#thankfully im in a much more privileged position than i used to be so i *should* be ok but i guess we'll find out

[noctomania]

Idk, there is just something about a country denying the right to vote to the majority of the country's population kinda gives me the vibe that withholding your vote isn't gonna make the impact you think it is.

Maybe it's the over 4 million disenfranchised people who have been charged as felons.

Maybe it's the restrictive voting laws that disenfranchises disabled people

Perhaps the attempts to prevent military and overseas American from being able to vote

Could be the continued challenges of the Native population to have their votes counted

But idk! Yanno maybe I'm wrong and ALLLLLL of the big wig democrats for the next 4 years will go to every door of everyone who withheld their vote to have a cup of tea and talk about how the politicians can better appeal to people who refuse to get off their computer to vote.

I reckon a lotta folks are gonna learn to grow up the hard way over the next 4 years, on all sides.

Also, just wanna note for the record: trump got to campaign for EIGHT. YEARS. Harris for 107 days. Sorry she didn't have time to come have a spiritual moment with you personally. (This is for ppl who still insist she "didn't do enough" with her campaign. Foh with that shit, i doubt you've properly cleaned your asshole in that amount of time)

[junova]

↬ 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐞 | 𝐫. 𝐝𝐫𝐲𝐬𝐝𝐚𝐥𝐞

abstract — the one where ransom gets a taste of his own medicine, but you happen to be so much sweeter than he’s ever been. 

pairing — ooc!ransom drysdale x fem!reader 

wc — 4.1k+  im so sorry lmao 

warnings — cheating (if u squint its very vague), angst, fluff, slight self deprecation, ransom is kinda nice idk, i want a soft!ransom drysdale now pls, this is also very messy so read at ur own risk!

[m blabs] — howdy howdy! first time ransom fic. woot woot! still kinda finding my voice w writing so i hope you like it! <333 

His mouth set in a hard line as you continued to curl into his chest, the span of your confidence seemed to be wiped away with a nightmare from the past. Part of him was upset you hadn’t told him anything, the blind leading the blind, as you stepped foot into his family event. Seeing the last person you’d ever thought would be there. 

Surely by now, he thought you would trust him but it was more than evident you still didn’t. You persisted on hiding everything from him, anything you were sure might tick him off. 

Well, Ransom wasn’t necessarily known for biting his tongue.  Although, in your presence, he was learning what to say and where to say it. 

It really surprised him. Not one woman had been able to tame him, not since he’d be fucking everyone in sight. His desire was endless and not one single individual would be enough for his fill. 

Then, he found you drunk and sobbing on the concrete, right outside of the bar he was exiting. To this day, he still couldn’t tell you why he stopped for you. He never really paid attention to anyone if it wasn’t to his own benefit. Ultimately, meeting you was, even if he wouldn’t realize it then. 

You flinched from his touch when he patted your shoulder, gently asking if you were alright. If anyone asked him, Ransom would surely deny he felt you pull at the strings of his heart in an instant. 

He just knew. 

Maybe it’s why it took him so long to accept it, to believe in what he felt for you. Definitely not because you did nothing but be the most wonderful human he’d ever met. More had to do with him. 

Ransom dropped you off the first night you met in your small apartment downtown, definitely on the rougher side where he thought his Rolex sporting his wrist may get stolen. 

A cute little thing like you living in a neighborhood like this — didn’t make much sense to him. Then again, it certainly checked out with his privilege why he didn’t. 

Truly, Ransom didn’t realize how fortunate he truly was. Of course being a trust fund brat gave him the ignorance to live in an unmatched state of bliss. 

He still remembers the moment. 

Watching as you fumbled with your keys, finding it more than difficult to open your front door. It was cute, with your tongue poking out between your lips in concentration. Now, he wondered how he’d forgotten why he’d gone to get hammered at the bar in the first place. 

“Here, let me help.” New to Ransom, he offered a giving hand. Grabbing the key from your jittering fingertips before unlocking your door. He tried to hand you back your keys, but you pulled him so close, your chest touching his own. Dragging two rapid hearts through your apartment. 

“You smell like him.” A dopey smile on your face lighting every dark sight of Ransom, not that you’d know it did. “I smell like who?” 

“My ex-boyfriend.” Your hands cupping his cheek, but you were too drunk to realize how Ransom flinched from your touch. 

He didn’t push you away either. 

“But he definitely didn’t look this good.” Defying all laws of his own nature, Ransom let you stay in close proximity to him as you felt him up. Your hand resting on his chest, traveling lower stopping at his stomach. “Definitely didn’t feel this good.” 

He watched as you sighed, your puffy eyes were only slightly swollen and the mascara was still staining your skin with the rest of the makeup you wore. If anyone had asked him, you’d looked like a wreck but he still found you alluring. 

Ransom always liked his women looking more than fucked out, usually from gagging around his cock. Not crying over a broken heart. Nope. He definitely did not like dealing with a woman's sorrow. 

“He never let me touch him though. Guess that should have tipped me off.” You let your hands travel back up, wounding themselves around his neck before they applied more pressure — pulling him into you. 

Ransom found you pretty confident for not even knowing anything more than his first name and the car he drove you in. You were definitely craving attention and maybe he’d be more than happy to oblige but the little voice in his head Dr. Shoal told him to listen to was being a pestering, little bitch. 

What did Ransom want? 

Right now he wanted to drown himself in some sweet ass pussy. He knew you would give yourself easily to him, especially in your drunken state. Clinging onto him like he was a vine. 

The smaller part of him, the better part, knew you were drunk out of your mind. Absolutely plastered, but you had to stand there looking like a goddess. 

He didn’t really know why he was letting you touch him, maybe in hopes the deeper, darker side of him would win like it always did. Ransom knew better, even if he tried to hide it from everyone including himself. 

He liked you. From the very first moment, he knew he’d have to get you. Whether it cost your own sanity or his, Ransom didn’t care. 

It’s why he left you drunk and alone, safely tucked into the comfort of your sheets with his number left in your phone. Even taking the liberty of texting himself from it. 

He could never be too careful. Letting you slip through his fingers was simply not an option. 

Thanks to him, you didn’t forget about him. 

The next morning your memory only held vague images of a handsome stranger helping you home, thankfully he seemed to be nothing more than a doting gentlemen. The first for you to ever come across. 

