#I sadly don’t have a choice but to deal with men

[thesongofthesiren]

What he says: I feel like I just have to walk on eggshells when talking to you now, I can no longer talk confidently.

What he means: The idea that I can’t say whatever I want whenever I want without you calling me out for using misogynistic rhetoric makes me feel like I can’t talk to you at all.

If you can’t be confident in talking to me otherwise, that’s not my problem. Sounds like a skill issue.

[choism]

Jester's Game | b.tc

Captain Buggy x Pirate!afab!Reader

Genre: smut, angst, fluff (If you squint)

Summary: Trying to overtake Captain Buggy's ship leaves you asking questions, and surprisingly, getting answers

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: top!buggy, afab!reader, unprotected sex (pls dont), cunnilingus, fingering, creampie, squirting, rough sex, gentle sex (yeah wild), inappropriate use of detached limbs, spit as lube (also a no no), overstimulation, pet names (sweetheart, princess)

A/N: WOOHOO ITS MY FIRST NON KPOP FIC!! I knew I would write for other stuff eventually but I definitely did not expect it to be a recent hyperfixation. Buggy just has me bricked up okay! Anyway I hope y'all enjoy, don't forget to let me know what you thought of the fic in the tags !

It’s a rather unfortunate series of events, really. Sure, you could’ve told your navigator to sail away from the ship with the giant clown crossbones flag. Yeah, it might’ve helped if you had told your crew that they were about to fight some of the toughest pirates in the East Blue. But where’s the fun in that? As their captain, it’s your job to seek the adventure, and well, this was an adventure all right.

It started with you telling your men to approach, cannons firing, your crew hopping their ship, the infamous ship commandeered by none other Buggy The Clown. Yes, the ship your measly crew has decided to board. Listen, it was strategic! Buggy had somehow gotten the map to the grand line back, and your ship just so happened to be within the vicinity of his, so why not seek the opportunity to take it? Well that was your first mistake.

Now, you find yourself here, hands bound behind your back and kneeling with your crew in front of Buggy’s stupid, dumb throne in his stupid, dumb circus tent cabin.

“You all truly are fools for thinking you could take on my band of freaks,” Buggy lazily sprawls over his throne, seemingly unimpressed by your, in his words, ‘lackluster crew’.

“It’s funny actually, how pathetic it was, I mean even Mohji got in a few punches! Ha! Truly a fine show.” The man you assume being the Mohji that Buggy had just poked fun at, slumps his shoulders sadly at his jab. “Now, time to get to the good stuff…” Buggy trails off, standing up and taking a few strides in your direction, his dirty boots stopping directly in front of you. He detaches his hand and uses it to lift your head, pointing your chin up to look him in the eye.

Looking up, you spit and it lands on his cheek, he simply swipes it off with his attached, gloved hand. “So what if you defeated us, it doesn’t make you any better of a pirate, and doesn’t get you any closer to the One Piece.” You tilt your head and smirk. He may have overcome your crew, but he will never overcome your overwhelming ego and pride. It matches his just as equally.

“Ah, that's where you’re wrong, princess,” His grin is just as wide as yours, and briefly you’re confused, what could he mean? “Given your set of thieving skills, probably some of the best in the East Blue, I’ve heard, you’re gonna join my band of freaks, and I’m not giving you a choice sweetheart,” Buggy removes his hand from your chin, and it floats to his arm, re-attaching itself.

“Boys, throw their crew overboard, we have no use for them.” He rolls his eyes and sits back on his throne, “Oh! And go show them to their new quarters, make them feel at home.” Buggy laughs a deep boisterous laugh, one that genuinely sends shivers down your spine.

The pirates lead you into, what is actually, quite a nice room in the lower deck of the cabin, lit by a few candles, and a cot in the corner. Surprisingly, they cut you out of your ropes, and shut the door without locking it. What’s their deal? Don’t they know you can escape at any time if you wanted? Sneak out and steal one of their emergency boats, and sail to the nearest Island? Granted, you aren’t sure where the nearest Island is, you’re a thief, not a navigator.

Instead of worrying about escaping, you roam the small room, admiring your surroundings. The whole ship is clown themed, front he flags to the cabin to everything, but this room is different. Not a single sign of jester-like decorations anywhere. In fact, it’s as if this cabin was decorated specifically for you. Before you can think more of it, the door opens suddenly.

