and shit. It’s work but there’s housing and you grow your own food, and it seemed nice! Especially for people who were so disillusioned with the government and racial inequality. So they move out to Guyana and start to build houses, and shit is pretty alright at first, but...The soil isn’t fertile and almost no food actually grows. The hours are long and the work is backbreaking, not to mention the HEAT, but it’s like, deal-with-able until Jim Jones gets there. At this point Jones is like completely totally paranoid and he’s losing his grip on reality. He’s been doing drugs for years and his sermons have gone from “the US government is bad because it’s capitalist and racist” to “the US government is literally plotting to kill us.”

Some people managed to get out, and formed a group called the “concerned relatives.” They were, you guessed it, concerned relatives of the members who’d been whisked off to the Guyanese wilderness. Lots of people wrote off their concerns because of how many people, namely politicians, liked Jim Jones for his work in racial equality, but the one guy who listened to them was Congressman Leo Ryan, who was by all accounts a Pretty Solid Dude. He didn’t think anything fishy was happening, necessarily, but his whole stance was “I hear you & your concerns, and we should check it out to put your mind at ease! :)”

By this point, life in the Temple is falling! the fuck! apart! Jim Jones has a PA system set to run 24/7 that either play a) recordings of past sermons or b) his announcements happening Right This Second. People work for like 16 hours a day, there are armed guards at the entrance and around the fields to keep people in, the housing is cramped and overcrowded and they do Not have enough food for the almost 1000 people there. They are also getting record low amounts of sleep because Jim Jones, Nutjob Extraordinaire, has gotten into the habit of blaring the air raid siren at god knows what our and calling all his followers into the pavilion for a White Night. Which is, if you can even fucking believe it, a PRACTICE MASS SUICIDE BY KOOL AID.

Talk about foreshadowing.

So anyway, Leo Ryan rolls up to the compound, relatives and an NBC camera crew in tow, and is like “hey what’s up! :)” Jim Jones has been COACHING PEOPLE to tell him how much they love it. It’s fucked up. But okay

So they put on this dinner and a show type deal for the congressman and all the visitors, and Marceline (remember Marceline?) gives them a whole tour and shows them her pride and joy, the school she’d built and helps teaches at, and the medical center, and the daycare, like Marceline ADORES children this cannot be overstated. There are about 300 children in Jonestown and she loves them with her whole heart. ANYWAY

And everyone is having a funky good time, except Jim Jones, whose sanity is coming unraveled like an old sweater and his 950-ish overworked undercompensated cult members

But as Leo Ryan is leaving, someone slips a note to one of the reporters, BEGGING him to get them out of there. And then someone else comes forward. And then another. There are like....maybe 10 people total that come forward? Jim Jones loses his mind, naturally, but Leo Ryan is still like “hey, 10 out of 950 isn’t bad at all! They just miss their families :)” and they get going.

Unfortunately, because the number of people traveling back to the US from Guyana is greater than before, and they came on a small plane, they’re all posted up at the Port Kaituma airstrip waiting for a second aircraft. And this is when shit gets fucking real.

Jim Jones secretly sends his Red Men (read: “guards” with shotguns) to the airstrip to kill everyone because they’re going to give their secrets to the CIA or whatever. So they fucking roll up in this trailer and...open fire. Leo Ryan is killed, an NBC cameraman is killed, some of the defectors and concerned relatives are killed, many of them are wounded.

The Red Men return to the compound and report back to Jones. And then he gets on the PA and tells everyone that the USA’s destruction of them is imminent. He lies and tells them that the pilot will be shot and the plane will go down, and the US government will come into the compound for retribution and kill their seniors and kidnap the children and rape the women. You can hear a recording of this on YouTube! It’s called the Jonestown death tape and it will absolutely ruin your day if you listen to it. Anyway.

People are panicking. It’s time for the real White Night. Jones gets a vat of Flavor-Aid (off brand Kool-Aid) filled with cyanide and narcotics and says “drink :)” and...everyone is...understandably afraid. They’re tired and exhausted and terrified and have no idea what’s true or not. One woman, Christine, argues and pleads for another solution, like running off to the Soviet Union. The entire rest of the compound shouts her down.

So, finally, people drink. Those who won’t, and young children, are injected with it. The death is not painless. People suffer for a long time, and move to the back of the line, lie down, and die. At a reception house in Georgetown, one of Jones’ aides kills her three children and then herself with a steak knife.

A handful of people get out. Maybe five are able to hide, and three of Jones’ sons are away at a basketball game in Georgetown while this is all going down, so they live.

Jim Jones does not drink the poison. Jim Jones shoots himself in the head, and his private nurse does the same.

Marceline Jones screamed, sobbed and struggled until every single child had died, hoping at least one of them would be spared. And when none were, she dried her eyes, resigned herself to her fate, and drank the Kool-Aid.

The 900-something bodies, about a third of which were children, began rotting in the tropical sun almost immediately. Many of them were decomposed beyond recognition by the time the US troops got there. Those unidentified are buried in a mass gravesite in...California, I think? It was the largest loss of American life not due to a natural disaster up until 9/11. The place is still there, though now it’s overgrown, and it’s just...haunting. There’s a number of documentaries on it (recommend) and if you have a really masochistic streak, the Port Kaituma airstrip shooting and the Jonestown death tape audio are both on YouTube the last I checked.

Thank you for indulging me my special interest, and I’m happy to expand on anything here or give more details :3

#ask #anonymice #jonestown #also sorry for the delay. we had dinner guests #kenny.txt

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anitacoknow · 3 years ago

Text

I'm feeling my emotions pretty hard today (June 14th, 2021), so it might be a good idea to start writing.

Trigger Warning:

This text post mentions suicide, death, abortion, and could be an uneasy read.