Until later in the afternoon the following day, Ransom introduced himself and checked up on you, worming his presence into your life. 

Then he kept talking to you everyday, surprising even himself in the matter. Truly, he couldn’t help it. Part of him loved how gently you spoke to him on the phone. No one ever talked to him with such a level of care. 

He always warranted yelling, usually he was the one who stirred the pot. He enjoyed it, and thrived in a chaotic environment. It’s what he grew up in. Ransom was more than comfortable with his own family yelling and cursing him out until the sun came up. He did just the same. 

So, whenever you sweetly asked him how he was, it threw him off guard. 

Not a single soul even cared or bothered to ask him anything. Truth be told, Ransom was a sack of shit treating everyone like they were the gum beneath his shoe. It didn’t matter who talked to him — Ransom was simply more superior in every conceivable way. 

He would succumb to not a single soul. Paving his own way through life, with only the money from his trust fund of course. 

Then the two of you fell into each other and he could pinpoint the exact moment he did. 

The weeks and months blended together. He couldn’t really tell you why he was still lingering around, while he got nothing in return. You did get him off once or twice, but he wasn’t fucking you like he really wanted to. 

Maybe it was the innocence in your eyes pulling his soul into the very little good he still had left within him. Or maybe it was the way your thumb dragged over his cheek when you thought he was in slumber, blissfully unaware of your touch. 

More importantly his favorite thing, the way you let him hold you when the two of you cuddled. Your arms wrapped tightly around his waist, bouncy cheeks pressed into whatever knit sweater he decided to wear that day. 

It was all the little things, unknowingly making him fall in deep like he never had before. 

Unwelcoming to him, his mother came barreling in one Sunday afternoon, while you slept in his arms. Even as Linda screamed his name, you never jolted, out like a log. Safe in the peace he kept you in. 

Linda looked annoyed, irritated he even had company in the first place but not surprised. What truly shocked her was they both had clothes on.  Not truly believing Ransom was capable of such a sinless interaction. 

He knew what she wanted; he didn’t even have to move from his position to continue a private conversation. Not that it would get him off the couch, and out of your embrace in the first place. 

“I said no. Don’t know why you bothered coming here.” Linda angrily sighed. “You should at least show up.” 

Ransom didn’t notice, but subconsciously continued to run his fingertips up and down your spine. Linda did. She noticed that he didn’t even care she was judging him, but let you remain unbothered sleeping in her son’s embrace. 

“It’s for Walt. You need to be there.” She stepped closer, hoping the increase in her volume would wake you. “I expect you to grace us with your wonderful presence as does the rest of the family.” 

The sarcasm dripped, attempting to coax him out of the four walls he never seemed to leave. Not recently, anyhow. 

“I already told you, I can’t.” Now Ransom was irritated and he really wished she would calm the fuck down. It was one day, one event. There would always be another, that much wasn’t lost on him. “I have plans. Send him my best.” 

Assuming it was the rumbling of his chest when he spoke, you moved jolting yourself in his arms, before remaining still again. His heartbeat continues to soothe you. 

“You have plans? What else could be more important than your family?” The louder Linda’s voice grew the more you stirred, pissing him off. 

He really needed to change his locks. 

Even if he had no intention of going, he needed his mother to leave. Really for your own sake — trying to save you from Linda giving you a cold shoulder followed with a third degree burn. 

“Fine. I’ll go. Can you just leave?” She accepted Ransom’s submission, before looking at your figure. Sound asleep and clinging to her one and only, sinking your claws into him. 

She really didn’t like the way Ransom was looking at you. Linda was positive he would never be able to care about someone other than himself, but here he was, holding you close to his chest. 

Almost like his life depended on it. 

“Who is she to you?” With a raised eyebrow, eyes narrowing to you before meeting back with Ransom’s cerulean blues. 

“I don’t know yet.” Ransom paused looking down at you, so beautiful. Holding a light so pure, so radiant; he hoped no matter how cruel he could be, he’d never act like that towards you. “Maybe someone I don’t deserve, but want to be better for.” 

His rough, calloused fingers drawing mindless patterns on the exposed skin of your waist. He didn’t know what Linda said next or when she left. 

Time seemed to stand still, his confession hitting his chest fiercely. He let himself sit with it for a moment, before you woke up. Enjoying a moment where he didn’t have to deal with anything, he didn’t have to say a word. 

He could just enjoy the moment without eyes judging him or you questioning why his eyes seemed to shine just a bit brighter whenever you were around. 

It was the first of many. Moments where he felt small pieces of himself chipped away into your care. Planes of existences within him no one had ever scratched the surface of. 

Much like right now as you cried into his chest, begging for mercy. 

Because you were afraid. Terrified you had made the worst mistake, an unforgivable one. You lied about your past and to Ransom it felt like more than a betrayal. More accurately he felt a dagger in his heart placed strategically with your murderous hands. 

He’d never felt such empathy and pain at once. Maybe he’d never been empathetic a day in his life at all. 

Until now. 

To make matters worse, he knew his entire family was watching the whole scene from the window. It wasn’t from worry or concern for either one of you. Mainly all of them enjoying pain being inflicted on Ransom. 

Linda of course wallowing in her ego, he could practically see her bask in her own pride. Another thing she’d been right about checked off the list. 

The rest of the family watched the two of you fight with shiteating grins permanently stamped on their face. They’d never seen Ransom care about anyone but you. To watch the relationship he held so close to his heart blow up so publicly, only fueled the fire to Ransom’s rage. 

Except Harlan. 

Even through his hot, beating anger Ransom was trying his best to comfort you. To calm you down even if you had been the one to be caught red handed. Harlan couldn’t believe it, someone Ransom seemed to care about more than himself. 

More than any of his family. Not that Harlan was offended. Well, maybe a little, but more so he was thrilled his grandson finally found someone he had to grow up for. Someone he had to earn, not buy. 

No bribes. No schemes. No games. 

Just you. 

“Hugh, please talk to me.” How could he? It’s not like he had much to say. Maybe he did, he just wasn’t sure how to get the words out without hurting you or himself. 

“I know I lied and I fucked up, but please — we need to talk about it.” Soft hands reaching for his own, but he brushed them off, his hands snaked higher on your waist. “We should have talked about this the moment you met me.” 

Dead silence is all you were met with as he walked the fine line of pushing you away, leaving you behind and pulling you closer than he ever had. 

