#80s drug trafficker

[89ad]

[froody]

The Italian restaurant in my mom’s hometown WAS definitely a mob front. The owner briefly served in the Italian military, immigrated to America in his twenties back in the early 70s, mysteriously had enough money to open a chain of Italian restaurants and was convicted for trafficking cocaine across the Virginia/West Virginia area and spent 15 years in prison.

My mom had worked as a waitress at the place while she was a teenager and throughout her 20s and she realized that when she was sent to the restaurant’s sister location in West Virginia in a mysteriously packed car by her mysteriously nice boss, it probably wasn’t pizza ingredients she was hauling. It was the 80s. She was a tiny, very naive, conventionally attractive church girl with no criminal record so she was the perfect unwitting drug mule.

The thing was, this restaurant and the man who operated it were locally loved. Beyond large scale organized cocaine trafficking, food was his other passion. Everyone waited anxiously for him to get out of prison and when he did this guy started a crusade against the corrupt local sheriff’s office. He started doing anti-police brutality advocacy work WHOLEHEARTEDLY. Donating to local families who had been victims and participating in local drives and awareness campaigns.

Made men usually do local charity work but the balls on this guy to take up sword and spear against shitty corrupt ineffectual law enforcement. Incredible. One thing about Appalachians is that we hate the cops and we love social agitators. This guy lived a long eventful life and died recently of natural causes and the overwhelming outpouring of love for him on Facebook was incredible, a uniting force that the town had not seen in decades, everybody was sharing their favorite stories about him and I’m sure local law enforcement was fuming.

[itneverendshere]

THE OTHER SIDE OF PARADISE - rafe cameron (+18) - three

request: "a rafe enemies to lovers 🫣 the reader is jjs sister the whole drama before but then she gets left behind on the ship and rafe ends up comforting her and then yea that’s all I got you can do whatever else the rest 😛"

WARNINGS: maybank!reader; smut!; rafe is a red flag; guns; mentions of human trafficking; 80% of it is smut you've been warned;

word count: 7.9k...

part i; part ii; part iv

Growing up, you had to develop a thick skin.

With two deadbeat parents, it wasn't a choice—it was a necessity. Unlike JJ, you never blamed your mother for leaving. She was a victim too, and despite your nightly wishes and prayers that she had taken you with her, you found solace in knowing that at least one of you had escaped the torment of the Maybank household.

You learned early on to rely only on yourself.

While you had your younger brother, you never placed that burden on his shoulders. As the older sister, it was your responsibility to take the blame for everything and to shield him from Luke's drunken or drug-fueled rages.

You never resented JJ for it, you couldn’t—neither of you asked to be born into that situation.

You tried to take each day slowly, avoiding the house and staying at John B's as much as possible.

It was easier said than done; it was hard not to feel like a burden to your friends, especially since you were the one who had to be the adult in the group.

Kie, Pope, John B…weren’t supposed to take care of you. And yet, they did. They took you in, shared their homes, and gave you the semblance of family you craved but never had. It was a weird balance, living with a foot in both worlds: the chaotic storm of the Maybank household and the calm haven of your friends' places.

At John B's, despite its share of brokenness, it provided a refuge where you could breathe without the constant fear of violence.

You often found yourself on the porch, watching the sunset over the marsh, your mind wandering to dreams of freedom. Those moments were precious, tiny pockets of peace in your life. But no matter how much you tried to distance yourself from the fucking chaos, it was always there, lurking in the background.

Luke Maybank’s shadow was long and dark, and it followed you everywhere. Each time your phone buzzed with a message from JJ, your heart would race, fearing the worst.

It was a burden you bore proudly, protecting your brother from a world that seemed determined to break you both.

You eased into being the provider, to think, to act, to protect. It became second nature, an ingrained part of your identity forged from necessity.

While others your age worried about stupid matters, you were strategizing the best ways to keep your brother safe, figuring out how to stretch what little money you had, and ensuring that there was always something for JJ to eat, even if it meant you went without. 

You learned how to calm Luke down when he was on the brink of a violent outburst, and how to read the signs of an impending beating in his eyes.

You figured out which neighbors might turn a blind eye to your requests for help, and which ones might call social services if they saw too much. There were moments, rare and fleeting when you allowed yourself to dream.

You imagined a future where you and JJ were free from the chains of your upbringing. But dreams were a luxury you could rarely afford.

So, when Rafe told you—no, demanded—that you stayed in the deadbeat motel room while he met up with his contacts, you lost it. 

He'd gotten the text earlier in the morning and decided he was smart enough to lure you out of this. Except he wasn't.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re not going.”

You didn’t take it lightly to people making choices for you. Your eyebrows shot up, mouth opening in indignant shock, "You think you can just order me around like I'm some puppet? I'm not staying here while you go off and do God knows what.”

Rafe's eyes narrowed. He wasn’t used to people standing up to him, you knew that. His expression hardened, the arrogance, and entitlement you’d grown to familiarize yourself with flaring up again.

"It's for your own good," his tone was condescending, like you were a child, “You don't understand the kind of people I'm dealing with. It's dangerous."

"Dangerous?" you laughed, a harsh, bitter sound. "You think I don’t know what danger is? Look around, Cameron.”

Rafe opened his mouth to retort, but you cut him off, stepping closer and jabbing a finger into his chest. You’d done a lot of that recently.

"It’s my life on the line too. And I’m not going to sit here and wait for you to come back like some obedient little bitch.”

His face practically matched the color of the deep red curtains in your room, “You’re making this a lot harder than it needs to be, Maybank.”

"No, you are," you fired back. "I’m going with you.”

“No.”

“I wasn’t asking.”

He took a step away from you, fingers pointed at his temples, “What part of fucking dangerous do you not get?”

“If it’s dangerous for me, it’s dangerous for you.”

Rafe’s jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck tensing visibly. His gaze bore into yours, and you’d be damned if you were the first one to look away.

“This isn’t a game,” he said, clearly growing frustrated with your stubbornness, “You have no idea what these people are capable of.”

“Maybe not,” you conceded, “But I’m not staying behind and you’re not going alone.”

He let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand along his grown-out hair. 

“They chew up people like you.”

 “I’ve been chewed up by worse.”

He knew that.

And then, he saw the determination in you, that unyielding resolve that drove him up the fucking walls and he understood that he wasn’t going to win the fight. Unless he played dirty. 

“You’re too stubborn, y’know that, right?”

You chose to ignore him, grabbing the simple sweater he’d gotten for you the day before at a local market, “So, when do we leave?”

He almost sprinted to the door, “Now.”

You moved to follow him as he stepped outside into the hallway, but before you could follow, he grabbed your arm.

"Wait."

You almost pulled away, frustration boiling over.

"What now?"

His grip tightened, "This might hurt.”

"What?" You tried to twist free, glaring at him.

"Change of plans."

Before you could react, he pushed you back inside the room, slamming the door shut. He didn’t push you hard enough to fall, but the treason came so suddenly that you nearly lost your balance as you heard the lock click, the sound echoing in the small space. 

"Rafe! You piece of shit!” You pounded on the door, “Let me out! You can't do this!"

His voice was muffled but firm from the other side. "Stay here.”

"You motherfucker!" You screamed, kicking the door. But there's no clipped answer from the other side. The only sound was the echo of your own frantic breathing.

He was gone, the stupid bastard.

You collapsed against the door, your breath coming in ragged gasps. Rafe just left you there, locked like some helpless child. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall.

You were a Maybank, damn it, and Maybanks didn’t back down from a fight, even when their choices were taken from them.

In any other situation, you would’ve jumped out the window. You’d done it enough times back home, but this was different.

Your room’s floor was too high and even though you could get away with just a few scrapes or a broken finger, you couldn’t risk putting yourself in such a vulnerable state. You needed your body intact in case danger was nearby. If you had to run for your life, you needed both legs functioning. 

You glanced around the room, eyes landing on the bed, the frame sturdy.

That’s it! 

You thought to yourself as you rushed over and began to strip the sheets from the mattress, working quickly as you tied them together, creating a makeshift rope.

And they said pogues weren’t fucking smart.

It wasn’t your best work, but it was the best you could have under the circumstances.

Once you had fashioned the rope, you secured one end to the bed frame, testing it to ensure it could hold your weight. Satisfied that it was strong enough, you tossed the other end out the window, watching as it unfurled down the side of the building. 

You gripped the makeshift rope tightly and began to lower yourself out the window. It wasn’t your first rodeo; you knew better than to rush. Your heart pounded in your chest as you slowly inched your way down the side of the building.

Finally, your feet touched solid ground, and you released a breath you didn't realize you were holding. You tried to remember bits and pieces of information Rafe had laid out the night before, about the meeting, something about a dingy marine bar, a bartender named Miguel. 

You rushed back inside the motel, ignoring the puzzled look from the front desk guy as you practically demanded information about the bar. He hesitated clearly taken aback by your urgency, the way you blurted out the words, but you didn’t have time for explanations or politeness.