About two months ago, I almost died during a routine abortion. The way that sounds, my stomach turns and it makes the tears fall like a monsoon. Nothing about getting an abortion is easy, it is humiliating and it's a huge personal hurdle to deal with - my heart goes out to any woman who has been in that tough position. That being said, I'm not writing this for sympathy nor am I looking for negative comments or death threats, I put myself through that enough already with my own mental.

Starting this attempt to release my emotions is difficult because I'm not even sure what to say to myself. I guess I am also hopeful someone will have the right words through experience or just in general because I'm struggling to find the words within myself.

To begin, I can't have children anymore and that is the worst part; I made a decision that took future decisions, future generations, future plans away from me. So, to anyone who wanted to go in on me at the sight of the word abortion: fate ironically beat you to the punch.

I made a decision that my heart wasn't wholly in and it almost cost me my life and it cost my daughter's life (I don't need scientific fact proving she was just a clump of cells and hadn't begun processing pain or emotion or whatever, doesn't change shit as far as empathy goes, so please shove it).

Her birth name was to be Juniper.

To give some insight, Washington State allows abortions up to 28 weeks. For those who aren't aware of pregnancy cycles/trimesters, 28 weeks is still half way through the pregnancy and the beginning of the second trimester. The fetus during this stage has become more human like and all that science stuff. I had my abortion at 21 weeks, in a clinic and the process shouldn't have gone the way it did.

On the second day of my procedure, I was put under anesthesia and when I woke up I wasn't all there. Before this, I had never experienced being put under anesthesia to my recollection, so what I thought I was feeling was normal. It wasn't until I realized I had been losing conciousness that things started to feel unnatural. I was laid on the floor of the "recovery room" and I started to regain conciousness fast. There was a lot of blood between my legs and mentioning it to them seemed to make the blood pool more. It wasn't long after that the doctor that performed the procedure squated next to me to tell me she needed to put me back under.

For the next bit, I apologize to the squeamish.

There was another woman in the room with me who had just come out of her own anesthesia, she was ironically a CNA, who started to show signs of worry when I wasn't making the anticipated recovery. The doctor had her removed from the room and leaned back in to tell me that they couldn't locate the fetal head and a few limbs. When they attempted to have me walk back to the room, I fainted and was placed back on the floor. The nurses wheeled me into the surgical room and helped me back on to the table, to which I protested them allowing me to see my ride. I'm hesitant to mention the father in this because it is sensitive, so I apologize for how he is mentioned in further comments. It wasn't until I saw him that things started to blur and I started losing conciousness again.

I feel it is also important to explain what I felt, which was extremely cold. My nipples were harder than they had ever been and despite the numerous blankets, warmed and otherwise, that were placed on me, my body didn't feel warmth until the EMTs carted me to the ambulance and the sun touched me; and again when I was placed on the surgical table at the hospital. Mentally, I don't think I was aware of anything bad happening to my body. Even after hearing they lost the fetal head, I don't think I ever reacted. If I had to say, I was mentally blissful - which isn't something I have ever experienced. I literally couldn't care less, everything was a joke (which is also part of my personality when dealing with assumed stressful situations) to me up until I arrived at the ER and they put me under before telling me that they might have to remove my whole uterus. My last words would have been: "oh, this table is so warm!" to the doctor who saved my life. When I woke up 24 hours later, there was a tube in my throat and I was tied to the bed (which Hollywood doesn't show in movies or T.V. so when you are experiencing it, it is really scary and it fucking hurts.) in ICU.

So, what the fuck happened?

Well, my uterus at the time of the abortion was about 2 pounds heavy and 2 feet long; Juniper was about the size of a sweet potato to give you an image. During the abortion, the doctor perforated my uterus, the length of the tear was about a foot long according to my surgeon/aftercare doctor. The abortion itself was supposedly no more than 10 minutes, but I was apparently under for roughly an hour. My ride expected me out in two hours, but after speaking to him, started to worry when I hadn't responded to texts and the elapsed time came to four hours. During the removal of the fetus, after perforation had occurred, I laid there internally bleeding for several hours. The human body can hold minimum 5 litres of blood (or to give you an physical idea, a gallon [US] of milk about) depending on the size of the body and health. A human can die from losing 2 litres of blood, but I survived after losing 4 litres internally, which is probably what saved my life. I vaguely remember being lifted on to the gurney and I vaguely remember the ride to the ER. I was given 7 units of blood, my uterus was stitched in 8 layers and the fetal head had nestled itself behind my kidney, so I had an emergency cesarean, plus a JP drain placed to remove all the blood that pooled in my abdomen.

The hospital experience itself is a different story and makes the whole ordeal just as sad. The only solace I had were two nurses that really didn't judge me, outside of that, everyone there had an opinion and wore it on their face and in their treatment. My last interaction with one of the doctors who helped performed my "miraculous" surgery and was probably the most surprising bit because it included a little racism. My partner is white and he is cisgender. Before his appearance, said doctor largely made fun of my pain tolerance when removing surgical tape from my incision area and inner thighs. If you haven't had a cesarean or don't know exactly what it is, after making the initial incision, the doctors have to literally tear the muscles apart to get to your uterus. In my case, I also had to have my intestines removed to get to my kidneys. Needless to say, my midsection was very sensitive outside of my low pain threshold. During the stint, he very angrily asked me if I wanted to remove the bandage myself while showing his frustration in his whole body and face. At that point, I just said fuck it and let him tear the bandage from my body with a little skin along with it. After a quick look, he stood up and asked if I cared if he left to deliver a baby and he didn't wait for a response, I assume because my face probably said exactly what he wanted. I sat there and cried until my partner got there and when he showed face again, his bedside manner gave me whiplash. He released us after I made a large fuss about my care and I left holding back tears until we were out of sight of the hospital.