“You’re right. I should have told you the truth but can you blame me?” He met you with solemn eyes and his own heart beating rapidly. “Yes I can.” Ransom was trying to act cold and distant but the two windows to his soul told a different story. 

“That’s fair.” Even as he was holding you, Ransom still felt like he was a galaxy away. He was withholding himself from you like a turtle retracting into their own protection. A year ago, before he met you, he knew he would have never even recognized it. 

Now, you made it possible for him to be aware of just how much he had changed. He broke old habits of his own just to please you so when you disappointed him, this unreachable high standard he held you to, it shattered his sense of self. 

“Did you still love him?” Ransom questioned you. “I did. At the time, he’s all I ever really knew. I thought that’s what love felt like. The only image of love I had was the one he gave me. So, I ran with him and it crushed me.” 

Ransom had to pretend the words you were speaking didn’t split him into you two. The image of you falling in love with someone else was enough to make him wanna strangle your ex. 

His friend. 

“Then we just got into one really big blow out. Right in the bar in front of all of his friends I had met for the first time that night.” You reached for a chunk of his sweater, clenching the material in your hand, like you were trying to convince yourself to let the words fall from your mouth. 

“He told me how much I’d been irritating him and I couldn’t help but notice every girl he flirted with and touched right in front of me.” You tested the waters, placing both of your hands over his chest, the beat of his heart calming you down. 

“Then I just cracked. It was only one of the many fights we’d been having over the course of the past few months. Everyone single argument pushed me closer to the edge, until the last one actually did.” You sighed, watching as he frowned. 

“I ended things that night, before getting thoroughly plastered and soon enough crying on the cement. Wasted and lonely out of my mind, until I met you.” You moved your hand from his heart, cupping his clean shaven face. 

“You made me realize I never knew what love really meant or felt like.” This piqued Ransom’s interest. 

You said love. 

Could a tragedy bring out the words Ransom craved to hear more than anything in the world? 

Maybe you cared about him, more than anyone ever showed him. But loved him? How could someone be as hateful as him be worthy of someone like you? 

Even if you had broken his heart, he’d done far worse to more people than he could count. He wasn’t really in a place to judge but it didn’t change the fact it still hurt. A lot. 

“Hugh.” You heard him gulp rather loudly. “Yes?” His tone came out as more of a question than a response. 

The silence he gifted you was unsettling at the very least. “You've barely said a word.” He was surprised he didn’t scurry off in his beamer the second he saw the guilt reach your eyes. 

He was surprised he hadn’t let his anger take over and let the rage he felt inside body take it all out on you. 

He was surprised he somehow couldn’t inflict a single hateful word towards you, even as you sat with his heart in your hands. 

In pure bliss of just how much you owned him. 

“I hate it. This fucking corner you’ve back me into. Not to mention for the prying eyes of my entire family to watch the show.” The sharp tone he uses sensoring you. “You used me just to get back at him.” 

“Like I was some pawn in your game and I really even shouldn’t be mad.” He paused, trying to choose his words as carefully as he can. “I’ve done the same thing to so many different women. Used them and threw them out at my earliest inconvenience.” To your surprise, even Ransom’s, a single tear left his eye showing you how much you really meant to him. 

You hated yourself for letting it get to this point. 

“But you? I could never even think about hurting you. I could never live with myself if I treated you like everyone else because you’re so much more than that to me.” The tears continued to roll. The dame Ransom kept shut his entire life, opened because of you and he just wanted to make it stop. 

He would give anything — even you. 

He just wanted to not feel like a piece of shit for once in his life. For a moment, he thought he might have a chance to be something more than the picture he portrayed in everyone’s mind. You showed him maybe it was more complex than it seemed. 

“I just assumed I was that for you.” You sighed in frustration, softly wiping his tears away. “You are, though. You are more than that.” 

“Then how could you be so okay with lying to me?” The crease between his eyebrows only created more of an indention as he felt the anger trying to escape out of him. 

You let the tension get to you first. 

“Because I-I was scared if I told you the truth, you’d never tell me.” You puzzled him once again. You softly reach up between his furrowed eyebrows, the pad of your thumb smoothing it out. 

“Tell you what?” His mind was clouded with the possibilities of what he could have missed. 

“I can’t spell this one out for you.” You were tired of being the one to do everything first. Even if your intentions weren’t free from fault once you realized who he was, your feelings for him were anything but. 

“I don’t know what you want from me. You only let me fall for you because you knew how much it would hurt him.” He bit back, growing impatient and tired. “Any other time, I would have cared. Probably would have been more than happy to assist. But you made me-” 

Then Ransom cut himself off, jumping out of the swing and away from you. 

“I’m sorry. I can’t do this. I thought I could.” He literally sprinted to his beamer, but you chased him. 

You were hell bent and just as crazy as he was. Maybe it’s why it worked for as long as it did. 

“Hugh! Get back here.” You were running, thankful you’d gone for a more casual outfit today, the sneakers supporting your feet far better than the heels you’d usually wear. 

Maybe if it was someone with a normal childhood upbringing you would have just cut your losses but this was someone who chose to be called Ransom. 

This was someone who chose to run away from love and care because the only affectionate way he knew how to treat someone was to throw money at them. 

This was someone who had the communication of a ten year old because that’s when his own mother didn’t bother to mess with him anymore before sending him off to boarding school. 

This was someone who didn’t know how to love — and to be loved. 

By the time you caught up to him his was digging for his keys, but he couldn’t fucking find them. 

“Hugh Ransom Drysdale.” Your tone was sharp and he knew you meant business. “For once in your life, stop running away.” 

“Why not? What good has it ever done for me to stay?” His back was facing you, his broad shoulders stilled with the rest of his body. Almost like he was ashamed of what he was hiding. 

“I can’t speak for everyone else. I can’t speak for your mother or for Richard. For Harlan or for anyone else you thought might abandon you and really did.” You inched you way closer until you knew he felt how close you were to him.

“I can only speak for me.” Giving yourself, the final piece of you to a man who might run away from it. 

You were so close he felt your breath on his back, and it made him tremble. He was shaking, terrified of it all. You didn’t let him be for long. 

Intertwining your fingers with his, as he kept them at his sides, rubbing your thumb along the palm of his hand. 

“I’m sorry for the way I hurt you. Lied to you. You never deserved it. Never.” You thought it would be easier if he didn’t have to look at you while pouring your heart out to him. A theory proved to be right as he gave your hand a squeeze. 