"Just tell me where it is," you pleaded, “It’s important.”

He scribbled down an address on a piece of paper and thrusted it into your hand.

"It's not far from here," his tone was wary, "But be careful. That place is no good for a lady on her own.”

So, nothing new, you wanted to tell him.

Any place infested with men or drunk men was a trap of its own. But instead, you only offered him a curt nod of thanks before running out the door again. You needed to find Rafe, you couldn’t afford to waste any time. 

You nearly raced through the streets, the address clutched tightly in your hand. And then, before you could process what the hell was going on, a hand enveloped your upper arm, fingers digging dip in your flesh before you could make a turn, dragging you to the dark alley you’d avoided.

The situation felt all too familiar. Your heart leaped into your throat, adrenaline pumping in and out of your veins. Instinctively, you struggled against the unknown grip, kicking and clawing in a desperate attempt to break free. Were you getting mugged?

"Let go of me!" you shouted, your voice echoing off the narrow walls of the alley, “I got nothing on me, let me go you stupid fuck!”

With a surge of adrenaline, you mustered all your strength and delivered a sharp elbow to your captor's stomach, causing them to grunt in pain and loosen their hold for a moment.

You wrenched yourself free, stumbling backward as you scrambled to put some distance between you and your attacker. You were about to land the best punch of your life as you spun around to face them, but as you finally got a good look at him, fear turned into anger. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you!”

“Me?” Rafe barked, all up in your personal space, “What the fuck is wrong with you? You jumped out a fucking window?!”

He knew you wouldn’t back down so easily. So he waited around the corner, hoping you were smart enough to keep still even though he knew you would never.

You blinked, the shock of seeing him in front of you momentarily overriding your anger. "You... You locked me in there!"

"Yeah, because you wouldn't listen!" he shot back, his frustration evident in his tone, “Fuck—Jesus fucking Christ.” He was shaking his head wildly, his hands balled into fists as he cursed away like a mantra. 

"I told you; I'm not staying behind while you go off risking your life!" You nearly spit but managed to tone down just enough.

"And I told you, it's too dangerous for you!" Rafe's voice rose with each word, his hands balling into fists at his sides. His pacing intensified, “What the hell were you thinking? What were you gonna do? Walk in and what, huh? You don't even have a gun on you!"

“So? Give me yours!”

Rafe’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Give you, my gun?! Did you hit your fucking head against the concrete?

“I’ll hit your head against the concrete if I have to.”

His left eye twitched in irritation, the look he gave you filled with enough ire to leave a hint of satisfaction sparking in your chest, “Maybank, I have half a mind to spank you right now, don’t fucking push it.”

You ignored him, “You’d rather I go in there unarmed?” you shot back, your voice dripping with sarcasm, “I can do it.”

“Clearly. Look at you,” Rafe’s voice was sharp,“You think I wanted to leave you behind? You think I liked putting you in that room?”

“You didn't give me a choice! You think I was just gonna sit around waiting for you?”

Rafe sighed, palms pressing into his eyes “I’m trying to protect you, God fucking damn it. I’m trying to keep you safe.”

“Save it,” You hissed out, pressing a hand to your chest as though to keep everything in. “How am I supposed to trust you when you pull this—this shit!”

Rafe reached into the waistband of his trousers, his movements slow and deliberate. Your breath caught in your throat as he pulled out his gun, lifting his shirt in the process. He took your hand and dropped it into your palm.

“Show me.”

“Uh?”

He nodded towards the gun in your hand. “Show me you know how to handle it.”

The sudden changes in his attitude always left you speechless. You hesitated, staring at the weapon in your hand. You had never held a gun before, let alone fired one. But the authority in Rafe’s eyes spurred you to action. With trembling fingers, you checked the safety and made sure the gun was loaded, trying to mimic what you had seen in movies.

“Alright,” Rafe said, his voice low. “Now, point it at me.”

“What?!”

“I said point it at me,” he repeated, “C’mon.”

You swallowed hard, your grip tightening on the gun. This was crazy. With shaky hands, you raised the gun, aiming it at his chest. Your heart pounded in your ears, the weight of the weapon feeling heavier with each passing second.

“Good,” Rafe nodded in approval. “Now, pull the trigger.”

“What the hell?! Rafe?!”

“Trust me, Maybank, just once.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

Pull the trigger? He wasn’t fucking serious, was he? You couldn’t actually shoot him, could you?

But Rafe’s expression remained unwavering. He was being dead serious.

Maybe months ago you would’ve done it without a second guess, but now?

“I’m not pulling the trigger.”

“Just do it. You’re not going to hurt me, okay?”

With a deep breath, you squeezed the trigger, half expecting the gun to recoil in your hand. But nothing happened.

Oh. You had forgotten to chamber a round. He knew that already.

Rafe’s mouth twitched in a half-smile, as if the entire situation was normal, “You forgot to chamber a round.”

You watched him carefully, his bottom lip stuck out and, embarrassingly, you found you wanted to kiss him.

You lowered the gun, your hands shaking with adrenaline. You had just fired a weapon for the first time in your life. He reached out and gently took the gun from your hand, expertly chambering a round before handing it back to you. 

“Try again.”

This time, when you aimed the gun at the wall and pulled the trigger, you felt the recoil jolt along your body as the bullet fired. The sound echoed off the walls of the alley, causing your heart to race even faster.

“Atta girl.”

“I’m still pissed, Cameron.”

“I know,” Rafe conceded as he reached up to brush your hair from your eye, fingers grazing the side of your neck.  “I panicked, okay?”

You studied him for a moment, taking in the tired lines around his eyes, the way his shoulders sagged with exhaustion. He’d done so much for you over the past weeks, it shook you to the core. The countless times he had gone above and beyond, selflessly putting your needs before his own. So maybe, just maybe…you could let it go. 

“Okay.”

"Let's go.”

“Wait, right now?”

“Yeah,” Rafe said, his tone brisk as he holstered the gun. "We’re late.”

Hours later, you collapsed onto the bed, wondering what the hell you’d gotten yourself into, again. The events of the meeting replaying in your mind like a broken record. You’d never met such a group of people before. And you didn’t want to, ever again.

"Human traffickers," you muttered, the words feeling foreign on your tongue. "I can't believe we just met with human traffickers."

Rafe nodded solemnly, "Yeah.”

"I don't trust them. What if... What if they decide to snatch us up and... Oh my god, what if this is all just a ploy..."

“We’re in this together, okay? I won’t let anything happen to you.”

You wanted to believe him.

Your brow furrowed, your mind racing with questions. “How do you even know these people?”

He hesitated, “Barry. It’s... a long story. But right now, what’s important is that we got a way out, yeah?”

You nodded slowly, realizing that asking him for more information wouldn’t get you anywhere.

There were more important things to worry about. 

You didn’t know what was worse, running from Ward Cameron, finding yourself at the mercy of human traffickers, or potentially developing feelings for someone who’d ruined so many lives. 

God, if your brother saw you now…you’d be the greatest disappointment of his life. The mere idea consumed you entirely. The things you’d done.

The way you’d let Rafe into your bloodstream.

You hated yourself for it. Everything felt like it was spiraling out of your grasp, and you hated it.

What would you even tell him? You didn’t even know if had made it, but something told you that he did. He always did. And that meant that sooner or later you’d see him, and you’d have to watch him gradually despise you. 

And then there was Rafe.

The very thought of him made you want to stop breathing altogether. How could you even begin to reconcile the feelings you harbored for someone who had brought so much pain and destruction into your life? It felt like a betrayal to even consider it.

“You good, Maybank?”

You dragged your gaze away from the swirling fan on the ceiling to meet Rafe's concerned stare. He was studying you intently. You shifted on the bed, turning to face him fully. 

"I don’t know,” you muttered, forcing a weak smile that didn't quite reach your eyes, “You?”

He reached out to gently tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His touch always surprised you, how surprisingly light it felt.

“I don’t know.”

He had every reason to abandon you, to wash his hands clean of the entire situation, but he hadn’t.

You nodded, a lump forming in your throat.

It was hard to believe that someone like him could be capable of such tenderness, such vulnerability. But there he was, lying beside you, his attention fixed on you with an intensity that made your heart race.

“They’re about you.”

"Me?" you repeated confused, your voice barely a whisper, as if speaking too loudly would shatter the fragile moment between you. 

Rafe nodded, scanning your face for any sign of understanding. "Yeah. You."

Your brows pulled together, “What is?”

He visibly gulped, pressing his lips together, blinking several times before releasing a held breath “The nightmares.”

You almost stopped breathing, "What about them?" 

He shifted uncomfortably, “They used to be just about my mom. Then dad. Now, it’s—uh, it’s just you. Ever since that night, it’s just you. Dying, because of—yeah.”

Oh. 

You hadn’t realized the extent of the impact that night had on him, on both of you

It was a lot to process, and you handy had the time to figure everything out yet.