The day before I almost died, I sat with the owner of the clinic who also doubles as a nurse there, and cried to her about my fear and the little consolation I had because she was kind. I have had two previous abortions during a previous marriage that I also didn't want to have, but being in an abusive relationship, you give and take a lot, that included. I confided in her that those two experiences, both at Planned Parenthood, were riddled in racist bedside manner and left me uneasy about abortions and clinics in general. Being a woman of color herself, she cried with me and assured me that things would be fine, in fact the woman doing my abortion would also be a woman of color. She called me two days later, I could hear her sadness, but it also left me in such a state of panic that I ended the conversation without saying much.

Women of color do not have great mortality rates when it comes to medical intervention, especially during pregnancies/child birth. However, uterus perforation during an abortion only occurs at a rate of .3%, so I'm part of a medical anomaly (it isn't an anomaly at all, she just fucked up). Beyond that, women of color, specifically black women are more likely to suffer from medical racism during aftercare. One of the biggest glaring problems being that black women are percieved to have a high pain threshold, something a lot of people lack.

Since this experience, which is missing a lot of detail, I've gone in an out of depressive mania. Which, to say the least, I can handle because I've dealt with it for years. What I can't handle are commercials, or even cherub faces in person, or the fact that my step-sister announced her pregnancy to our parents on mother's day. I can't handle the notifications of memories from my pictures that spotlight some of the photos I took during my pregnancy. I can't handle that my neighbors had just moved in and had just given birth right before being released from the hospital. Movie montages about children growing up making lumps swell in my throat. For the first few weeks I would wake up screaming, or crying, or begging whoever not to take my baby from me. I tried to cope with sex that I couldn't realistically have because I was healing. I took up smoking cigarettes again because it is the only thing I could physically feel relax my incision area. My daughter, who is 9 years old, asks me how I'm doing when I don't realize I'm zoned out and crying.

Overall, I wish they would have let me die. It isn't like I haven't tried to kill myself before and I always secretly hoped I'd find a way to just go peacefully. Of all my attempts at suicide, the most serious was drinking bleach and all I got from that was minor chemical burn in my esophagus.

Sitting there during my last follow up, knowing damn well I wasn't going to get good news, I asked the doctor who saved my uterus and life if I could safely get pregnant. I was told by another I could have a child, but it would most likely be harrowing because my uterus wouldn't be able to house a full term fetus and they would most like be born premature. There was also another possibility she kept from me, which my doctor with a penchant for being very frank said: "would end up taking my uterus or almost killing me."

Word for word: if I get pregnant, my uterus would rupture at the healed incision.

And what, what am I supposed to think or feel now that my worst fear finally materialized? I'm realistically mad at myself for materializing my greatest fear. I also hate myself for being so upset at something I caused because I know others are in my situation for reasons beyond their control.

I thought writing this would make me feel better, would make it so I wouldn't have to mentally relive it, but I just feel worse. My partner lost his job because he took a leave of absence to take care of me and that's to say nothing of him taking time off at the beginning of the year because he needed brain surgery. The job I had interviewed for earlier in the week kept my position open, but on returning to work found I couldn't keep my anxiety to a minimum and eventually asked for leave of absence. So now, we are struggling financially and I blame myself for that too, which I know I shouldn't.

I can't begin to explain how unsure and confused I feel every day. Some times I find myself pacing or walking around and I don't even know what I'm doing. Hearing or seeing emergency vehicles makes me panic. I've had to force myself to look down during driving because I'm so fucking scared.

Idk, I'm sorry to whoever is reading this. I just needed to vent.

#mentally drained #near death experience #abortion #black lives matter #selflove #mental dump #creative release #writing therapy #mental heath support #mental wellbeing #talking to myself #talking it out

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anarchist-soupkitchen · 4 years ago

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ooop its a really long essay

A brief list of why the Tories is pretty rubbish

Before we start, I have a few things to say. As this is intended for UK audiences it might be a little difficult for people outside of the UK to understand the wording of certain topics, I will include somethings that need more explanation up here but if I do not include it here, please feel free to ask down in the comments.

Tory: someone who is a part of the conservative right

Anglicanism: the English church’s version of Christianity

This essay is a PERSUASIVE ESSAY this means its BIASED I hope you could tell from the title. This essay is from the view of someone who is white I am not trying to speak over people of colour on issue like race and I encourage you to look at non-white creators within the UK to get views on this matter.

I am pretty armature when it comes to my writing so do not expect something ground-breaking. And with that out of the way, let us begin.

1. The tory party we know today was founded in 1834, you would think that would be plenty of time for its members to grow and shape the party into the best organization it can be. But with the tory party still stuck on the same ideas that Anglicanism is the only true religion, and that queer people should not have rights you would think that the party is straight out of the early 20th century, or still stuck on the same ideas the party was founded upon. It does not matter what side you are on and how your choice to view the tory party, people can agree on the prominent figures inside the tory party from old to recent. An example of a prominent tory of old was Winston Churchill a well know racist who also, coincidentally got us through WW2 when he was appointed by Chamberlin. He fostered such views that white people should govern over the “primitive” black and indigenous people of Africa and that Indian people “bred like rabbits”. To anyone who knows their UK history, 1983 was a very eventually year for politics and the UK as a whole. You now have to wear seatbelts in the front seats of cars, the dismembered victims of serial killer Dennis Nielsen are found in his London flat, unemployment was on a record heigh since the 1930’s and a general election found that Margaret Thacher was to be the next prime minister after a landslide win in the polls. Over the course of her 11-year reign of terror she periodised free-market capitalism and privatised public sectors including transport, railways and mines. Then because she did not like the Scottish government, she through a hissy fit and closed all mines in Scotland. Just like that she fucked up the economy, where in the big mining areas of the past are still experiencing the aftershocks today. I remember my granny telling me how she made up food packages for the miners around town and how it was so devastating to the town’s economy. Everyone was unemployed and starving, even my grandad. These examples really show that the Tories will support people who are the worst in British society if they have the parties’ interests at heart. You would think the tory party cannot get any worse but with modern polices such as pledging to get 50,000 nurses for the NHS while only giving them a 1% pay rise, which is only £7.78 for a low band nurse, by 2023. Or being “tough on crime” even though 96.4 crime were recorded by every 1000 people in 2019. You can see how tough they are about carrying out their polices. Let me tell you my favourite of the lot, Boris Johnston, our current PM, wants to limit immigration by 100,000 people. They want to only let in “the brightest and the best,” what a load of shite. Our immigrants are the backbone of our society doing everything people like the Tories would not even dream of doing. Imagen seeing Boris working in a McDonalds or in your local call centre. That fucker probably has not worked a day in his life. According to the migration observatory, migrants make up 50% of the low pay workforce. Either way you look at it, its abysmal. The government should do more for these people that letting them rot in a McDonalds or in a low paying job. If you have taken time to be a model citizen, train and get your qualifications, possibly learn a new langue to mover over to a shitty wet rock I do not see any problem with the government providing necessities to get you started in your new life. We have got the money.