“You’ve done nothing but treat me like a princess. You’ve done right by me, more than anyone else I’ve ever met in my life. It made me feel inadequate. My dark secret, always looming over us like a dark cloud of my own personal doing.” 

“I’m sorry I haven’t done the proper thing by us and made you feel like I used you. You had every right to feel it because I did.” You took a deep breath, mustering up the courage to face whatever the future held for the two of you. 

“I never expected to fall in love with a trust fund, playboy brat.” You felt him take a deep breath, like a breath he’d be holding all his life could finally be set free. 

“I love you, Hugh.” The next thing you knew he had you pushed up against the car, lips hungrily attacking your own. 

All forgiven because you love him. You actually were in love with him. 

He couldn’t fathom it really because you’d been the first. To accept him just as he was. The first to refuse to call him Ransom because you like the way Hugh rolled off your tongue better. 

You liked how he felt on your tongue, too. 

The first to tell him Fran and Marta should call him Hugh because you wanted to be the only one who got to. The first woman to cook for him, willingly and not attached to the Thrombey payroll. 

The first woman he had ever fallen in love with. 

The first one he’d stick around and not run away for. 

So, he kissed you. Hard. Softly whispering how much he loved you into the kiss, because maybe he wasn’t ready to say it outright. Loud and proud. 

Yet, he felt it with every bone of his body — no longer lost in the blues.

taglist: @tonystankschild @parkastoria @tinylumpiaa @brattycherubwrites

[ladyboltontoyou]

Arthur Morgan x Reader: Ol’ Fashion Fingers

Ask: ahhh okay so the kinda gross idea! i was wondering if you could write something where the reader is on her period and arthur takes care of her, and i mean...we both know he’s not afraid to get his hands dirty and also...a bit of blood won’t gross him out right? so maybe...he takes care of her and later...works his magic fingers to makes her feel better? i know it’s probably very gross but my cramps are so extremely bad this month i’m dying i just need some arthur i LOVE your writing btw!

Warning: Fingering, period blood

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Reader

A/N: I am so sorry I took so long on this. Whoever sent in the ask, hope you enjoy! (Lmfao at the ‘say no more’ part at the end) Also, they didn’t have tampons or pads back then I don’t think so I used rags, since that’s what I remember women had to use before our ‘luxury’ items. 

“Kill me, put a bullet in my skull, please, it would be a mercy.” Your cramps this month were killing you. They hadn’t been this bad in years, not since you first started having them when you were very young.

“That bad?” Arthur asked as he chewed on a some of the candy Hosea had bought for you.

“You have no idea.” You sighed, watching him clean his gun. The two of you were sitting in a room at one of the Taverns in Valentine, you had rented out a room and bought special service to help ease the pain. Every thirty minutes a maid would bring you a fresh cold rag, a hot blanket, and some water. Karen had done it the last time she got her period and said it was one of the best things she’d ever spent money on. 

Arthur set his gun down on the dresser and made his way over to you, sitting down on the edge of the bed beside your feet. “Well, I’m sorry to hear that. Is there anything I can do for you?”

You hummed and looked up, pretending to be deep in thought. “I don’t know… kiss me?” 

Arthur broke into a smile and leaned across you, giving you a quick kiss. “How was that?”

“I still hurt. Kiss me again.”

He kissed you again, longer this time and with more movement. When he pulled back he raised a brow, questioning silently.

“I think it’s working, but I can’t tell. Maybe you’re not trying hard enough.” You forced yourself into a sitting position, now face to face with the man. 

Arthur let out a sigh, not one of annoyance but rather amusement, and brought you in for another kiss. This time you caught him off guard and slipped your tongue in his mouth, bringing up a hand to run your fingers through his hair. His hat fell onto the ground but neither of you noticed. 

The kiss didn’t end as quickly as the others did. Even when he pulled the sheets off of your body your lips remained connected. Even when his hands slid up your legs and gave your thighs a squeeze. You only broke the kiss so you could take your pants off. They were your go-to that time of the month pair, they had holes in the knees and were black so if you had any sort of accident no one would be able to tell. 

You had changed your rag not too long ago so it wasn’t that bloody, thankfully. Even though Arthur had mentioned many times before that he had seen blood almost every day of his life, it wasn’t anything new or gross to him. Still, sometimes you felt a bit embarrassed. 

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” You reminded Arthur as he planted kisses along your neck while his hands squeezed your bare hips.

“Quit that. Lay down and relax, alright?” 

You nodded and laid back down flat on your back after you removed your button up shirt. Arthur hadn’t bothered removing any of his clothing since what he planned on doing didn’t involve him at all. Maybe afterward if what he had in mind didn’t hurt, but he couldn’t imagine anything bigger than a finger inside you would do anything other than cause more unnecessary pain.

He started with massaging your clit, working you up enough so you were shaking. Your little whimpers and moans were almost too much for him but he kept himself together and focused on you and you only. 

After a while of doing that he lightly trailed his fingers down your folds, teasing your entrance with feather-like touches. He kept his eyes on your face and searched for the slightest sign of discomfort, but he only found pleasure. You had your mouth slightly open, letting out quick puffs of air, and your eyes closed. 

“Don’t hesitate to stop me, you hear?” As if. After all the time you’d known Arthur, he still surprised you every day by how sweet he could be. You’d never find another man living as considerate, honest, and utterly selfless as Arthur Morgan.

“M’kay.” 

He looked at you for a few more seconds before he was satisfied that you were totally okay with everything. He then pushed one finger inside you, slow and only partial. Almost immediately he looked up to make sure you didn’t look like you were in any pain. You seemed fine, eyes still closed with your bottom lip between your teeth from anticipation.

You wished he would get on with it, you weren’t made of glass. But you knew he was just being careful, and plus, it wasn’t like you didn’t like when he teased you a little. In your experience, an orgasm always felt better after you had to work for it. 

When he was finally knuckle deep he tested out a gentle curl, knocking a moan out of you. “You alright girl?” He asked, his voice raw and husky, and stilled his movements. 

“Keep going.” 

He obliged and continued curling his fingers, making you forget about the pain going on inside you. You’d never actually fingered yourself whilst on your period, it would be too hard to hide the blood on your fingers if anyone walked in on you. You had settled for outside stimulation which usually eased your pain for a while, but this was a whole different feeling. It was as if you weren’t even on your period at all. No cramps, your spine didn’t ache and your legs weren’t sore to the touch. You didn’t even have a headache anymore.