His fingers brushed over the scar on your arm, and memories flooded your mind. The gunshots, the crippling fear you felt when they got to you, how Rafe reacted, how he touched you. 

“You should’ve told me before.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

You flinched instinctively at his touch, the sensation sending a jolt of electricity through your body. For a moment, you let yourself lean into his touch, allowing the warmth of his hand to chase away the ghosts that haunted you.

"Does it still hurt?" He asked, leaning in so his nose brushed against yours; it was warm against your skin. 

You shook your head, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. "Not anymore."

His fingers continued their path up, eventually reaching your cheek as he cupped it tenderly, carefully, as if he’d break you if he rushed it. 

You closed your eyes, savoring the closeness between you. And then, almost hesitantly, you felt him lean in, his mouth brushing against yours in a delicate caress. You hardly had to move to kiss him, only tilting your chin up.

It was tender, different from the ones you had before, just so quiet that it made you want to burst into tears. 

You kissed him back, tentatively at first, then with a growing hunger that mirrored the longing you had been feeling deep within your soul. His hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer as if afraid to let you slip away. In that moment, nothing else mattered. Not the dangers lurking in the shadows, not the weight of your past sins, not the uncertain future that lay ahead.

All that existed was the intoxicating feeling between you and Rafe. But as the kiss deepened, a voice of reason scolded you in the back of your mind, reminding you of the consequences of your actions. You pulled away, breathless and dizzy, your heart pounding in your chest.

“We shouldn’t…”

Rafe only stared, before he nodded, understanding dawning in him. He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“I know,” he sighed, “Just get some rest.”

You nodded in agreement, grateful for the distraction. With a heavy grunt, you lifted yourself off the bed, making your way to the bathroom to change into some booty shorts and a simple tee.

When you emerged from the bathroom, Rafe was already settled on the bed, only in his boxers, his attention fixed on some point in the distance. You hesitated for a moment before joining him, the distance and closeness between you feeling suffocating. 

You wanted to say something, anything to break the tension, but the words stuck in your throat like a lump of lead.

Instead, you settled for a nod, and a quiet “Goodnight.” 

You slipped under the covers, the warmth of the blankets cocooning you in a false sense of security. 

“Night, pretty Maybank.”

You shut your eyelids, willing your racing mind to quiet down. But no matter how hard you tried, sleep eluded you, slipping through your fingers like grains of sand. Every creak of the floorboards, every distant sound of passing cars sent a shiver down your spine, your senses heightened to the point of paranoia. You shifted restlessly in bed, the new sheets tangling around your legs like shackles, trapping you in a prison of your own making. 

You heard Rafe's voice beside you, breaking the silence of the room, “Can’t sleep if you keep moving.”

“Sorry.”

Rafe reached out, his hand finding yours in the darkness, “What is it?”

“I can’t sleep.”

His hold tightened around yours, "I know, Maybank," he spoke in a ushed tone, "But you're safe here. Try to relax, okay?"

You squeezed your eyes shut, already feeling the upcoming headache, “I don’t know how to.”

It was quiet again for a minute and you feared you’d bored the man to sleep with your insecurities, but then he spoke again.

“Turn around.”

You opened your eyes, even though you could barely see him. Was he telling you to spoon him?

“What?”

Rafe's thumb gently brushed against the back of your hand in a soothing rhythm, “Turn round f’me, kay?”

With a soft sigh, you did as he asked, turning onto your side to face away from him.

He moved closer, his body pulling against yours as he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you snugly against his chest. His warmth enveloped you like some kind of shield as he pressed a light kiss to the back of your neck, his lips lingering against your skin. 

“There,” he whispered, his breath tickling your ear. “Better?”

Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

These were dangerous waters.

If you couldn’t sleep before, you sure as hell weren’t about to do it now. All you could think about was that night, how he felt, how he touched you, how he fit right. 

An almost overwhelming feeling of arousal took over you, and with whatever courage you had left from the day, you moved again, pressing yourself impossibly closer to him. His warmth seeped into your skin, melting away the tension that had coiled tight in your muscles during the day, you could feel every ridge and turn of his body.

Your touch drew a low, guttural groan from Rafe, his breath hot against your skin as he pressed closer, his arousal unmistakable against your back. His teeth grazed your shoulder, followed by the flick of his tongue, and you released a breathy sigh as he lowered his head to bite the area.

His arm tightened around you as you traced the contours of his fingers, mapping out the familiar territory with ease and want. His heartbeat echoed against your back, a steady rhythm that matched the frantic beat of your own heart.

His lips brushed against your neck, sending a jolt of electricity straight to your core, “Relax,” he murmured, his hoarse, “’M right here.”

With a boldness that surprised even yourself, you shifted your hips, grinding back against him, seeking the friction that would ease the ache between your legs and your head.

Rafe's reaction was immediate, his hands roaming over your body with a fervor that left you dizzy. His fingers found their way to the hem of your shorts, teasing the sensitive skin with feather-light touches. You twisted your fingers into his long hair, tugging lightly, delighting in the gasp it pulled from him.

“Tell me to stop, please,” His mouth brushed against your ear again, words coming out a slurred mess.

You ran you finger over his leg, where his boxers had risen, the warm skin driving you insane. If you lifted your fingers just a little higher, you’d be able to feel all of him.

You had to bite back a squeal when his thumb brushed over your covered nipple, “I can’t.”

You felt the tension in his muscles as he paused for a moment, his grip on you tightening. An unrestrained, almost desperate plea escaping his mouth, "Are you sure?"

You swallowed hard. This was so fucking wrong. But underneath it all, you knew what you wanted.

You turned your head slightly, your lips grazing his jawline as you muttered a "Yes."

You gasped when Rafe raised his thigh, placing it between your own, as he used his hands on your hips to guide you back and forth, grinding you down against his skin. You couldn’t remember a time you’d ever felt so out of control, so desperate for someone’s touch. The thin barrier of your shorts and panties felt like an unbearable hindrance, a small but significant obstruction to the shattering desire you needed to reach.

One of his hands slipped under the waistband of your panties, the other splaying across your stomach, holding you firmly in place. His fingers found you slick and ready, a whimper vibrating across his chest at the discovery.

“Fuck,” he breathed out, his fingers starting a slow, torturous rhythm against your clit.

You bucked against his hand, seeking more, needing more. Your head fell back against his shoulder, and you turned slightly to capture his lips in a heated kiss.

You felt his tongue press against yours and you nearly came on the spot. He slowly circled your clit, sending your hips jerking into him, “I can’t stop touching you.”

You struggled to form words as breathy moans escaped your mouth, “Please don’t,” you rasped, your thoughts turning to mush as he dipped the tips of his fingers inside you, gathering your wetness. When you finally found your voice, it was a mere screech, “Rafe...”

“I’ve got you,” he murmured back, finally pushing two fingers inside you, at an agonizing pace, “I’ve got you.”

Your jaw went slack as he curled his thick fingers, a gasp escaping when he found that spot that made you see stars. Your nails involuntarily dug into his skin. The heel of his hand pressed against your clit, pulling another moan from you. With his other hand still on your hip, he pushed you back, guiding you to grind against his fingers.

The rhythm he set was maddening.

His breath was hot against your neck, his voice a growl as he removed his fingers, making you whine in protest.

He glided one between your folds, the wetness easing up the process, “You’re so fucking perfect,” he muttered, his words sending a thrill down your spine. “Can’t get enough of you.”

“Ra—You’re gonna make me come,” you gasped as his arm left your waist, sliding underneath your ribcage and resting on your chest, kneading your breast through the fabric of your shirt, “Fuck.”

“Yeah, baby, that’s the point,” he purred into your ear, two fingers sliding inside you again, so suddenly you threw your head back again, thighs clenching together tightly as he pumped his fingers in and out.

At this point, you were lightheaded, fucking yourself back onto him, grinding down as you chased your orgasm. 

“Don’t stop,” you begged, your voice trembling with desperation. “Please, Rafe...”

His fingers quickened their pace, each thrust sending oceans of pleasure down your body. “Not stopping,” he promised,“Want to feel you dripping around my fingers.”

His words sent you spiraling, the buzz inside you building to an unbearable peak. Your breath came in ragged gasps, your body trembling with the intensity of your approaching climax. Rafe's touch was relentless, his fingers curling inside you, hitting that perfect spot over and over.

“Rafe—” you cried out, your voice breaking as your orgasm crashed over you, wave after wave of intense pleasure radiating from your pussy.

Your body convulsed, and you clung to him, nails digging into his arm as you rode out the ecstasy.

Rafe held you without a break, his fingers never slowing, drawing out every last tremor of your release. When you finally came down, breathless and spent, he withdrew his fingers, not giving you a break to breathe as he shuffled behind you, pulling his boxers down, just enough to release his aching cock, doing the same to you as he slid his length between your folds.