2. Can I ask you, what side do you think Boris Johnson is on? I will let you think for a moment. The Working class makes up more than half of our population according to the BBC’s class calculator. They say that a government is reflective of the people’s views and I think that is bullshit. Out of the working-class eligible to vote, who do vote, only three in ten vote conservatives. Do you want to know why people in the working class do not vote tory? Because under tory leadership since 2010, 6000,000 more children and their families were forced into poverty. The need for foodbanks skyrocketed 12.3% in the last five years and that is no even accounting for the pandemic. It is clear by now; I have given you enough time to think. “we know whose side Boris Johnson is on- the billionaires, the bankers and the big business.”- labour shadow chancellor, John McDonell. We know the conservatives are very busy committing acts of voter suppression and giving money to their friends instead of caring about you. They are buzzy introducing laws that make it mandatory to have voter ID in order to vote. If you do not make it free people will stop coming. The electoral commissions think 3.5 million voters just will not come back. this is all a part of, “takle[ing] every aspect of electoral fraud”- tory manifesto. It is well known that many rich people have been investing in the party for quite a while. Here is just a few: Anthony Bamford head of machinery in JCB, he gave £12.1 million since 2005. Charles Cayzer owns a shipping tycoon, he gave £480,00. Did you also know, Boris is known to be very generous when it comes to giving back. You’ve probably herd in the news about the conservatives handing out £3mil in contracts to tory owned covid PPE companies over the course of the pandemic. Some of that went to a MP, Nadim Zahawi who is a shareholder in SThree. SThree was given £1mil in contracts over the course of the pandemic. With all the evidence I have given above you’d think the government its rolling in it, I suspect they are but I doesn’t look like it from the outside. They have cut funding to courses drastically, as well as benefit schemes. Like cutting access for eighteen- to twenty-year-olds to the housing benefits. Yet with all the money they been cutting away from services and councils who desperately need it they still have enough money to cough up a commission for a royal yacht named after the duke of Edinburgh, costing over £200 million. Seems sweet does it, name a yacht after the ghoul of Edinburgh, right? You probably know the just of it now, your wrong. Not only is the yacht being paid for by taxpayers, but they are also naming it in honour after a racist. Or how the BBC would phrase his words as “memorable one-liners”. Here is a selection I find quite fitting: “The Philippines must be half empty if you’re all here running the NHS”- while meeting with a Filipino nurse. “If you stay here much longer, you’ll be all slitty-eyed”- he said to a group of British students while on a royal visit to China. My favourite must be “It looks like it was put in by an Indian.”- referring to and old-fashioned fuse box in Edinburgh. He is supposed to be the duke of the bloody place! I really like how one article what I read put it “[Prince Philip] screams out loud what other racists like him have learned how to conceal and camouflage in what they think and project as civilised demeanour.”- Hamid Dabashi.

3. What I find absolutely astounding, is the Tories inability to show compassion to the people who have nothing. If you did not know the vagrancy act among other things crimeless the homeless and rough sleepers, which is by far a very bad mixture with the recent homelessness statistics, homelessness has risen 28% since labour was last in office and if the Tories continue down the path they are now, it is only going to keep rising. What you would find is most shocking is that there’s solutions for the homeless crisis right in front of us, what the Tories must to not be able to see. Layla Moran of the liberal democrats thinks they “must take a more compassionate and holistic approach, starting by scrapping the vagrancy act”. I think that would be a step forward and away from the old ways of prosecuting people for not being as fortunate as the rest of us, but there is something even more simple than that. Repossessing the 200,000 buildings that have been vacant in the UK for more than six months. Not only would that put a sizeable dent in the houses we need, but it also saves space. The UK is small collection of islands and I do not think the Tories can see that. We do not have the land available to just start building everywhere while leaving all those homes empty and unfilled. Its not a way to solve the housing crisis and its certainly not a way to save the money we supposedly need. Even the homes the Tories are building are left dormant because they are too expensive for the area, they are located in. With the way things are going the Tories will have to build more houses than they ever built before, because by 2041 homelessness is expected to doble. That is 400,000 more households if things do not change -a study by heriot-wat university. The evidence suggests that whatever the Tories are doing to end homelessness it is not working. Everything is not as bleak as I just told you though, the conservative has ended homelessness before. In the hight of the pandemic the conservatives got 90% of all rough sleepers off the streets and put them in hotels or hostels. This helped people apply for benefits, find jobs and get some more permanent assistance. People was helped during the pandemic, but when the funding ran out last July, homeless and the rough sleepers in the hotels and hostels where back out in the streets again. Alone and forgotten by the government that promised to end the very crisis they are apart of years ago. Theis shows that the Tories have the money to help the unfortune but they would rather sit on their arses chatting about what colour they should paint the walls of their house. More recently the Torie introduced a law what will fine people for sleeping in doorways. It really shows what the Tories care about, getting linings for their pockets. The Tories have the money to stop homelessness and when it was a danger to them, they stopped the issue what has been so recuing in our politics for decades. They helped the people who so desperately needed it only to chuck them back into the cold when covid-19 was no longer a danger to them.