It didn’t take you long to come. The feeling of his long thick fingers inside you coupled with the erotic image of him sitting fully clothes between your spread legs was too much to handle. Even if you wanted to prolong the whole thing you couldn’t, your orgasm came too sudden and fast for you to do anything about it. All you could do was let out a couple of swear words with his name thrown in a few times and came around his fingers.

Arthur was blown away, as he was every time he had the ‘privilege’, as he called it, to watch you come. “Jesus, woman.” Was all he could say.

You sat up with shaky arms, catching your breath as you ran your fingers through your hair. “That almost works better than morphine.” You joked and grabbed your shirt, slipping your arms through the sleeves but not bothering to button it back up.

“Speakin’a morphine, you should have some soon,” Arthur said as he watched you grab a new rag from the bedside table, wiping the cum and blood from your thighs before you handed it to the man beside you. “Unless the maid rode off with my money.”

“Oh, Arthur. You didn’t have to do that.” 

“Don’t ‘oh Arthur’ me.” He said as he wiped his fingers off, throwing the rag on the floor with the other one. “It was either that or cocaine, and you don’t need that right now. Last time you had some of that we couldn’t get you to sit down for ten minutes, you remember that?”

Shaking your head you laughed, getting one more rag to put in the pants you’d just slipped back on. “Yeah, I do.” You had chewed on far too many pieces of cocaine gum with the intention to get some work done around camp, but you ended up finishing all the chores within thirty minutes. So for the rest of the day, you were doing tasks that didn’t need to be done, such as over-hunting and fishing. The camp had to cook triple what they normally did every night so the food wouldn’t spoil. 

“I will admit, once you’re done with this whole bleeding thing it wouldn’t hurt to have you hunting again. You’re ‘bout the only one in camp besides me who can shoot anything without ruinin’ the meat.” 

You smiled at his compliment and laid back down, savoring the time you had left until the pain would kick back in. Hopefully, the morphine would get to you before then. “Thank you, Arthur. I feel much better now. You’re so good at that, I might start paying you to make me feel better instead of these maids.”

Arthur smiled and scooted up so he could lay down beside you. “Yeah, well, seeing you like that is all the payment I could ask for.” He kissed your cheek and you couldn’t help but laugh. 

“Oh yeah? Well, I think I’ve got some more to pay you.” 

Arthur held up his hand. “Don’t say nothin’ else.”

[this-brownie]

3.28.20

Coronavirus

Levi and I are in Florida right now, quarantining ourselves from the coronavirus. its already our 5th day here— we left nyc on the morning of 3/24. Levi drove literally 14 hours in one day, we finally got a few hours rest in savannah and then booked it again until we reached west palm beach. were staying at an airbnb and its pretty spacious, clean, and has an amazing heated pool. the owners live right next to us which is annoying because it feels like our parents are watching over us. other than that, the weather has been beautiful and everything else is relatively comfortable. we did $700 worth of groceries so that we wouldn't have to leave the house and potentially get sick. I have to admit I'm loving being a homemaker— my daily decisions include what bikini to wear to the pool, what to make and eat for each meal, and who to talk on the phone with. I feel really privileged and blessed that I have Levi; because of him I am able to live in comfort and not worry about having a roof over my head or whether I will get to eat. because of this whole virus shit, im not working at either of my jobs. my first job is as a behavior technician, where I teach life skills to little children with autism. nyc shut its schools down which means we can't continue our services either because its not safe to be outside right now and to gather with many people. my supervisor is aware of her employee’s financial struggles so she's instituted paid online training where we can at least have a little income while the situation blows over. in my other job, I work as a receptionist and JUST got promoted to management but unfortunately haven't been able to work one day in my new position. how life works. thankfully, my boss called me (and all the other staff) to update us on when he will be reopening the salon and how things will be going forward. he said I may have to take on a bigger role in the future. that makes me hopeful that he isn't thinking about firing me, so for now I will continue to be patient.

other than my own lack-of-work problems, I am doing okay. Levi makes enough money that I technically don't have to be working. I feel fucking lucky that I don't have to stress about my finances or any external factors. true, Levi is still stressing and working away; since he works remotely anyway, his job has not been affected. but for me personally, I am trying not overthink or become anxious about the outside world. in the end, I don't have the ability to create any type of change. this may sound hopeless but actually it is just helping me to let go of things that are not in my hands. I still worry about my family and friends, about small business owners, about the economy, about how the world will look once we come out of this, but I am tying to distance myself from it as much as I can. im in the middle of Florida— escaped far from my home, so I will let that guide my emotions. I am here now, I will just have to make the best of it. Levi smokes and he wanted to leave for two reasons. the first is because nyc is incredibly packed and there is a much higher chance of becoming infected simply because of how crowded the city is, the lack of space, and the amount of people who still have to go to work despite being sick or not. the second reason is that Florida has less people, and enough hospitals so that should anything happen to us we can still access healthcare without being put on an intense wait, or possibly dying while waiting. its true that Florida has more old people— from what I see of Italy, the older generation is getting sick, and dying, at such a rate that hospitals are deciding to prioritize younger lives— so if we do get sick, I think they would probably, hopefully, take care of us first. its fucked up but so is life in general.

I believe the govt wants to kill people by the masses which is why not a lot is being done in terms of efficiently safekeeping people. how does a country like the us which has so much wealth and the “greatest military in the world” unable to have the resources to take care of its sick, not properly enforce people to stay inside, and give priority on bailing companies out rather than individuals or families? by choice. the more people die, the more the rest will become scared and be willing to give up their rights. I wonder if people will take a step back and think, just weeks ago all these minimum wage workers were called “low skilled”, uneducated, and useless and YET here we are, relying on them to keep us fed, to transport us, to have things running smoothly. how do we allow that as a society. if these minimum wage workers weren't fucking desperate and already worried about feeding their families, they would not put up with it. that's how capitalism works, it literally exploits workers who don't have better options. people are probably too scared right now to do anything. they need these shitty jobs, this shitty pay. I read a meme that said “I received a letter that said I am an essential employee, and a paycheck that clearly said I am not”. that's what the fuck these people are being forced to endure. its not like the big companies are gonna die out. and even if they do, fucking let the. all of these motherfuckers are so greedy, fucking Jeff Bezos has a fundraiser so that people can donate to his sick workers. motherfucker, what the fuck are YOU doing? richest man on earth, biggest piece of shit. I hope he fucking dies. and okay, lets say these people are not important, let them die. the poor, the homeless, the druggies, the mentally insane, the losers. let them die out. what about the ‘worthy’? the ones battling it out in the hospitals and healthcare industry. they don't even have proper attire to protect them from the very ones they are trying to save. what about them? don't we care enough to help them either? if every doctor and nurse get infected, who is going to be left to take care of the rest of the population? what's the point. even if these people want to be selfish they can't. the govt would willingly let us die out rather than give us a cent. I hope people can see through this veil, can see through their issues and hinderances and see where the problem lies. when we finally understand that WE are them, we are the poor, we are no better than the next, we are not motherfucking Jeff bezos, only then can we come together and ignite a revolution. until then, these are just thoughts circling my head. 