The sensation was…everything, his heaviness pressing against your sensitive, slick entrance, the heat of him making you shiver. You bit your lip, suppressing a scream as Rafe's hand gripped your hip, holding you steady.

“Shit shit”, you breathed out, barely able to form coherent thoughts. The anticipation coiled inside you again, your body already aching for him, “’M sensitive.”

“Shhhh,” he purred, his voice husky against your ear. “Just relax, pretty.”

He rocked his hips slowly, the head of his fat cock teasing your entrance, not pushing in but sliding between your folds, spreading your wetness over his length. 

Holy fuck, you’d gone to heaven.

Rafe's breath hitched, his grip on your hip tightening as he tried to control himself.

“You feel so good,” he groaned, “So perfect.”

“Oh my god,” you sighed, biting your lip when his tip bumped against your clit, “I need you to—Shit, just fuck me.”

With a slow, deliberate motion, he angled his hips and began to push inside you, inch by tantalizing inch. The stretch was exquisite, slowly filling you in a way that left you gasping, your body accommodating him with a shuddering breath.

“Jesus,” Rafe hissed, his head dropping to rest against your shoulder as his cock twitched inside you. “So tight.”

Your fingers dug into the sheets, the thrill and the sensation of being filled to the hilt almost too much. You could feel every part of him, the way he throbbed inside you, the way his body fit perfectly against yours. You felt his breathing against your skin, coming out in uneven and ragged breaths.

He started a slow, steady rhythm, each thrust measured and deep, pulling out almost completely before pushing back in.

His other hand found your breasts, kneading the sensitive flesh through your shirt, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core.

You couldn’t hold back the mewls that escaped your lips, each movement driving you higher, the tension building again. Rafe’s breath was ragged against your ear, his lips brushing your skin in sloppy, open-mouthed kisses.

He gently bit your earlobe, withdrawing his hips until only the tip of him remained inside you, before slowly pushing back in with deliberate, languid movements. You reached back, tangling your fingers in his hair once again.

“Rafe... harder, please,” you begged, shame thrown out the window, “I need it harder.”

He moaned, the sound vibrating through his chest as he complied, his hips snapping against you with more force, the sound of skin against skin filling the room. His hand slid down from your chest to your clit, circling the sensitive nub in time with his thrusts.

You felt the familiar coil of pleasure tightening, your body tensing as you teetered on the brink.

“Can’t belie—fuck. Can’t believe I get to have you again.”

You curved your back again, meeting his thrusts with equal fervor, your body craving the release that was so so close.

“I c-can’t hold on much longer,” you gasped, your voice barely more than a breathless whimper.

“Then let go,” Rafe growled, his fingers pressing harder against your clit. “Come for me, baby. I want to feel you.”

You groaned, “I want to see you when I do.”

Before he could answer, you pulled away from him, making him groan, but you shut him up as you turned to face him, dragging your shorts and panties out of the way, not looking where you threw them as you quickly lifted your body and settled over his, hands pressed to his naked chest as you rubbed yourself against him. 

Rafe's hands gripped your hips firmly as you positioned yourself above him, “You tryn’ to kill me, pretty Maybank?”

You smirked, leaning down to press a quick peck against his lips, “Yeah.”

Without any warning, you lowered yourself onto him, both gasping at the sensation of being joined once again. He filled you completely, stretching you in the most delicious way, his tip touching your cervix.

Your movements were slow at first, savoring all of him, every sensation that rippled from end to end of your body. But soon, the slow burn grew into a raging inferno, and you found yourself moving faster, chasing that peak of pleasure one more time.

“Get this fucking thing off,” He growled, pulling at your shirt. You would’ve found it funny if you weren’t so desperate to feel him.

You sat up, quickly tugging the shirt over your head and tossing it aside. Rafe's eyes darkened with lust as he took in your bare chest, his hands immediately finding your tits, thumbs brushing over your nipples in a way that made you gasp and arch into his touch.

You started to move again, lifting yourself up before sinking back down onto him, each movement sending waves of desire through both of you.

A filthy kiss followed, all spit and tongues tangling messily as if trying to devour each other whole.

The taste of him filled your mouth, cigarettes and toothpaste, his moans mingling with yours.

The kiss was a brutal assault, his teeth nipping at your lips, drawing blood, which only seemed to fuel the frenzied rhythm of your body. Rafe's grip on your hips tightened, guiding your movements, and encouraging you to take him deeper, pounding into you, abs flexing.

You leaned forward, your hands bracing against his sturdy chest, the new angle allowing him to hit even deeper inside you. The room was filled with the sound of your heavy breathing, your cries, and the rhythmic, filthy, slap of skin against skin.

“Fuck, this pussy can’t be real,” Rafe groaned, his eyes locked onto yours, the intensity of his gaze making your heart race. “Ride me harder, baby. Wanna watch you.”

You increased your pace, the friction and fullness driving you closer to the edge with each thrust. His hands moved from your hips to your waist, holding you steady as you moved, his touch grounding you even as you felt like you were about to come apart at the seams. His thumb found your clit again, rubbing it in tight, precise circles that had you crying out his name.

“Oh god, Rafe, I’m s-so close,” you panted, your body trembling with the effort to hold back your release, wanting to savor every second of this moment.

“Come for me, pretty. Wanna to feel you drippin’ all over my cock.”

That was all it took.

With a loud moan, you came, your body convulsing around him, your nails digging into his chest as the phases of your pleasure crashed over you. Rafe watched you, his expression one of pure awe, jaw slack open as his hands never left your body.

As your climax subsided, your breathing ragged and your limbs trembling, he gently kissed your temple, his lips tender. He murmured soothing words and you swore you were on cloud nine.

You felt his heartbeat, steady and strong against your own. His fingers traced lazy circles on your back, calming you, bringing you back to earth. 

But as the pleasure subsided, you became acutely aware of Rafe's cock still hard and throbbing inside you. His breath was ragged, his eyes void of any color, and you knew he was on the brink. You lifted yourself slightly, feeling him slip almost out of you before you sank back down, taking him deep again, despite the way your thighs burned, the way your hole ached.

"Rafe," you called, “Need to feel you come inside me."

His grip on you tightened, his eyes briefly closing as a guttural moan escaped his lips. He released you for a moment, only to bring his hand down sharply, delivering a stinging smack to your ass,

"Watch your fucking mouth.”

The sudden impact made you gasp, the pain amplifying your desire.

Rafe's eyes snapped open,"You like that, don't you?" he growled, "Look at you."

You could only nod, breathless and aching for more. His hands returned to your hips, guiding your movements with a renewed urgency. The sting from the slap lingered, a delicious reminder of his dominance, the only place you'd let him take the lead.

You started to move again, your pace slow and deliberate, your movements designed to drive him wild. Each time you sank onto him, you could feel him throbbing, his control slipping with every passing second. His fingers digging into the flesh of your ass as he tried to hold on.

"Please, baby," you whined, "I need to feel your cum."

The pet name did it.

With a growl, he shifted, flipping you onto your back and pinning you beneath him.

The sudden change made you gasp, your legs instinctively wrapping around his ass as he drove into you in a mean mating press. His pace was relentless, like he’d die if he stopped.

The sounds of your “oh’s” mixed with his grunts, only amplified the passion. You could feel the tension coiling inside him, the way his body strained against yours, every muscle taut with anticipation.

"Gonna fill you up,” he grounded out, his voice strained, "So fucking close."

You tightened your legs around him, pulling him deeper, your nails raking down his back, leaving red trails in their wake. "Come for me, baby," you urged, your desire reigniting at the thought of him finding his release, “Need you so bad.”

His eyes snapped open, locking onto yours with a feral intensity. "You want my cum?" he growled, thrusting harder, making you cry out in pleasure. "Beg for it."

"Please, Rafe," you gasped, feeling the pressure building inside you, "Fill me up. I need it. I need you."

With a final, powerful thrust, Rafe's body stiffened, his head dropping to rest against your shoulder as he let out a hoarse cry. You felt the hot rush of his release, the pulsing of his cock as he emptied himself inside you. His entire body trembled, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps as he rode out his orgasm. You could feel him pulsing, the warmth flooding you as he let out a primal growl, his grip on you almost bruising.

And right there, another orgasm ripped through you, your body tightening around him as you cried out his name.

He collapsed onto you, both of you panting and trembling. His weight was comforting, his breath hot against your neck as he pressed soft kisses to your skin, his earlier roughness giving way to a tender aftermath.

You held him close, your hands running soothingly over his back, feeling the ridges of the muscles you had just marked with your nails. Your own body still buzzed with the aftermath of your pleasure.

When he finally lifted his head, his eyes met yours, a look of pure adoration in his gaze that left you speechless. He leaned down, capturing your lips in a tender, lingering kiss.

He cradled your face in his hands. "We’re gonna be okay," his breath felt warm against your lips.

The sincerity in his voice made your chest tighten with emotion.