4. The conservatives fail to keep minorities safe in the society that they created. It is not surprise that the Tories are the most incompetent as ever. A study by BBC radio 5 found that hate crimes have doubled since 2013. An optimist would assume that is great, that there must mean that people have been reporting it more, right? Partly so. Although we have seen a rise in reports of hate crimes, the rate of prosecution has dropped down from 20% to just 8%. And that is just the tip of the iceberg, in a survey of faith-based organizations; the home office found that seven in ten of the employees surveyed has never reported a hate crime to the police where one happened. For a country where we are supposed to be the most tolerable it is no surprise that a big portion of the hate crimes committed are ones where the religion the victim followed played a big part. Our population, like many others, is influenced by our politicians. After Boris described Muslim women in burkas as “letterboxes” in an interview; citizen UK found that there where a surge in hate crime directed to Muslim women where the word “letterbox” was used. Again, continuing with the theme of hate crime against religions, Muslims made up half of the statistics in 2018 – 2019. The biggest spike we have seen in the last few years has been to Jewish people, where hate crimes against them have more since doubled. It is not a surprise since people seem to relate being a ‘good’ Jew to being a Zionist. Other minorities like trans youth under sixteen in England and whales now must go through everything that goes with puberty on top of not wanting to have the body you cuntly have all because TERF’s and conservatives do not think puberty blockers should be available to them. At this point I genuinely think they want trans kids dead, how could you not see that the benefits of puberty blockers far out way the potential consequences. If puberty blockers really where the target they would have taken them of the shelfs completely, but they did not do that did they? They just restricted the rights of an already marginalised group more. Its not just trans kids but the fight for a third gender to finally get recognised is still waging on despite it being a battle since 2018. The government petition has been signed 136,000 times demanding non-binary finally be recognised as a valid gender in the eyes of the law. I hope I can get recognised as well as everyone else. It may not seem a big deal to some of you reading this but it is to thousands. Especially the people who want to go on hormones and medically transition. Because right now I and many other people are restricted and not allowed to get that service. If you are in the UK and you are of age, I urge you to signs the government petition. In other news the conservatives are just now getting to outlawing conversion therapy three years after they announced they would do so. It just shows how the party is not on target. On the topic of not on target let us talk about the increasing number of racial minorities becoming homeless because of lack of funding to their communities. Since the conservatives got into power in the 2010 racial minorities now make up 40% of all homeless despite being only 15% of the current population. It really shows how much they care about anyone who is not white. Yet people like my gran will continue to say they are doing enough for these underfunded communities.

the tory party really has nothing going for them, they are certainly not for the working class, they cannot solve homelessness and they do not give two fucks about minorities. To think anyone would vote form them is just amazing. Its fucking stupid to believe that they are anything but a bunch of rich shites dawdling around and thinking up ways to get more money into their pockets. To end this really all over the place essay, if you vote tory you are a massive twat.

Sources in comments:

#essay #uk #uk politics #uk politics essay #persuasive essay #tory government #tory #left wing politics #conservatism #conservtive #if any reads this well done #im sorry #its long #heehee hastags go burrr

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argylemnwrites · 4 years ago

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Why Are We Still Waiting? - Chapter 1

Pairing: Drake Walker x MC (Riley Liu)

Book: The Royal Romance (It Couldn’t Wait Another Moment universe, about 21 months after that epilogue, about 8 months since the prologue)

Word Count: ~4400

Rating: PG-13 (language)

Summary: A new member of the family arrives, and both Drake and Riley reflect on how much things have changed over the past 3 years.

Author’s Note: Let’s try this again, shall we? Sorry for the delay between the prologue and this chapter, but I’m much happier with the character arcs I’ve got planned now, and I think you all will enjoy the story more, too. To catch up on this series, you can check out the It Couldn’t Wait Another Moment masterlist (link in bio).

It was a quiet night in the Kensington neighborhood of Brooklyn. Anderson was curled up in his armchair, dozing lightly after his evening walk. The TV was on, the eleven o’clock news about to start any moment, and Drake was settled onto the couch, ready to watch, no matter how much Riley teased him about being “an old man” for still using the television to get his news. She was stretched out on the couch next to him, her toes tucked under his thigh. She was finishing up her work for the day, reviewing the twitter buzz for the reopening of a restaurant that hired the PR firm she worked for after a video of the former head chef going on a racist tirade surfaced. It was boring, average, and incredibly routine. It was the type of evening Drake enjoyed the most.

He knew Riley saw nights in like this as their “catch up” nights, but honestly, Drake looked forward to them a lot. Sure, in the more than two years he’d lived in New York, he’d come to find many things he loved about the city. The variety of food available at hole-in-the-wall restaurants was amazing, and the portion sizes and prices were always right. The mind games and backstabbing of court were replaced with direct, blunt friendships with Luke, Sunil, Caleb, and Omar, men he’d gotten to know at some of his different temp postings before he got hired on as a permanent employee at the law firm three months ago. And sure, it’s not like he had some great passion for reviewing and cataloging court filings and documents, but it paid the bills. And no one in his life judged him for it.

After Riley had earned her degree, she’d talked a lot about the two of them starting to save up for him to go back to school, researching which universities would take some or all of his previously-earned credits. But at some point, Drake realized that wasn’t really something he wanted. When he’d been younger, leaving Cordonia to get a Bachelor’s degree had felt like a way to establish himself as his own person, independent from the pressure of Court, separate from Liam. But now, he lived in a different city. He had a fiancée and a steady job and his own life already. He didn’t need a degree or a university experience to gain that independence.