I am trying to take this time to work on some hobbies that I don't have time for in my usual life. thank god I don't have to worry about children to feed. thank god I don't live paycheck to paycheck. thank god I live with my husband, my companion, and am not stuck in a household where I would feel extremely stuck. I feel extremely grateful that I can treat this escape like a vacation, when so many others are struggling. because I am unable to help others much, I am trying to focus on bettering myself as much as I can. my goals are to cook daily, practice my French, work out by doing krav maga, yoga or regular home workouts, read some books, and routinely start to write again. the most I can do for my loved ones is be there emotionally and possibly send them some money. I had a little sum of money saved up which I gave to my mom before I left, and still have a little left for whoever else may need. I hope this all ends soon and we come out better and stronger, because the alternative would be devastating.

[dstrachan]

LUCY SPRAGGAN / KATIE KITTERMASTER at MACARTS, GALASHIELS Friday 1st November 2019

There is common trope that “age is only a state of mind,” and I tend to believe that.  Getting older is inevitable, but does aging have to be? Chronologically we age each year, as our physical bodies deteriorate, but mentally how we age is up to us.  If we accept the attitude that we are only as young as you feel, we will act younger, feel younger, and therefore look younger.  We show our age when we get fixed in our opinions and perspectives.  It should be possible to stay young by being open, curious, and excited to keep learning.  That has certainly been my general philosophy for many decades, from enlisting in the TA shorly before the then upper age limit of 33 to train alongside late teen and early twenty fellow recruits, up until the current day when I often feel that I am the oldest in the audience as I enjoy the performances of inspirational young talented musicians .  Having laid that out I have to say that it's not always easy to feel young, and approaching the MacArts Centre in Galashiels on Friday evening 1st November did get me wondering why this mid sixties, retired male teacher was joining the end of the queue of, predominantly, obviously much younger, mostly, women.  The preponderance of females in the audience probably reflects the fact that Lucy came out as gay at age 14 and is clearly lauded by the lesbian community, however, that was not what made me question my attendance as I feel perfectly comfortable with members of the LGBTQ community and, over the years, seem to have gathered a significant number of friends there.  Perhaps I may sound hypocrital because mentioning the potential sexuality of the audience really shouldn't be an issue, but as the Scottish Borders community gears up for the first local Pride event in 2020, it probably is an important consideration – I'm not sure who was responsible but I did hear that somebody had expressed that they were very pleased to see that Lucy had managed to gather such a large number of young dykes all in the one place.  With such support perhaps Lucy might be persuaded to perform again in the Borders at the planned inaugural Pride event?

Back in my youth one young man left school to become an apprentice gasfitter working for the East Midlands Gas Board, that was the mega talented Joe Cocker from Sheffield whose first hit was his cover of The Beatles With A Little Help From My Friends – that sprang to mind when Sheffield born Lucy, mentioned that she had previously worked as a plumber!   During her marvelous performance, it wasn't just the music that impressed, her explanations between songs was a entrancing; one of these releated to her belief that with her plumbing background she often fell into the trap of believing that she was able to fix any problem – she then went on to describe her decision to buy an old property in need of doing up rather than one that was all up to spec because she “could fix anything” – her advice to the audience was  quite simply, “DON'T!!!”   

Lucy's openness throughout the set was a revelation – she had such a natural rapport with them and the result was a truly enchanting experience – from her first minutes on stage it was quite clear that she had a very receptive audience in the palm of her hand.  BUT before I expand further on Lucy Spraggan's performance I must first turn my attention to the support act, Katie Kittermaster, a 19 year old from Kent who has already built up  a considerable portfolio of peformances with a number of very big names.  Her debut EP is 'Coming Home At Dawn' and she included songs from that in her very well received set.  It can often be the case that support acts are poorly supported if the majority of the audience opt to arrive just in time for the headline act – this was not the case for Katie as the venue was clearly around capacity when she took to the stage.  She opened with a track called 'T Shirt' and continued to entertain on what was certainly a very special day for her as it was the official release date for her EP.

Now to get back to the evening's headliner, Lucy Spraggan, who quit her run on 'The X Factor' due to illness, subsequently finishing in ninth place, and second in her category.  Following the show she was signed to Columbia Records. She was the first contestant in the show's history to score a Top 40 single and album before the live show.  A few days  later and I was still buzzing after her stunning showcase of talents at MacArts, Galashiels - oh how I wish it had been possible to capture the total performance on video, particularly to highlight her empathetic and enthusiastic rapport with the audience as well as the beauty of the venue; she said that she liked the venue and would like to return, so maybe next time?  Thankfully previous shows elsewhere have been captured for posterity with many individual songs being readily available on YouTube.   After playing a number of her original compositions she began to discuss the fact that she rarely does cover versions and then went on to mesmerise the audience with what she explained as a rare, for her, cover – she didn't say what it was but the Scottish Borders audience instantly recognised it and was quick to join in when the chorus came!  I was quickly able to track down a live recording of Lucy performing 'Im Gonna Be (500 Miles)' from her visit, earlier in the tour, to The Booking Hall in Dover.