Tears welled up in your eyes as his lips touched yours again, the faint tender kiss so different to the man you used to know. You tried to hold back, to keep the overwhelming tide at bay, but you broke, and a sob escaped your lips.

He pulled back slightly, concern etched across his pretty features. "Hey," he murmured, his thumb brushing away the tears that spilled down your cheeks. "What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?"

You shook your head, "No, it’s not that," your voice trembled, “I’m scared.”

Rafe's expression softened, thumbs gently caressing your cheeks. "Shh, it's okay," he soothed, "Let it out, baby. I’m right here."

You buried your face in his chest, your tears soaking into his skin. The warmth of his embrace, the rhythm of his heartbeat, and his hold were the only thing keeping you together at this point and if you weren’t feeling so much, you’d feel pathetic for relying so much on someone else.

He held you tightly, his hand stroking your hair as you cried, releasing the pent-up anxiety.

"We—I, I don’t know what I’m doing," you admitted through your tears, your voice muffled against his chest. "I’m really, really scared.”

Rafe kissed the top of your head, his lips lingering, "I know, Maybank," he whispered,"I’m scared too.”

You pulled back slightly, looking up at him through tear-filled eyes. "You are?"

He nodded, his attention never wavering from features.

"Yeah, I am. This...And—don’t know what I’m doing either. But I want it. I want you."

“But it’s wrong.”

“I know, pretty.”

He pulled out slowly, both of you hissing at the sensitivity. Rolling onto his side, he gathered you into his arms, holding you close. You nestled against his chest.

“I’m sorry for jumping out the window,” you murmured, your voice muffled against his skin, “You just...make me so angry.”

He chuckled softly, his fingers running through your hair in soothing strokes. "I shouldn’t have locked you in.”

You closed your eyes, feeling the last of your tears dry against his skin. You knew things wouldn’t be easy, but his reassurance gave you a little strength.

After a while, Rafe shifted slightly, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze. 

"We’ll figure this out, Maybank.”

“Promise?”

He hesitated, his brow furrowing slightly.

Promises weren’t something he was used to making, you knew that. But then he nodded.

“Promise.”

[she-is-ovarit]

A Glance at Women's Oppression

Oppression may be measured by assessing socio-structural conditions. Males oppress female human beings on the axis of sex, and this pattern has been recognized across several disciplines of scientific research.

Violence Against Women

One in three women globally experience physical or sexual violence.

More than 1 in 4 women (26%) aged 15 years and older have suffered violence at the hands of their partners at least once since the age of 15.

The vast majority of substantial research on violence against women in the United States is now 20+ years old :)

As high as 64 - 84% of cases of sexual violence go unreported, so these estimates are low.

A male perpetrator was reported in 98% of cases of violence against both men and women.

58% of all women murdered in 2017 were killed by an intimate partner or a family member (source. United Nations Office on Drugs and Crime, 2018).

80% of women are victims or survivors of corrosive violence - aka "acid attacks". 60% of these attacks go unreported, most instigators of acid attacks are male, and there has been a 90% increase in these attacks in the last 10 years, with the UK being the country with the highest rate of acid attacks.

Worldwide 1 in 5 girls are married off usually to men twice their age or more.

Globally, as many as 38% of murders of women are committed by a male intimate partner.

200 million women have experienced female genital mutilation/cutting.

71% of all human trafficking involves women and girls – mainly for sexual exploitation (source. UNODC, 2016).

The killing of women accused of sorcery/witchcraft is reported as a significant phenomenon in countries in Africa, Asia and the Pacific Islands.

Many women are killed specifically in "honor killings" - to defend the honor of a man.

200 million girls experience female genital mutilation.

National studies indicate indicate that as many as 4 million women are battered each year, but only about 48 percent of these cases are reported to the police.

Violence against women meets the requirements of widely accepted definitions of hate crimes, but crimes motivated by hatred of women are not included in most antibias crime legislation.

Medical Misogyny

The disregard of pain and illness by medical professionals

This doesn't even begin to scratch the surface of this, but: women are seven times more likely to be misdiagnosed and discharged than men in the middle of having a heart attack. 70% of the people who experience chronic pain are female, but 80% of chronic pain studies have been conducted on males or male mice. Women also wait longer for a diagnosis and pain management than men.

Lack of research: the vast majority of scientific understanding and research on human beings conducted globally has been on males.

Period poverty and death due to misogynistic period shame (and I hope that this is obvious, but I am on Tumblr so I will emphasize that 100% of these deaths, illnesses, and disabilities are happening to female human beings.

Reproductive exploitation, discrimination, and control

Women across many countries have little to no access to abortions and other reproductive care, and are forced to carry their rapist's child.

Women are imprisoned for having abortions, and even people associated with helping them in any way to obtain an abortion experience legal consequences. Being impregnated through rape doesn't change this. In multiple states, rapists can sue their victims for parental custody. Women who are victims of stalkers and had children with them also are forced into allowing them visitation in the vast majority of cases.

Women also experience the brunt of forced sterilization and uniquely endure mortality rates from childbirth complications, in which often the infant's life is prioritized over the mother. Doctors may also refuse women and girls birth control, or subsequently deny women's requests to be sterilized.

Being forced to co-parent with their rapist.

Even if rape is proven, men can sue their victims for custody and may use children as a point of control over their victims and contact with their victims continuing psychological terror and causing trauma to children.

Over 3 million women experience pregnancies as a result of rape.

Men who donate sperm privately and through sperm banks experience no regulations and enforcement of how often they donate, resulting in some men producing thousands of offspring and others deceiving women on whose sperm they were impregnated with. Mothers of these children endure severe psychological trauma from this rape by deception in addition to themselves and their children navigating the psychological effects of avoiding potential incestuous relationships with the donor's other children.

Job Discrimination

In 38 countries, women can be fired for being pregnant.

From January 2017 through December 2019, 2.7 million workers age 20 and older were displaced from jobs they had held for at least 3 years; women accounted for 45 percent of those displaced.

While on leave, substantially fewer women than men

receive full pay (32 percent versus 55 percent), and more

receive no pay (41 percent versus 25 percent).

Women continue to experience occupational segregation in nontraditional jobs. In 2013, women composed 7.3 percent of all Craft Workers, while the participation rate for women in the Office and Clerical Worker category was considerably higher at 75.6 percent.

Despite the gains in employment made by women in the last 50 years, the annual median earnings of women working full time in 2013 was $39,157, compared with men at $50,033.

In 86 countries, women face some form of job restriction and 95 countries do not guarantee equal pay for equal work. 59 nations have no laws on the books addressing sexual harassment in the workplace, and 18 nations around the world allow husbands to legally prevent their wives from working.

Influence and resources:

Less than 15% of landholders worldwide are women, despite most women in the global south working in agriculture (source. Food and Agriculture Organization, 2015; World Bank, 2019).

Women make up just 25% of parliamentarians worldwide (source. Inter-Parliamentary Union, 2019).

Between 1990 and 2019 women made up 2% of mediators, 5% of witnesses and signatories, and 8% of negotiators in major peace processes worldwide (source. Council of Foreign Relations, 2019).

Only 1% of aid supporting gender equality went to women’s rights organisations in 2016-2017, despite governments around the world committing an extra $1bn to gender equality initiatives globally (sources. Guardian, 2019, OECD, 2019).

130 million girls are denied the right to an education.

According to the largest study on the portrayal, participation and representation of women in the news media spanning 20 years and 114 countries, only 24 per cent of the persons heard, read about or seen in newspaper, television and radio news are women.

A glass ceiling also exists for women news reporters in newspaper bylines and newscast reports, with 37 per cent of stories reported by women as of 2015, showing no change over the course of a decade.

An analysis of popular films across 11 countries found, for example, that 31 per cent of all speaking characters were women and that only 23 per cent featured a female protagonist—a number that closely mirrored the percentage of women filmmakers (21 per cent)

[onsunnyside]

ok so i've been trying to come up with a mafia trope for this ask by the bestie @bimbofawn: now this isn't a full-blown mob fic, but it has a few elements

The Camerons have all the wealth, influence and success anyone can dream of. They come from a long lineage of fame and riches, now running the parent company of many subsidiaries with power all across the country. It's no surprise they're involved in a few shady businesses, yet it's all kept tightly under wraps.

As the heir to a vast dynasty, Rafe grew up under a lot of pressure to be the best in what he does, and his ego is proof of that. He's in the tabloids, the ivy league graduate by day and the wild bachelor by night, landing himself in more scandals than ass-kissing articles.

The Camerons are known for their prestige and (heavily manufactured) picture-perfect image. So Rafe's sleazy, immature behaviour just won't do. Although he's doing good with the shady side of the family business (bc ofc he's into violence and drug trafficking/manufacturing), he needs to do better with the public side. To give his son a motive for cleaning up his act, he gives him an ultimatum: lose it all and get disowned or settle down.