Buggy enters, and closes the door behind him. When he enters you’re sitting on the cot, legs crossed and unamused.

“Not thinking about escaping? Not that you could anyway, we are miles away from the nearest island, and realistically it would take you days to get there on one of our measly boats.” He rolls his eyes, as if annoyed by how small and fragile the boats are, before sitting backwards on the chair at the short desk next to the cot.

“So what do you even need a thief for? Why am I here?” You blurt, already growing impatient from the lack of information being given to you.

“I need you for many reasons, being a thief is only one of them, sweetheart.” Buggy grins and removes his hat, setting it on the desk. “You already have connections at the grand line, and while I know you need my map to get there, I know that you know the people I need to talk to, to gain safe entry without slaughtering half the fucking pirates there.” He leans back and relaxes a bit, observing your facial features.

“And why do you think any of the people I know would want to help you? You’re just some lowly pirate.” You spit at him, angered by his casualness. In what world would you even willingly help him? Who does he think he is?

“Ha…Me? A lowly pirate? This coming from the literal captain of a crew is hilarious! Tell me another joke, please.” He grins knowingly, he knows how to get a rise out of you for sure. You look over his facial expression, smugness overtakes his face and it makes your stomach twist, not with disgust though for some odd reason, with another feeling you don’t quite recognize. 

This whole situation has you feeling all kinds of anxious. How did you just happen to raid the ship of a pirate who just happened to need you for this specific thing, and why is his presence making you feel so…weird? Something isn’t right here, and it can’t be because of your connections to the grand line. No, he’s hiding something. 

“What are you hiding, clown? There’s something you aren’t telling me.”

His face drops, and he gets suddenly very serious, “Listen here, princess,” Buggy gets up from the chair and gets close to you, leaning down, your noses almost touching. “You’re gonna get me to the grand line, I don’t care if I have to torture it out of you, got it? No more questions tonight.” He gets up and suddenly grins very brightly, as if nothing ever happened. “Night night!” Buggy walks out and slams the door, then you hear a locking sound.

Fuck, he locked you in your room. You should’ve expected this, honestly. The way he reacted to your question was so strange. You knew there was something fishy, but you didn’t think whatever it was could’ve prompted that kind of reaction out of him. 

***

The next day you wake up to yelling outside of your cramped room. Yawning, you get up and put your ear to the door,

“I’m sorry Captain Buggy! I didn’t know that was their ship I swear I promise!”

You hear what sounds like a kick to the jaw and a yelp,

“Didn’t know? Didn’t know?! You couldn’t tell by the giant crossbones flag that very obviously bares their symbol? I’m tired of you, someone go throw him off the deck.”

You hear screams and pleads of “No please!” and “I didn’t know I’m sorry captain!” before hearing water splash, then silence, then- oh shit footsteps coming towards your room. You scramble back to your cot and lay down, pretending to sleep. You hear a couple of knocks before hearing a feint “What the fuck am I doing, I go where I want!” Before Buggy barges into the room after unlocking it.

“Get up, I know you heard everything.” He spits gruffly, sitting back in the chair again the same way as yesterday. You sit up abruptly. Last night you couldn’t shake this feeling, of what you felt when Buggy had gotten so serious, and it’s just gotten worse being in his presence. Your abdomen feels hot, your ears feel hot, everything feels hot. It’s like butterflies in your stomach if the butterflies were armed with knives.

“Yes, I did hear, what do you mean by my symbol? I thought bumping into you was a coincidence?” Buggy smiles faintly, and chuckles.

“Yes, it was, I wasn’t informed of what ship we attacked, just that my men captured you all, oh but when I saw you…I knew.” Buggy stands up and motions for you to do the same, getting so close to you, your chests almost touch. He brings his hand to your arm, caressing down the length before gripping your wrist harshly, causing you to wince. “Do you….” he trails off, “Do you really not remember me?” He brings his eyes from your arm to your face, making direct eye contact.

You struggle to find words, what does he mean, remember? Yeah, he gives you a strange feeling everytime you're near him, but you’ve never met this man in your entire life. You think. Honestly you can’t remember anything before the age of seventeen.

“I– no, no I don’t…”

His smile fades, and he lets go of you, “I thought you would remember once you saw me, we were on Gold Roger’s crew together years ago, but you went missing after a particularly tough battle.” He pauses, thinking carefully about what to say next, “You– We– We were close, and I was devastated, I thought you were dead.” He’s being surprisingly vulnerable right now, and it’s kind of scaring you.