From the moment she arrived on stage she had the capacity crowd enthralled with her powerful, engaging performance which was full of humour, passion and brilliant 'showmanship' in equal measure.  She absolutely owned the venue and it was such a privilege to be in attendance to experience it.   Listening to Lucy as she engaged with them to outline the inspiration and motivation behind her songs was a true joy to behold - I was paricularly taken by her story about how her initial post 'X Factor' success turned into a realsation that her songs were no longer being played on the radio – this moved her to write a song 'Don't Play This On The radio' which, rather ironically, she subsequently heard being played on the supermarket Morison's in-store radio!  Please believe me when I say that I most definitely will be aiming to include more of Lucy's songs in my radio playlists over coming weeks and months.  Her honesty about her mental health troubles was clearly appreciated by the many in the audience – I found her song, 'As The Saying Goes', triggered by self-harming particularly moving. Her set also included a song spurred by her realisation that it's best not to dwell on the negativity engendered by abusive on-line trolling attacks and others who resent success – she now believes it better to focus on the positives as outlined in the lyrics of 'Love Is The Best Revenge'.

At this point I would like to extend my thanks to ex-student Taz McDougall who introduced my to Lucy's music a number of years ago when she requested that I play something in my 'Lunchtime Review' show.  At that time, avid speedway fan, Taz was providing me with weekly reports about our local speedway team 'Berwick Bandits'. Subsequently from that time Taz has developed self-confidence, both by providing regular reports and then using her interest in photography to be able to get access to all areas at the speedway track in Berwick to be able to capture some wonderful images of speedway riders in action!  Her interest in photography has since developed and she had examples of her work included in an exhibition this summer in Hawick = 'Queer Connections' in Unit Four, The Cornucopia Room.  Her exhibits included some gig photos and I am happy to have been able to arrange for her to get AAA access for her idol Lucy Spraggan's gig at MacArts – check out the results on her photography FaceBook page.  Many thanks to Taz for permission to use one her photos in this review. 

[adhd-ahamilton]

Joy To The World, 1, 4 and 5!

Hoo boy, so many questions!!! I hope you’re prepared for the deluge that’s gonna result...~ I’ll answer these tonight and finish the ones in the other messages tomorrow morning!

1. What inspired you to write the fic this way?

So. Over the last five or so years I’ve been writing fic, in all but the second year, I’ve written a special Christmas-related fic for Christmas. (And I did two the first year, so.) Christmas is a really important holiday to me and I really love Christmas-related stuff (the cheesier and sillier the better), so it became kind of a tradition. But this year, I was at a little bit of a loss. I knew I wanted to write Lams, because that’s my big thing right now. But how would I write Christmas Lams? Did they even properly ‘celebrate’ Christmas during that time period?? Or should I just go for an AU?

I researched it, and thankfully it turns out that the 18th century is around when people did start to celebrate Christmas in the modern sense (and it’s also when carols really started to come about, which is great because per tradition all my Christmas fic are titled after a carol), but that was just the beginning of the issue. When exactly would it be set? Valley Forge? But, uh... I highly doubted they would be really doing all that much at that point. But I couldn’t really think of any time outside of Lams AU that they’d be together. (And then I found out afterwards that Ham wasn’t even there for Christmas 1777, so, welp.) And I really couldn’t think of any kind of actual plot. I could have done a kind of meditation on their relationships to religion, but I didn’t know that much about which specific form of Christianity they belonged to, and I thought it was something that could be and HAD been done much better by other people. (Plus that’s not really my fave kind of fic to write to begin with.)

So, it wasn’t really working out that well. But still, I really kept trying. Through November, my working plan became almost set in stone: I’d do a combined historical and modern AU fic, switching back and forth between scenes, comparing themes (supply lists in VF compared with finding money for food over Christmas break in modern AU), sorta casually looking at the differences. When I gave it up, it was partly out of lack of interest in the themes, but my conscious reason was ‘I just don’t really care about modern AU Lams.’

...which came to the crux of the problem all along: I’m not really an AU person. Or rather, I’m very not an AU person. I’ve written very few AUs in my time, and almost all of them were historical AUs - certainly not modern day ones, and definitely not school AUs. I don’t have any, like, moral opposition - I can fully appreciate the transformative potential of full-setting AUs and find very interesting the interdependent communities that develop around AU-heavy fandoms as they essentially create their own accepted canons - but I just...don’t tend to like them. I’m very analytical!! The idea of just...MAKING UP not just one character or setting but basically a whole story just always seemed simultaneously too easy and too hard to me!!! Plus, I like to write really interesting and unusual things and try new styles, and one of the most basic points of interests for me in writing is asking what makes these characters and relationships unique, based on their precise personalities and backstories and combinations of traits. None of that lends well to full-setting AUs.

But. As I was mulling this terrible problem over, as usual, I was also running over in my head all kinds of various different characterisation ideas. This time, I was thinking about how it was interesting that Hamilton always seemed to be written in opposition to Henry Laurens, when IRL it seems they had a pretty decent acquaintanceship. And I was thinking about it, and I really started to think that, actually, someone in Hamilton’s point of view - who was constantly abandoned by his father, and desperate for his attention, and incredibly ambitious despite the circumstances of his birth - would be one of the WORST people to understand that an overly-controlling, overly-interested father who expects extremely highly of his son could be a negative influence. Which also added to another thought I’d been having. I always liked one quote from Chernow, that Laurens must have seen in Hamilton what a man who makes himself can do, and it always made me think that Hamilton must have been the same way - that he must have seen in Laurens the man he had always aimed to be. So, Laurens grew up in a good family, acknowledged and promoted by said family, with plenty of money and a great deal of opportunity. To Hamilton... yeah, it’d definitely be hard for him to see the problems with that. (And, you know, there IS a lot of privilege there!! It’s just, y’know, that mental illness doesn’t always listen to that.) But, those thoughts were kinda moot, because I really couldn’t think of any way to contrast these different experiences with fathers in historical verse.

And that’s when it came to me. What if I did a modern AU where Hamilton came down to visit the Laurens family for Christmas?

I didn’t have the time (or, really, the interest) to develop a full-on world for everyone, and a uni AU just seemed to be the most appropriate for this one, anyway. And it also did have a bit of appeal: it always kinda bugged me that in the AUs I read, Hamilton and Laurens never seemed to be studying law, even though that’s historically what they did do. As a law grad, I figured I might as well be the one to write it. (Though law in Australia is p different from in the US - there’s no separate law school, we just study it straight out of high school like anything else - but whatever.) And once I was doing THAT, it was hard for me to escape the fact that, in the real world, studying law hadn’t...exactly always been the best experience for me. Given that Laurens didn’t really want to study it either, it seemed appropriate to lean on those experiences a bit.