Now, he has a few months to find someone, but his ego won't let him settle for just anyone. The headlines aren't any comfort either: Pleasure Over Business: Is Rafe Cameron responsible for the fall of the Cameron dynasty?

This is very off-to-the-races coded: you drift into his sector on his friend's arm one night. He shrugs you off, expecting there to be a different girl the next time they go to the clubs (because there always is) but nope, you show up again and again.

It’s hard for him to ignore someone so kindhearted and naturally alluring. He can’t look away from you sipping on the straw, your calm gaze locked on his, making him stumble over his words like a teenager with a crush. He dreams of you every time he falls asleep, your pretty face burned on the inside of his eyelids as if you belonged there.

But one night his friend shows up with a different girl.

"Her rates got too high, and my folks were getting suspicious so I had to let her go, unfortunately." He exhales, his arm around the other woman kissing up his neck.

Now, did he predict you were an escort? Not at all. It catches him off guard and he almost spits up his drink. "You paid her to date you?"

Topper glares, "you don't have to say it like that. We did more than just make appearances together if that's what you're asking. All consensual, of course, but you do have to pay extra for private um... sessions."

me senses... a sugar-baby proposition: "I'll take care of everything, all expenses, your rent, and an allowance on top of that. Anything you want you can have."

You're still apprehensive, you've taken clients who've heard of you from word of mouth before, but this was new. They were best friends who routinely saw each other, you'd hate to stir the pot. "Won't it be weird?"

"You with Top was just business and so is what I'm offering." Perhaps that was a little white lie, but you didn't need to know that. "No harm, no foul. In my hands, you could live better than this."

"I like my home." You mutter, hugging a pillow to your chest, it was one of the many mismatched cushions that littered your old couch. "I worked hard to get it this way."

He nudges the wobbly table by the door, the picture frames rattling on the surface. "For thousands of dollars a night, I would've expected some sense of luxury, or a stove with actual knobs." He says and quirks a brow, "where'd all that money go?"

"Oh... I had to give my boss his cut."

"How much is that?"

"80 percent." You admit, ducking away when Rafe frowns, "I know, I know... It wasn't my fault, my daddy—" Your voice cracks, "My daddy got involved with a bad man after he gambled away all our savings and my college fund. And he still couldn't stop after my mama left. I had to—I had to help somehow."

You still remember returning from campus to see him bruised and battered on the living room floor, crying for your mother who was halfway across the world, now a happily divorced woman. The memory brings tears to your eyes and they stream down your cheeks.

Rafe bites his tongue, rethinking his decision to show up here in the first place. Your unlucky life only made you more perfect, and as terrible as it sounded, he knows he won't find anyone more fitting for his circumstances.

He refused to leave until you agreed.

"What's his name?"

You don't hear him over your sniffles and rub your nose into your pillow, "huh?"

He crouches by your feet, placing a hand on your thigh. "What's the big bad man's name, sweetie?"

"Why—Why are you asking..."

The blue in his eyes seems darker, but it could just be the dim lightbulbs you haven’t changed yet. He blinks up at you with thick lashes, a slow smile crawling onto his face.

"I'm going to prove to you that when you're with me, you've got nothing to worry about."

And the next night, he shows up at your door with a fresh bouquet of flowers and bruised knuckles. You don’t get one word out before drops a heavy duffel bag on the floor, “here’s the money you deserve for your work, and extra for your troubles.”

You glance at the bag and then his face, your toothbrush hanging out of your mouth. “What—What did you do?”

He smiles, cocking his head to the side. “Nothing you have to worry about, sweetheart.” He says, wiping toothpaste from the corner of your lip. “Now, are you going to invite me in?”

Rafe is very possessive, he doesn’t care that you dated/slept with his friend because you belong to him now. He buys you a gold necklace with his initial on it, parades you around the city for all the nosy paps to see, and brings you home to meet his family. And yes, you do get the gold seal of approval from his father.

well this is just a mash-up of different tropes 🫡 fake relationship, sugar daddy and mob, with rafe's signature "you're mine" mindset. me has a few slutty and soft ideas for this au too hehe

[mysterycitrus]

The only thing that comes to mind is during Lost Days when he goes and kills the head of a child traffickering ring and it’s noted he got the kids somewhere safe. Maybe Generation Outlaws? That’s the only instance in which he’s directly supporting kids (albeit Villains in the making but kids none the less) I know of. But for everything else like sex workers or community support, I can’t think any off the top of my head, someone with more knowledge/read more of Jay might have better instances

to the best of my knowledge there are two canonical instances where jason mentions children — both pre-flashpoint, and both written by judd winick. like u said the first is lost days, where he rescues a group of children from a trafficker and hands them over the law enforcement. the second is his “don’t sell to children” speech, which personally ranks with those anti drug commercials from the 80s and 90s. he does also say he’s taking cuts from other revenue (mentioning prostitution) but there’s like….. nothing about protecting people or restorative community work or anything

tbc i am not an avid jason reader by any means (esp post 2011) but it does really annoy me when people try to start arguments about jason where they insist that his violent actions are justified because of the other things he does, which may or may not exist and range from being the saviour of crime alley to single-handedly supporting rehabilitation services in gotham. it’s very confusing. like, bruce is the one doing those things in canon. that’s a very, very important part of his character, something that puts him in opposition to jason. obvsly it’s easier to like a guy who’s beloved by children in theory but lbr in a fight a kid is gonna pick batman over a drug lord with a silly hat

[angofwords]

MAX LOBO: MAIN CHARATER?

I've been thinking about Max. I love that guy. I mean, we all love him, right? It's well-known that Yoshida modeled him after Harrison Ford, and so he exudes that brand of action-hero energy. But this morning I realized that, from an outside perspective, Max very much *was* the main character.

Think about it: a journalist jailed for punching a cop (plot twist--he used to be a cop himself) ends up writing an exposé that brings down a trafficking ring of pedophiles that include mob bosses and Congressmen. The whole thing starts with him investigating the drug that destroyed his buddy's life in Vietnam, and for flavor, he finds himself teamed up with his friend's troubled teenage brother.

Max is the one who thought to go to Cape Cod for clues, which led them to Los Angeles, where the drug plot really cracked wide open. Adding an angry ex-wife and an adorable kid just adds to the energy, right? Then he's captured (made docile because there are kids being held hostage) and brought back to the east coast to get dressed in tuxedos and watch a macabre demonstration of the drug's power (super-villain shit, am I right?). It's got Hollywood style all over it.

Then, once he blazes his way out with an M-16 (no one would believe a kid did that much damage, right?), he pretends to be Griff's brother's dad so they can get him set up in an apartment optimally located to photograph Golzine's comings and goings. Then, after the kid gets himself "killed" in a gang war, Max is the guy who's like "that's not my kid" and tries to spring him out of the evil facility he's been locked into.

Later, he uses the kid's unfortunate connections to coerce evidence out of a man who produces underage porn. It's enough to bring down the main players, but Max very heroically burns any evidence that relates to the kid he's taken under his wing. Hero-style, of course.

Then the shit hits the fan. A Russian assassin pressures the troubled kid who basically double-crosses Max and steals the evidence at gunpoint. (Max is sympathetic, of course, because that's his kid now and he understands the pressure he's under.)

Realizing that he no longer has any leverage for his own safety, he calls the ex and tells her to take their son and hide out. Instead, she crosses the country to be at his side, ready to fight. During this final fight, he ends up captured, and she joins an army of rag-tag teens (led by a pipsqueak kid) to break him out.

The facility burns to the ground and all the banana fish evidence is destroyed, but Max still has the pedophile exposé and a hell of a good story. He even gets his wife back, though his buddy's kid brother tragically dies.

It reads like an American blockbuster, particularly those of the '80s and '90s (the same films that Yoshida was such a fan of). I seriously think that the whole thing could launch Max into a celebrity career--the kind that eventually gets a bio-pic.

I hope they get Harrison Ford for the role, lol.

[fordtato]

Hey (●’◡’●)ﾉ I have some questions about gravity falls canon that i don't even know where to google to find out so i decided to ask you. I hope its ok.

1. Did Stan actually join the mob/cartel/mafia? Its very common in fics and you said it as a fact in your timeline video. Where did it originate from? Is it that one line in ATOTS? The "I swear i will pay your goons back". I cant recall anything else.

2. Did Ford use nutritional supplements in the multiverse? Its incredibly in character and Ford did mention that he wanted to give them out to summerween trik-o-treaters. But it is so agreed upon that he chugged them like jellybeans during portal years and had to acclimatise to normal foot after getting back. This feels closer to a headcanon but I am not sure with this fandom anyone.