And truth be told, with the variety of office jobs he’d held when he was still temping, he was pretty convinced that any career opportunities he could gain from having a university degree would not be jobs he actually wanted, or at least not ones he wanted any more than what he had now. He didn’t want to toil away at some corporate bullshit, striving just to inch up that ladder to get that next promotion. Plus, it turned out he was about as well-suited for office politics as he’d been for courtly politics, which probably shouldn’t have been a surprise. Additionally, if he went back to school, they would have to pay for six semesters, not just two like they’d had to for Riley. Earning that degree just seemed like a total waste of time and money.

Instead, they were slowly saving up for a variety of things these days. Their real honeymoon, not their would-be honeymoon they went on after they postponed their wedding. A road trip out to the West Coast. A bigger apartment for when they had kids. In all honesty, it turns out that he didn’t so much care what his job was. He wasn’t like Liam who found purpose and satisfaction from his work. Nor was he going to be like Maxwell and turn some zany endeavor into an honest-to-god career writing made-for-TV movies. And he did not have anywhere near the skill set and connections that Hana had, allowing her to open a international bakery chain that turned all its profits into disaster relief donations or grants and low interest small business loans for women in impoverished countries. If his job was able to allow him to take care of those he loved, he was happy enough. Taking care of his family and spending time with them was always going to be the most important thing to him.

His family was on his mind often these days. Savannah was just over two weeks from her due date, and Drake was excited to actually get to know his niece or nephew from the start this time. He and Riley had a trip out to Cordonia scheduled next month, soon enough after the due date that they would get to meet the baby early, but not so early that they would be totally unwelcome visitors. Riley could only get one week off, but Drake was staying for an extra week after she left to spend a little more time with his niece or nephew. He figured it was Savannah’s way of trying to make up for all the time he missed with Bartie when he was little. Regardless, he was looking forward to meeting the second baby Beaumont.

In general, life was just good at the moment. Honestly, things had been good for a while. It was a feeling Drake had never imagined experiencing so consistently. But his life was stable, he knew he and Riley were on a good path, and he had a handful of close friends, both in the city and in Cordonia. His job was tolerable for the pay he earned. He really didn’t feel like he could ask for much more. So he watched the news with a smile on his face, as Riley sat next to him, replying to the occasional tweet.

By the time the newscast got to weather, Drake was yawning. He knew it would just provide more ammo for Riley to tease him about being old, but he couldn’t help it. It was a weeknight, it was late, and he got up before she did.

“Is it bedtime at the retirement home?” she quipped almost on cue, her eyes not leaving her phone screen as she nudged him with her foot.

Drake just shook his head. “Yeah, yeah. You coming to bed soon?”

Riley shrugged. “Not right away. In a little bit.”

He nodded as he stood up, dropping a kiss to her forehead as he passed on his way to the bathroom and bedroom.

“Wait, you forgot your phone,” Riley called out. He spun and saw her extending her arm back over the arm of the couch toward him, her eyes still glued on her own screen. He stepped forward to grab it, but it started buzzing in her hand, clearly startling her as she let out a little yelp and brought the phone forward to see who was calling.

“Why is Maxwell calling you at… 6:25 in the morning?” she asked, quickly doing the time zone math.

He just shrugged as he took the phone from her and swiped to answer the call. “Maxwell, what are you doing up?”

“Break out the cigars! It’s a girl!”

It took Drake a few seconds to mentally catch up to Maxwell’s statement. “Wait, you mean Savannah-”

“Had the baby? Yup! Just under 3 kilos and screaming up a storm,” said Maxwell with a chuckle, “They’re still deciding on a name, but I think it’ll be Caroline Annabelle Beaumont. At least that’s what they were leaning to when I stepped out to give them some privacy and give you a call.”

“I thought someone was going to call me when she went into labor?”

“Well… Savannah kind of forbid anyone from calling you. She said that you would just worry too much and would be blowing up her phone when she needed to be focused on other things. She pointed out that it wouldn’t really make a difference, either, with you being in the Big Apple.”

Drake shook his head and sank back onto the couch. “Unreal.”

“Hey, I vouched for you, man! I told her that you would be fine, but her word was kind of final, you know? Given the situation and all. Anyway, she promised she’d give you a call when it was all over.”

“So why are you the one calling me then?”

“Ouch, I’m hurt. I thought we were best friend roomies!” Maxwell said with a ton of dramatic flair. Drake could practically picture him clutching his shirt in mock pain.

“That’s not…” he started with an eye roll, “What I meant was, why isn’t Savannah calling me to share the news herself?”

“She… well… she had to be rushed back for an emergency c-section.”

“What?” Drake felt his heart rate pick up instantly, even though he knew in his mind that whatever had been the danger was likely resolved at this point.

“Yeah… I had stepped out to the hallway with Dad when they were checking to see how, er… dilated she was, when suddenly the midwife was calling out ‘Cord!’ and in an instant there were dozens of staff running into her room.”

“And you’re just now telling me?” Drake growled out. He felt Riley’s hand on his knee. He knew he should probably put the phone on speaker so that Riley could hear more than one half of this conversation, but he was too focused on not missing any details to risk pulling the phone away from his ear.

“It all happened so quickly. One second she was joking with me in between contractions, the next she was being wheeled out of the room and a nurse was explaining to Bertrand the gear he was going to have to put on to go into the OR. Before Dad and I could even figure out what was going on, Bertrand was back and told us it was a girl.”

“He left her alone during everything?”

“Apparently, the only risk was to the baby, not to Savannah, but since she was attempting natural labor, they had to knock her out, I guess? Anyway, he was with her when she woke up, holding their little girl. I don’t know, the details kind of went over my head, but everyone is happy and healthy now!”