“I don’t really remember anything before I turned seventeen, All I know is one day I woke up on an island, a group of pirates took me in, I left, and I’ve been on my own since. The only reason I am where I am today is because I wanted to find who I was, and I figured I could find that out at the grand line.” You feel overwhelmingly sad. Why are you sad? You don’t even know him.

There’s a long silence between the two of you, it’s uncomfortable, tight, and makes you want to leave, until he says, “Let me show you.” He says abruptly, and you think you see a blush across his face.

“Sorry, I mean, please,” Buggy steps into your space again, this time his eyes flit between your lips and your eyes, back to your lips. “I’m sorry we couldn’t find you, I’m sorry you had to go through that, I missed you so much y/n” That was the first time he’s said your name this entire time, but it’s not one you recognize.

“Is that my name?” Your lip quivers, he’s so close now, your lips are inches apart.

“Yes it is, y/n, sweetheart, princess, I’ll call you whatever you want, just let me show you.” The thick air has disappeared and is now replaced with tension. Something deeper, heavier, fills the room. But it’s not a bad thing.

“Let me show you who you were to me.”

You let his face drop to yours, and your lips finally connect.

The kiss is slow, languid. It’s like his lips were meant to connect with yours. Buggy wraps his arms around your waist. Pulling you in closer, and kissing you deeper. His tongue slips into your mouth, and you let him kiss you as deep as he wants. The pace quickens and he slots his leg in between yours, rubbing against your pants and providing much needed friction.

You moan into his touch and he walks the both of you backwards until the back of your knees reach the bed. He lowers you onto it and hovers above you, kissing you again before departing. “Is this okay?” Buggy asks, brushes his hands underneath the bottom of your shirt, slowly lifting it.

“Only if you return the favor.” He chuckles and lowers his head to your neck, sucking and biting gently while riding up your shirt until your chest is exposed. You sit up briefly to take off your shirt and as promised, he does the same. He isn’t overly ripped like most pirates are, but he’s still well toned. His muscles flex as he shifts lower, kissing down your chest, down your stomach and stopping just above the navel.

“When I saw you were the one my men captured, it took my breath away,” He lifts your hips so he can remove your pants and undergarments, “I was scared, anxious, I didn’t know what to do, so I pretended I knew you for your skills, not for your past.” After removing everything, he pushes back, kissing your thighs before sitting up, taking his gloves off with his teeth and throwing them to the side. Man that was hot.

Buggy detaches one of his hands and lets it roam up your torso, reaches your neck and gives it a gentle squeeze. Before leading his fingers over your mouth, asking for entry. You grant it and his index and middle finger slip into your mouth, swirling your saliva around and coating them generously. “When you suspected I knew more, I didn’t know what to do. When you boarded I just knew you by name, not face, there was no way I could’ve expected this.”

He removes his hand from your mouth and moves it down to your center, rubbing through your folds gently and inserting two fingers, scissoring you open and prepping you for what's to come. Buggy uses his still detached hand to remove his own trousers, his cock springing free from its confines. He strokes it slowly, clearly getting off to his detached hand fingering you open.

“Buggy…” You moan, you can’t even reply or form a sentence, the pleasure too good.

“Shhh just relax sweetheart, I’ll take care of you.” He brings his hand away from your now dripping cunt, reattaching it and leaning down. You feel his breathe over your core, he kisses your clit before taking it in his mouth, lapping up your taste and fucking you onto his tongue. You can feel your orgasm approaching quickly as he flits between sucking on your clit and tonguing inside of you, but he pulls away.

“Fuck! Why’d you–”

You’re interrupted by his cock entering you and your legs being lifted by his hands so he can enter as deep as possible. You don’t think you’ve ever felt so full before. His cock fits so nice and feels so good and he hasn’t even moved yet.

“Fuck you’re so tight and wet for me, so fucking good huh? Letting me fuck you like this.” His pupils are so blown out, he watches his own cock pull out and start to thrust into you, it just fuels your arousal further. Buggy starts out slow, just getting you used to his size before he picks up the pace, fucking into you even deeper and faster.

“Shit, gonna cum Buggy please.” He moves your legs to prop onto his shoulders and he grabs onto your waist, pushing down and holding you in place as he fucks into you roughly.