I love and appreciate all the work you can do and I look forward to your projects (っ'-')╮=͟͟͞͞ ❤❤❤

For 1.) It's complicated. It's never specifically said, but between Stan's fake name nicknames involving references to the cocaine/heroin trafficking (8-ball Alcatraz), the fact that Ford says stan is familiar with mob hangouts the world over in J3, the fact that it's implied that Stan meets Rico and his goons in Colombian prison (according to Dreamscapers), the rest has kind of been put together by fans, and accepted as canon, and kind of never refuted. In a deleted scene from ATOTS, though, we do know that the mob was at least trying to kill Stan, so whether he JOINED the mob, or just got tangled up with them somehow is unclear. In the 70s and 80s, cartels and drug traffickers had massive trafficking routes/power going into the US, so the timeline works out that way. But from my understanding, there's a certain point where there's little distinction between someone getting tangled up in deals with the mob and someone being an official part of it.

For 2.) Probably yes! He makes references to them a few times, and Alex Hirsch said in a charity stream years ago that he headcanons Ford's favorite food as nutritional pills that provide all of his nutrients because he doesn't have time for food when he has science (or something like that). But it isn't officially anywhere in canon materials, I think.

[memecucker]

I read about the history of porn production in 70s-80s Los Angeles when it was in a “grey” area for my 80s rpg campaign (the Wonderland Murders were involved) and I found it pretty interesting . SCOTUS had more or less ruled that it’s legal to possess pornography by that point but criminalization of production was still a thing and even without specific laws criminalizing porn production the vice cops can still throw on a litany of sex work related charges (one example was someone getting arrested for “trafficking” bc they compensated actors for the taxi fare they used to travel to the shoot).

Anyway what I found interesting is how this really worked was that vice cops weren’t doing this to actually throw people in prison but instead it was about a large and complex web where essentially literally every cop was “crooked” and everyone involved in porn was an “informant”. Because when they claim they can get you for serious charges like trafficking it always came with a “unless you wanna be an informant” tag. In exchange for the cops not going after you you gotta be a snitch which was often used to shut down rival porn productions or oftentimes was simply used as a way for vice cops to recruit more “informants”. And of course you won’t usually want to crack down on the stuff your informants are doing so what really happened was the cops were effectively acting as “protection” in like a mob sense and that’s before you take into account overtly illegal actions involving bribes or coerced payments in the form of money, drugs or sex

[eroticcannibal]

>States something

>Is shown research that proves otherwise

>"Nuh uh!"

Okay, porn rotted brain. We have literal evidence that watching violent porn fucks people up. We know there is no way to prove a porn clip is ethical - since you can't fucking prove the actors weren't coerced into it. But none of that matters to you, does it?

You don't care that a fuckton of sex workers end up as drug addicts and alcoholics just to cope. You don't care about the rampant sex trafficking. You don't care about the amount of rape and pedophilia in the porn industry. Just admit that you don't and that you just want to get off, cause this is pretty fucking pathetic.

"Some poorly done paper from the 80s funded by a church said so so it's truuuueeeee" lmao seethe

[djuvlipen]

I read things like this and I'm like, who is this addressed to? who is the public? is it Romani people, 80% of whom live below the poverty line in Europe and face many challenges in their day to day life and definitely aren't out there reading posts in English about decolonising the Gadje glance in academia. Who does this narrative benefit? How exactly does it help my mom, a factory worker in an abusive relationship with a drug dealer? How does it help the 12yo Romani little girl that I know from volunteering, who is being bullied and sexually harassed by her classmates? Her mother who is being relentlessly harassed by both the school and the mayor who are about to threaten to take her kids away from her, although she has a steady job, a home, and treats her kids well? How does it help Romani prostituted women who are among the first victims of sex trafficking in Europe? Shouldn't those Romani academics (and I'm part of them) direct their energy into supporting and setting up grassroots organisations that would push for social measures to help Romani people when it comes to employment, housing, and fighting violence against women? They (that Romani intelligentsia) never, ever talk about those things. Carmen Gheorghe is the president of e-romnja, a so called Romani feminist org funded by white billionaire george soros that wants to decriminalise prostitution in Romania

[beardedmrbean]

Venezuelan President Nicolas Maduro is vying for a third term in Sunday’s presidential election after being in power for more than a decade. But weakened by economic crisis and a deteriorating security situation, Hugo Chavez's chosen successor is trailing in polls against opposition candidate Edmundo Gonzalez Urrutia, who is looking to open a new chapter in Venezuela’s history. 

A quarter-century after Hugo Chavez came to power, his hand-picked successor, Nicolas Maduro, is looking to secure a third term. But a decade of economic crisis that has plunged the country into poverty – and fuelled the exodus of several million Venezuelans – is proving a difficult legacy to overcome, and Venezuela may be on the cusp of rejecting decades of state-centric Chavismo policies.  

Opposition challenger Edmundo Gonzalez Urrutia, a former ambassador to Argentina and Algeria, is generating real enthusiasm, considering that his candidacy was somewhat improvised. Urrutia replaced opposition leader Maria Corina Machado on the ballot after Maduro’s Supreme Court controversially invalidated her candidacy. 

The soft-spoken grandfather is now leading in polls, and may be the opposition’s best hope yet of unseating Maduro.  

Maduro, for his part, has toughened his tone in the run-up to the vote, claiming that a victory for the opposition could plunge the country into “a fratricidal civil war provoked by fascists” and warning of a “bloodbath”.

To get a sense of what is at stake in the election and the chances for change, FRANCE 24 spoke with Fabrice Andréani, a Venezuela expert and doctoral student at Université Lumière Lyon 2, as well as co-author of a study on Venezuelan state violence.

What are the chances for an opposition victory, given that it seems to be doing well?

At this stage there seems to be a real possibility that the opposition will win, driven largely by the popularity of Maria Corina Machado. Despite the government's attempts to prevent her from campaigning, she managed to crisscross the country to support her replacement candidate, Edmundo Gonzalez Urrutia, and sparked real enthusiasm – comparable to that surrounding Chavez before his first election in 1998.

We must remain cautious, however, because Maduro retains control over elections. After the opposition victory in the 2015 legislative vote, the president continued to manipulate the justice system – by deciding which parties can run but also by delaying or bringing forward elections. For now, the opposition is in a position of strength, but a last-minute move that might shift the current dynamic cannot be ruled out. 

Is Maduro at risk of defeat due to the past decade’s economic crises?

Maduro's rhetoric – in which he paints himself as protector of the people and national interests in the face of a "radical" right led by foreigners – is definitely languishing. The country suffered from the 2014 fall in oil prices, then from the embargo imposed by the United States. But the economic crisis is primarily the result of a lack of government investment in this crucial sector, which represented 80 percent of foreign exchange and 30 percent of GDP. Over the past decade, production has collapsed, falling from 2.5 million barrels of crude per day to less than 500,000 at the height of the crisis, before struggling to rise again to 1 million. 

At the same time, the illegal economy, and in particular drug trafficking, has replaced the formal economy – with the complicity of the government and the army – and the population has fallen into poverty. 

There is also a desire to reboot Venezuelan democracy; the population is well aware of Maduro's control over the political sphere. The president is officially supported by the United Socialist Party of Venezuela and 12 other parties, some of which have simply been bought or are otherwise state-controlled.

While more than 7 million Venezuelans left the country, only 100,000 were able to register to vote – something that again demonstrates an attempt to subvert the popular will.

How might the vote be affected by the security situation, which has deteriorated with the economic collapse?

The situation has rather improved in recent years, but not for the right reasons. The drop in crime and homicide in the capital is partly explained by widespread impoverishment; extortion and kidnapping have become less profitable. Some gangs have capitalised on the massive wave of migration to pivot to more lucrative activities, notably human trafficking.

Today, most homicides are due to the settling of scores or the actions of the police themselves, accounting for more than a third of the total. While he has arguably lost control of the country, Maduro pretends to fight against a lack of security by recruiting and sending poorly trained police officers to working-class neighborhoods, which has led to thousands of extrajudicial executions. 

Maduro bolstered the political influence of the army. How might the military establishment view a possible victory by the opposition?

Maduro was a former trade union leader who became Chavez's foreign minister. When he came to power, he lacked credibility in the eyes of the army, unlike Chavez himself or other possible successors who had military backgrounds. So he had to offer assurances by continuing, and even accelerating, the rise of the army in the spheres of power. If the opposition wins this election, Maduro has spoken of the risk of a "bloodbath". This risk does not come from the opposition side but rather from the powers that be. And if they continue to act against the will of the people, they expose themselves to possibly seeing a wave of massive protests that they will then have to silence.  

The army seems reluctant to face such a scenario, or at least less so than in the past, for several reasons. In 2014 and even more so in 2017, the government repressed anti-government demonstrations in an unprecedented way, painting students and young people from the working classes as violent putschists. But today, with the exodus continuing, it is women who are most often at the forefront of pro-opposition rallies – including single mothers and the elderly, who are demanding reforms so that their loved ones can come back home. This would make it that much more difficult to justify any repression of a mass popular movement.