Drake just let out a massive sigh as he ran a hand over his face. It was a lot to process, but he didn’t think Maxwell would have told him all this info and then lied about Savannah and the baby being okay. He sometimes still felt strange, choosing to live so far away from his sister and Liam. He knew it wasn’t rational. He had certainly been more supportive to Savannah through this pregnancy than her first since he actually knew she was pregnant this time, but part of him felt guilty anytime something major happened and he wasn’t right there.

They were thoughts he didn’t like bringing up with Riley, because he wasn’t sure how to phrase it so that it didn’t sound like he resented her for the fact that he lived in a different country. He just had this feeling it would come across that way, when that wasn’t how he felt at all. But trying to work through the storm of emotions that bubbled up whenever something major happened to his friends or family in Cordonia when Maxwell had called to just let him know he had a niece was probably not the wisest decision. So, he swallowed his emotions down and focused on the good news. His sister had a little girl and it sounded like everyone was fine now.

“Well, tell Savannah and Bertrand congratulations and that I’ll call them in the morning here, alright? And thanks for calling me to let me know.”

“Of course! It’s my duty as part of our uncle brotherhood!”

“Don’t think for a second I’m going to start using that phrase, Maxwell.”

“I’ll convince you yet; you’ll see.”

Drake just shook his head as he said, “Bye, Maxwell.”

“Bye, Drake. Send my love to Riley. And prepare for a barrage of photos from yours truly.”

Drake placed his phone on the couch next to him and let out a sigh before facing Riley. Her phone was now tucked away somewhere as she stared at him, eyes wide and full of concern.

“What happened?”

“Savannah had the baby. A little girl.”

“What had you upset?”

“There were some complications, but he says everything’s fine now.”

Riley snaked her arms around him and gave him a little squeeze. “I’m sure it is. Is he gonna send some pictures?”

Drake nodded, and Riley curled up fully next to him on the couch, leaning her head against his shoulder, waiting for the photos of his niece. Their niece. Kind of.

He glanced down at the ring on her left hand that rested on his knee. Not for the first time, he wondered if they made the right call postponing their wedding for Savannah’s sake. It didn’t feel fair, that Bertrand and Savannah had it all - married with two kids - while they had put plans on pause. And sure, both Savannah and Bertrand had thanked them profusely. But watching as they moved forward with their lives while he and Riley had to plan and save and budget all over again just left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Sometimes, it felt like he should have just told his sister just how insane her ask was. He and Riley would have been married for almost eight months by this point. Maybe they would be talking about starting their own family. But deep down, Drake knew that nothing good came from playing the “what if” game. So he tried to just soak in the moment, at peace and at home with Riley, taking in pictures of Savannah’s new baby. He was happy, his sister and her new baby were fine, and his life was steady. He couldn’t really ask for anything more, could he?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Riley kicked her legs against the exam table and tugged her sweatshirt a little closer as she checked the time on her phone again. Dr. Mehta wasn’t running that late, but Riley was just a little anxious about this appointment. When she’d called to schedule her next depo injection, she was surprised that she’d been booked for a longer appointment with Dr. Mehta herself, not Val, Dr. Mehta’s nurse. She wasn’t sure if something was wrong or why this was happening. All she knew is that she needed to get her depo before their trip to Cordonia. It would be too late to wait until she got back.

She knew Drake was excited to get back and see everyone, as well as meet his new niece, Caroline. But, truth be told, Riley always found it a bit strange being back in Cordonia, even more so now that Hana had moved to London full time. Even though she’d been a nobody in New York for over two years, she still got recognized every time she and Drake had been back there. Last visit, they’d somehow even attracted enough attention that The Ruby Rise, one of the tabloids there, had run a piece speculating they had come back to enter into some sort of thruple with Liam. The whole thing had been a total mind fuck. Being back just always felt a little bit like stepping into a time capsule or a portal to this very weird time period of her life, one where she ended up grabbing Drake and bolting for the exit as soon as she could.

She supposed that wasn’t an entirely fair comparison. After all, it’s not like she considered her time in Cordonia a negative one. For the most part, she’d had a fun experience, and most of her closest friends came from that time in her life. But it still felt weird, returning to the world of balls and galas and courtly politics where she’d been on her best behavior for months. Now that she wasn’t formally a part of that circle, she didn’t hold back from swearing or snarking when she was there. It always caught at least a few people off guard and fully scandalized Bertrand consistently. Olivia had remarked at Savannah and Bertrand’s wedding that the potty-mouthed, bitchy version she was finally fully seeing was somehow more and less annoying at the same time.

Two sharp knocks jolted Riley out of her thoughts. She turned her head to the exam room door as Dr. Mehta entered with a smile, a clipboard in her hand.

“Sorry about the wait,” she said with a smile as she plopped down on the stool by the desk and rolled over to sit in front of Riley. “And you don’t need to be up there if you don’t want to. We just need to chat.”

Riley frowned at that, but Dr. Mehta must have noticed that, because she let out a little chuckle. “Nothing bad, I promise! I just wanted to talk to you about your contraceptive options. Honestly, I should have brought this up at your appointment back in December. I just did my math wrong when I was reviewing your chart then.”

“I’m really happy on the depo, doctor.”

She gave Riley a little smile as she said, “And I’m glad. But unfortunately Depo Provera is only safe to use for two years. And we’ve reached that point.”

Riley felt a wave of panic rush through her. “I can’t go back on the pill! I was always terrible about remembering to take it.” It was the truth. Back years ago, she’d been awful about remembering to take her pill, and it was almost never at the same time of day.

“That’s fine. You aren’t my only patient who struggles with that, I promise. That’s why I wanted to talk about other long term options for you. I’m assuming no plans to try for pregnancy in the next couple of months?”

“God no!”

She laughed at that. “Just making sure! I think for you, either an IUD or an implant are going to be the best options.” She passed Riley a couple of pamphlets and went over the relevant details, side effects, and benefits.

“So, if you want to think about what you want and give my office a call in the next couple of days, we can get you in next week,” Dr. Mehta concluded.