“Gonna cum for me? Go ahead sweetheart. Cum all over my cock.” He moves his hand over your abdomen and presses down, the pressure making you feel dizzy. You feel white hot, the band finally snapping as you come. “Fuck, gonna cum soon too, gonna fill you up so good.”

Buggy relentlessly fucks into your cunt, overstimulating you and causing a pressure to build that’s unfamiliar. “Wait Buggy I, fuck I feel weird it feels good.” Soon, with a loud cry you feel a wetness rush between your legs, causing you to let out a loud string of moans and curses.

“Squirting for me already? God you’re full of surprises. Shit, I’m coming.” A few more snaps of his hips and you feel his hot cum fill you up, as promised. It feels so good. He slows down and pulls out, his load leaking out of you and onto the sheets below. “So good for me.” He whispers, leaning down and kissing you gently. He cleans the both of you up quickly and gets dressed, ready to go back to his quarters for the night.

“Wait Buggy, before you go…” You trail off and he turns around, listening intently. “If you don’t mind, can you tell me more about my- about our, past? I need to know where I came from, what happened.” Buggy smiles gently, walking up and kissing you on the forehead.

“Of course princess, later”

© Choism 2023. do not repost or translate.

[ramblings-of-a-detrans-woman]

Why I will never support the radical feminist movement, as a detransitioning woman.

note: this is not meant to be any sort of hit piece or slander, I respect every feminist, even ones I disagree with. This is just my reasoning for why I do not like the radfem movement.

For a bit of context, I’ve indentified as trans since I was 12. At 18, I’ve decided to live my life as a lesbian woman, and i’ve never been happier with that choice.

Now, being a young trans man, I interacted a lot with pro trans content online (of course I did), and so of course I’ve heard about radical feminism. A passionate branch of feminism that takes a unique approach to women’s rights- deconstructing gender entirely. It sounds wonderful in theory, because of course gender is oppressive, most notably of women. I would know, being one. Even when I was trans I had to worry about being out at night. I even got chased once, and a man attempted to lure me to his truck another time. It’s brutal. But radical feminists devote their activism to ending this in a straightforward, logical way.

So why do I, a woman who has experienced both misogyny and transphobia, not support that? I feel that this is a good question for both trans allies and radfems alike to to ask. Knowledge is power.

Well, I’ll be direct. Radfems are some of the most depraved people i’ve ever met. I know, that sounds like a lot, but there’s no other words I can use that don’t perfectly encapsulate my experience with radfems. It’s depravity.

For weeks, I was harassed by transphobic radfems. Radfems, who are insistent on their love and support for TIFs aka trans men. It’s strange then that they would be so cruel towards one, wouldn’t you say?

Detransition is hard enough. It’s difficult to tell family that you were wrong. It’s difficult to reconnect with my gender. Hell, i prefer the term detrans over cis just because i have such a disconnect from my gender. So why do I have to deal with transphobic radfems sending me gore and death threats?

Thankfully all of the accounts doing this seem to be deleted or repurposed. But it’s only a matter of time until a new account is made just to send me an ask telling me to kill myself or a message about how much of a loser i am.

It’s this reason alone why i’ll never be a radfem. They’re just sick people. They don’t want liberation for women, they just hate trans people. It’s not even thinly veiled, their accounts are fully based around how horrible trans women are.

The truth being, trans women aren’t bad people at all. It’s easy to think they are because the news and media cherry picks some of the worst ones, but every community and minority group has bad people in it. some of the sickest people you could imagine, really. yes, they can be trans. but does being trans make you a sick person? does it turn you into a predator? no, it doesn’t. it just means you’re trans. trans or not, it’s up to men to be mature and take accountability for their own actions that they consciously make. a cis man is as capable to walk into a women’s room as a trans woman is.

if radical feminists cared more about women and detrans women, i could consider getting along with them. but sadly, all these passionate and dedicated feminists care about is hating trans people with a fiery passion. and i’ve been a casualty. it’s very difficult for me to sympathize with radfems when they’ve upset me to the point that they have

let me make it clear that gore and death threats don’t upset me, i’m not easily offended. So it’s not the threats that make me angry. It’s just the principle. The fact that radfems are spending their time scrolling reddit for gore pictures to send to fellow women instead of supporting us makes me SICK. it’s heartbreaking to picture a woman, raped and beaten by her boyfriend, and a radfem standing in front of her, readily available to help, but choosing to yell at a passing detrans woman. It’s really sad.