The army's wait-and-see stance is also due to its own discontent and internal divisions. Some have seen their privileges diminish due to the economic crisis. Others, particularly the high-ranking officers, have suffered from foreign sanctions – in particular, the freezing of their assets abroad. It should also be noted that the army's support for Maduro has never been total: among the approximately 300 political prisoners in the country, half are military personnel. Everything, therefore, seems to indicate that the military is considering scenarios besides Nicolas Maduro remaining in power. 

[workersolidarity]

The CIA budget is kept a tight secret.

This isn't because they are afraid or ashamed of the CIAs budget. After all, these are the same people who unabashedly send $80 Billion to Ukraine as our cities fill with homeless encampments.

No, what would become clear should the black books ever break open would be the global web of self-funding illegal arms trafficking and drug smuggling schemes that truly make up the funding apparatus of the Security State.

[cheerfullycatholic]

Human trafficking must also be counted among the grave violations of human dignity.[77] While it is not a new phenomenon, it has taken on tragic dimensions before our eyes, which is why Pope Francis has denounced it in particularly emphatic terms: “I reaffirm here that the ‘trade in people’ is a vile activity, a disgrace to our societies that claim to be civilized! Exploiters and clients at all levels should make a serious examination of conscience both in the first person and before God! Today the Church is renewing her urgent appeal that the dignity and centrality of every individual always be safeguarded, with respect for fundamental rights, as her social teaching emphasizes. She asks that these rights really be extended for millions of men and women on every continent, wherever they are not recognized. In a world in which a lot is said about rights, how often is human dignity actually trampled upon! In a world in which so much is said about rights, it seems that the only thing that has any rights is money.”[78]

For these reasons, the Church and humanity must not cease fighting against such phenomena as “the marketing of human organs and tissues, the sexual exploitation of boys and girls, slave labor, including prostitution, the drug and weapons trade, terrorism, and international organized crime. Such is the magnitude of these situations, and their toll in innocent lives, that we must avoid every temptation to fall into a declarationist nominalism that would assuage our consciences. We need to ensure that our institutions are truly effective in the struggle against all these scourges.”[79] Confronted with these varied and brutal denials of human dignity, we need to be increasingly aware that “human trafficking is a crime against humanity.”[80] It essentially denies human dignity in at least two ways: “Trafficking profoundly disfigures the humanity of the victim, offending his or her freedom and dignity. Yet, at the same time, it dehumanizes those who carry it out.”[81]

Dignitas Infinita, paragraph 41 and 42

[burningexeter]

PITCH:

Attack On Titan: Deathwatch

An Adult Swim Original Series

Only On Toonami

What is it —

A full-blown American made animated sequel series to the Attack On Titan anime that is also a female-led spin-off starring Historia Reiss and Mikasa Ackerman as the protagonists.

CAST:

Trina Nishimura as Mikasa Ackerman

Bryn Apprill as Historia Reiss/Christa Lenz

Zelda Williams as Daniella Ryback

Kiefer Sutherland as Tobin Foster

Bruce Campbell as Brisco Walsh

Kirk Acevedo as Sam Vahue

PREMISE:

Four years after both the Rumbling and the Battle Of Heaven and Earth and one year after the epilogue, we find that the Queen Of The Walls is no longer Queen Of The Walls as we at first follow Historia Reiss, now going by her former alias 'Christa Lenz', who's currently residing in Manhattan, NY (yes, you read that right and you'll get the detailed explanation later) with her daughter Ymir, having put aside her crown and role as ruler of Paradis in order to give herself and her child a new life that's as ordinary as can be. But the chance at said new life and starting over doesn't come easy in any way, shape or even form as Historia is struggling to live a normal life with her kid as a modern-day person in the Big Apple for she's working an underpaid job as a hospital nurse, is already behind on rent, lives in a closed down bookstore she turned into a home and top it off, she owes debt to three dangerous people who are tied to the criminal underworld running drug trafficking in the big city.

It's through the latter that one of the three she owes payment to takes an interest in her and drags her into said underworld where after Historia betrays and (spoilers) shoots her the first chance she gets once she gets a sniff of enough money to pay off her debts and give both her and Ymir the life they want, the person reveals that not only (more spoilers) do they have grotesque regenerative and contortionistic powers but that said person is none other than Mikasa Ackerman herself.

Against her will and being given the same abilities as her, Historia is forced to not only marry Mikasa and be her wife but also be part of what Mikasa's been truly plotting only for it to unfortunately go south due to the effects of other storylines interweaving with each other and ultimately leads Mikasa down a path of redemption and letting go of Eren Yeager while it leads Historia down a path of hope and letting go of her girlfriend Ymir, her husband Wolfgang and her sister Frieda.

NOTES/TRIVIA/DETAILS:

• First things first, what's up with the modern-day Manhattan, New York setting? Here in Deathwatch, it's revealed at least here in the anime continuity that Marley and Eldia are only just ONE side to this universe as the rest of the world is perfectly fine and exactly as it is today with said rest of the world having completely ostracized Marley, their allies and Eldia in absolute horror and disgust but now after the events of the series finale, the modern world is now paying full attention to their side now that 80% of them were wiped out and the Titans are gone. This is introduced to us through Historia watching CNN on one of the hospital's flat-screen TVs.

• The show will not only go back to its grounded and grittier roots of the first two seasons of its predecessor as no matter how big and fantastical as it gets, it still remains somewhat grounded or grounded to some degree especially with the characters, action sequences and scenarios but also be done in the animation style of the first two seasons of its predecessor as well with Mikasa and Historia being in their S2 designs to which they fully acknowledge their new appearances.

• As for who the other characters are, I won't give anything away however I will only tell you about two to give you a good taste of what I'm cooking — Tobin Foster (Kiefer Sutherland) is at first what appears to be another criminal who is an enforcer keeping things in line only for it to be revealed that he's in fact an undercover FBI agent ready to take this drug operation down while Sam Vahue (Kirk Acevedo) is an escaped prisoner on the run who's not only guilty of his crime but is also used as a pawn in the chess game that the characters including Mikasa and even Historia are playing.

• Now let's get to the good stuff with Mikasa and Historia — here after the bird returned her scarf to her that Eren wrapped around her when they first met, Mikasa starts off as a totally different person but not in a good way. She's now a deadly and extremely dangerous bounty hunter who at first hunted and killed modern-day criminals and is currently working certain gangs against each other for her own gain. Top of that, her personality is different too.... she's cunning, smooth-talking, twisted, sadistic, boisterous, vile and controlling with a dark sense of humor and enjoys tormenting Historia. At least, that's how she starts off. For as it goes on, Mikasa begins to open up to Historia once she realized she and her have a lot in common with each other and starts showing a softer side to her. It's this softer side that romance begins blossoming as well in this dark underbelly. They start becoming a genuinely loving and caring couple with Mikasa doing whatever it takes to protect Historia, her beloved wife. It's shown that the two of them, despite their horrifying start at the beginning, do truly love each other and end up becoming a power couple right down to where whenever one of them is in trouble, the other is always there to get her out of it.

• Others added into the mix are flat-out horror elements, the animation being more expressive and fluid, Mikasa's body movements being cat-like, it having brutal but grounded violence on the same level of something like Oz and Bound, the fourth image above being the looks and outfits of Mikasa and Historia and last but not least also showing flat-out sex and full-frontal nudity.

• Just for fun, both Mikasa and Historia will have their bumbling, screw-up and boobish moments like these three examples throughout to show that they're anything but perfect yet it makes sense in the context of the show because Historia is getting back into any sort of actual action before she became Queen and Mikasa thinks that she's been through so much and has fought against so many odds that she makes no mistakes at all.

• Another thing just for fun is that there will be a few easter eggs here and there sprinkled in from other media that anyone whose a fan of all sorts of different types of said media can catch quickly. For example, Historia uses a black Egyptian book to beat a certain character on the head multiple times.

[salmontheking]

Lace Platinum-class nuclear-powered guided missile destroyer of the Pacific Armada

The Pacific Axis gets all its power from the Pacific Ocean, and the ocean is ruled by the Pacific Armada (Sib.: таихённая хаигун, taihiónnaia háigūn [tʰaiçɵꜜnːaja ħɑꜜĩguɴ]). It is commonly called a state within a state, the greatest threat to stability of Axis, a major threat to world peace and a mafia with nuclear weapons. Admirals make a lot more money than generals or even space admirals. The Armada has engaged in piracy, racketeering, drug and weapon trafficking, taking tolls for accessing the ocean and graft of massive proportions. It is rumored to have sold a few nuclear warheads on the side.

The Platinum and designs based on it are also used by Australia, Java, Somalia and the People's Republic of Pennsylvania. It can target the air, land, sea, subsea, space, cyberspace, hearts and minds. It features a wonderful variety of radars, 80 narrow c000-model and 10 wide c00-model missile cells, fitting such feats of ordnance as the Malaria, Indigence and Alienation missiles. It also has hangar space for 2 helicopters, a laser generator with four optics turrets and a 105mm hydrogen gun.