Riley shook her head. “I’m traveling out of the country next week.”

Dr. Mehta tilted her head back and forth a couple of times, then checked her watch. “Well, I doubt we’ll be able to get you in for an IUD placement this week, but if you have a little time now, I can place an implant today.”

So, maybe a half hour later, Riley found herself walking out of the OBGYN office suite, a thick bandage wrapped around her bicep, pleased that she was set for birth control for the next few years. Not only was it one less thing to worry about, but it felt like the sort of thing a responsible adult did. After living so long with no consideration for the future, flying by the seat of her pants, diving into massive decisions without a second of thought, she knew that times like this, where she planned for her long-term, represented a decent amount of progress.

It was strange, in a way, to be consistently thinking about the future. For so long, her life had been just her scraping by, hoping to claw her way into a slightly better situation. Getting to go and live with her mother again when she was in a shitty foster home. Getting to go and live in a foster home when her mother relapsed hard or when she had a shitty, creepy dealer as a boyfriend. Getting a new job that would pay more. Always scrambling, never dreaming beyond her next move.

But now, she had a white collar job that paid her a college graduate salary, she had a nice apartment, and she lived with her dog and her fiancé. No one would guess that she’d lived off food stamps and free school lunches and had bounced around from couch to couch and then from foster home to foster home. She lived the life of a well-adjusted woman, and that meant considering the long-term, not just the short term. And today she’d done just that. She felt responsible and capable. It was a nice feeling.

She’d been all ready to brag about her very mature decision, but when she got back to their apartment, things were chaotic. Anderson was bouncing off the walls, and Drake was livid on the phone with the airline about their upcoming flight, so she took out the dog, and by the time she got back, Drake basically had dinner on the table. All thoughts about her birth control were pushed out of her mind through dinner and some heated hands of poker, until she was getting ready for bed that evening. She was tossing her sweatshirt into the hamper and Drake was by the dresser he’d painted lime green for her. As she got undressed, he caught sight of the bandage on her arm for the first time.

“Riley, what happened?” he asked, darting over, eyes locked on her left arm as he sank down on the edge of the bed to inspect it closer.

She couldn’t help but smile. His reaction was so predictable. “Nothing.”

“But your arm…” He gently traced his fingers over her bandage, as if he would find some evidence of some horrible injury on her, something he somehow missed and needed to correct.

“New birth control. Bandage comes off tomorrow.”

“Oh. Okay.” He still seemed leery and continued his inspection of her arm. “Why’d you change? Was something wrong?”

Riley shrugged. “My doctor said that I had reached my limit for depo. Besides this one lasts three years. Seemed mad convenient.”

Drake’s fingers stopped their path with her words, his eyes jumping from the bandage up to her face. “Three years?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.” He didn’t say anything else, just stood up, walked back to the dresser, and started rifling through his drawer.

“What?”

“It’s nothing, Liu.”

“Clearly it’s something,” she said, joining him by the dresser, forcing herself into his personal space until he made eye contact with her again. “You’ve never given a shit what I’ve done for birth control before. What’s up, Drake?”

He shook his head a little before returning to rifling through the drawer, flipping through old t-shirt after old t-shirt. “I told you - it’s nothing. Since you’re the one who has to deal with any side effects or whatever, it’s obviously your call. Have you seen my blue Cordonian football shirt?”

She let out a sigh. “Don’t change the subject.”

He took a moment before he responded, closing his eyes for just a second and taking a deep breath. “It’s stupid.” He opened his eyes again and gave his head a little shake, his eyes still glued on the drawer. “I just… I don’t know, I guess…”

“You want kids within three years.” She finished his thought for him, knowing without a doubt that was what he was struggling to tell her.

Drake finally looked up at her and shrugged. “I mean, it’s not like I have a timeline or anything, but… I don’t know. Three years is a long ways off, you know?”

She did know. “I agree; a lot can change in three years. In fact, three years ago, you were just some rude asshole who clearly thought I was a crown chaser.”

He rolled his eyes at that before quipping back, “I just didn’t realize someone recklessly impulsive enough to hop on a private jet with a couple of guys she’d known for less than 24 hours could survive to be your age. It was really a compliment, me assuming you at least had a goal in mind.”

“When did you realize that I was just flying by the seat of my pants and clearly had no plan whatsoever?”

“When you told Olivia you were going to slap her. That degree of lack of diplomacy just can’t be found in someone who knows how to become queen.”

“But you still thought I was going to be queen at that point.”

“I mean, I just assumed you were going to stumble your way into the role, but do you really want to get into why I thought you would be queen?”

She shook her head, laughing lightly as she placed her hands on his chest and nudged him backwards to their bed, straddling his lap as he sat down on the end. “No, I think the less said there, the better. Besides, we both know I would have been the world’s shittiest queen.”

Drake opened his mouth to respond to that, but Riley didn’t give him a chance, leaning in and kissing him. After a moment, he deepened the kiss, sliding one hand to her shoulder and running another through her hair. But a few seconds later, he pulled back slightly, his hand sliding over the bandage on her arm. He stared at it, tracing his fingers over it again and again.

“It’s an implant, Drake. I can get it removed if for some reason we are ready for kids in two years or whatever,” Riley said, sliding her fingers under his chin, redirecting his eyes from that damn bandage back to her face. “It’s not a big deal, okay?”

He swallowed roughly, but then nodded. “Okay, Liu.” And then his lips were back on hers, his hands working under her tank top, sliding it up bit by bit. She rolled her hips down against him, ready to move on from their conversation. She could think of far more enjoyable ways to spend the rest of their evening than the minutiae of her birth control choices after all. And as they tumbled backwards onto their bed, she tried not to think about the fact that Drake avoided touching her left arm for the rest of the night.

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#drake walker #drake x mc #trr fanfic #trr au #trr au fanfic #trr #choices fanfiction

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