Aaand that’s where we really get to the meat of the inspiration behind it, heh. Which is to say: this is possibly the most autobiographical thing I’ve ever written...? I’ll say outright that a lot of it WAS entirely invented - my relationship with my family is nothing like John’s was in this, at all. But my anxieties over studying, and my worries about the future and what a career in law would lead to... yeah, that came from me haha. Because, to get kind of personal about it... well, I graduated July 2015. And in the time since then, I have been employed for about 2.5? months, total. The job scene here, in general and especially for law grads, is just that bad. (And, uh, there was a fair bit of personal fault in my lack of preparation for after I’d graduate? But, seriously, I was really anxious already...) And ever since then - particularly 2016 to the present - I’ve also had a lot of anxiety and depression and stuff going on. At the time I wrote the fic, it was in a position of leaning worse rather than better. So...I honestly don’t know if there was ever, like, a dispassionate fic in there safely cordoned off from my own projections, but if there was, it didn’t last long.

So, I got the idea, and wrote it all up pretty quickly in early December, just kinda ridin’ that catharsis of getting all that stuff out. (And it turned out to be even more relevant than I thought, as ‘trying to enjoy Christmas like you usually do when you’re really not happy’ also ended up a very autobiographical theme.) And that’s how it happened!

As for one or two other things:

I really really didn’t wanna get too into politics in the fic lmao. I don’t feel comfortable with more than the broadest strokes of Hamilton’s beliefs (I’m gonna GET THERE but Im still well rev-verse in Chernow) and I always feel uncomfortable about portraying historical figure in any better light than they deserve when it comes to specific matters. But I also wanted to have Laurens and Hamilton at least as POC because I also think it’s important to increase racial diversity in fanfic in the rare cases that we really get a clear choice. So, I tried to kinda portray that without really getting detailed about any activist stuff or whatever. Which is why in Ham’s argument with Henry he’s really not siding with anyone, he’s just an economics wonk who gets mad when people on both sides of the political aisle don’t make sure their numbers add up, lol. That was my best compromise. (And Philly kinda nudged me when I still got too far off-course;; haha!)

Hamilton has ADHD because: again, I wanted to actually officially write up neurodivergent characters into fic when I had the option of being specific (my Ham is always neurodivergent but obv I can’t explicitly write that into the text of historical verse), and it’s ADHD because......well, I could write a really long thing about that alone lmfao. And I feel like I kind of should in some ways because I know that a lot of people aren’t rly familiar with how ADHD tends to actually, like, feel, for real-life people, and if you aren’t then I KNOW this must sound like a really arbitrary or misguided HC. And I’d really love to write it up and expand education and all, but. It’s also something that hits really close and personal for me and, as someone who can be anxious for days straight over opening entirely innocuous tumblr messages... I just DK I could do it, atm;;;;; Someday I will though, I hope!!! (Tho I will say that I’m totally for all neurodivergent Ham HCs and that honestly my Classic Ham is also influenced by BD and BPD things so I’m p flexible about it.) (Actually I guess I CAN say that my HCs for Ham all involve disorders with extreme moods and mood swings and stuff and ADHD in its lesser known symptoms can absolutely include that, esp with Rejection-Sensitive Dysphoria, so yeah. That’s basically the large part of my reason for that headcanon right there lol.)

4. What's your favorite line of dialogue? 

HM OH MAN, I’m not sure!!! Lemme skim it again real quick.

In terms of sheer characterisation efficiency, I always liked the idea of Henry Laurens’ introductory sentence being to complain about John not calling often enough. It’s just such a perfect combination of a) genuinely cares about his son and wants to hear from him, and b) is an asshole who has no idea whatsoever of the pressure he’s putting on his son without offering any concurrent praise or reassurance. 

...so yeah I think I’ll leave it at that actually, since this thing is long enough already lol.

5. What part was hardest to write?

I was sitting here trying hard to remember if I really had trouble writing any part of the draft because there was one bit where I stalled briefly but it wasn’t really that bad and I couldn’t even really remember it and apart from that it was super smooth...until I remembered that editing counts as writing. And hoo fucking boy.

I was lucky enough to be able to have my fic beta-ed by Philly! Which I’m super grateful for and the fic is undoubtedly better for it! But it was a really difficult process for me because of my anxiety. And I needed to do it rather quickly, because of course I had to have it finished before Christmas, and my family actually was going away for Christmas where we wouldn’t have internet access.

So I get through almost all of the fic. It’s finally almost done. And then right at the end there’s a bit where Alex and John quickly exchange gifts on Christmas morning. Super short scene. And Philly pointed out that, actually, wouldn’t the rest of the family be taken-aback at them exchanging gifts without them?

And I kind of read that and sat back and. that was right. That was 100% correct. So like. What do I do??? Do I involve the other characters? But the original scene was like, three lines. and I don’t wanna have to write a whole new scene lmao. Do I take it out? But in a earlier scene, I’d had John express a worry that the present he’d gotten for Alex was awful and he really regretted it, and I kinda liked that in this final scene we see that actually he’d just forgotten WHY he’d bought it (he’d remembered Alex saying something about it), and I thought that was a nice thing about how anxiety can really fuck with even your memory and stuff bc in the end there genuinely was no reason to worry. It wasn’t necessary to the fic, but it only came about in the writing - I’m pretty sure the outline was just like ‘and then they exchange gifts or somethign??? IDK’ - and I didn’t want to get rid of it again. But then how do I justify them exchanging gifts alone??? 

And so that’s how I ended up just sitting there mournfully or pacing back and forth like p LEASE just SAVE ME, just GIVE ME AN OPTION, I have a HOLIDAY TO PACK FOR and THINGS TO DO and I just want this damn fic to be EDITED and DONE ALREADY. I came up with soo many possibilities, none of which satisfied me,lmao. and eventually after wayyyyyy too long of trying to figure it out I settled on something that seemed mostly plausible and then just. wrote it in and skimmed the rest of the fic and posted it lmao.

Which, honestly, is pretty typical proceedings. I tend to have the general ideas come pretty easily to me, and the actual writing is normally pretty smooth - it’s usually the editing where I start rocking back and forth and cursing myself for ever trying to write :’) (Luckily, at that point I’m close enough to the end that I can usually force it through...!!)