hopefully those reading this can take my words into consideration and use it to improve yourselves or your community (if you’re a radfem). i love womanhood and being a woman and i would love to share that joy with my sisters, but i just can’t when these issues i’ve experienced are in the back of my mind. I want radical feminism to be a safe space, a place where sisters can go to talk to women, relate to women, cry with and support women. but so far, the only love and support i’ve received has been from the trans community. that speaks volumes.

i am going to post more about my experience with finding my womanhood again in the future, so if you’re a detrans woman yourself, trans ally or not, consider following me :) i’d love to build myself a little community

[kateysummers99]

Do you think the WWBM Interacial movement has now got to a critical point where momentum has starting to challenge even the majority of White Women now as far as there choices for relationship ? May we as White Males even lose this group of females to African Men more then we keep ourselves ?

The short answer is definitely yes.

Because of my own personal experiences and also just looking at major social trends, it's pretty obvious that IR relationships (in general, but specifically white girls and black guys) are much more common now than they were 10, 30, and 30 years ago. 

I think there are lots of reasons for this and I’m obviously not an expert (I work in finance, not cultural psychology), but lets just look at the obvious trends:

Girls today are more empowered in general, and especially regarding sexuality and romance. I mention this a lot on this blog, there are less things hold girls back than there used to be. Movies and TV and culture in general are so much more accepting that people can love who they want to love, and that applies especially to society being more accepting of girls expressing their sexuality. I grew up in a time when dating black guys was an obvious but implied no-no, and it's just not the same today. (Note this is NOT true everywhere. Sadly there are racists and homophobes still, but they will probably be holdouts until they die.)

Black men are idolized for their physicality and masculinity by society more and more every day. Sports, music, advertising media, movies, social media and TV shows - you name it, black guys are constantly the icon of masculinity, status and power. This is really true for their masculinity, where we regularly fetishize the sexual prowess of black men in every day culture with phrases like “once you go black you never go back.” 

Porn is free and everywhere. Also something that wasn’t the case when I was growing up, but now you just pick up any cell phone and in a few seconds be privately and anonymously staring at an amazing black man and his huge black cock (or whatever your fantasy is).

Also in the last few years, social justice and institutional racism has become a hot topic, I think a lot of women recognize that the same old white male patriarchy that has been suppressing women since the beginning of time has also been responsible for suppressing Black people. This puts white women and black men on the same side on a pretty deep level, where they see each other in the same existential struggle for happiness against the common enemy that is old white guys.

Another interesting thing that I've read reports about is more and more young white guys who are essentially "staying single" forever, sometimes due to porn addiction. They make a sexual connection with porn that is easy and judgment free, which is the opposite of the real-world dating situation where they deal with complex social dynamics and competition (including trying to compete against more masculine black men who are constantly in movies and music).

So if that's a growing tend... then young women find themselves more free in choosing partners, society idolizing black guys, exposed to IR sex and porn, and more culturally aligned with black guys… and young white guys basically removing themselves from the dating pool.

As for me personally, I have always thought think black guy / white girl couples are the most beautiful -- there's a special passion and primal attraction that goes deep down that you just don't see with other couples.

So yes, I think black guy and white girl couples are definitely more and more popular. I don’t think we’ll ever get to a point where all white men are unwanted forever (sorry white boys who message me, desperate to live in such a world), but I do think increasingly empowered girls and wider acceptance of female sexuality will naturally trend to more black guys and white girls together - which is all beautiful to me :)

[eksvaized]

What if, in an alternate universe, instead of being battle-hardened men, TF141 was a famous band? I know it’s a silly thought, but I can’t get it out of my mind.

In my mind, Kyle would definitely be the lead vocalist, who once in a while picks up a guitar. Like, his charm is literally irresistible, and he has this unique quality of being able to carry even the most awkward interviews: he always has the perfect timing, knowing exactly when to joke, when to lightly shade other artists, and when to not-so subtly flirt with an attractive interviewer.

Unlike his bandmates, Kyle also tends to steer clear of trouble, avoiding the drama and controversy that so often follows other bands. His biggest scandal to date, if it can be considered one, was a rumour about his escapades during the band’s tour across America. He supposedly slept with 50 different women, each one from a different state.

And while it was indeed a big deal for such news to erupt within the music industry, it didn’t come as a complete surprise, given Kyle’s reputation as a notorious flirt.

Johnny — a bass player. No doubts about that. When he’s performing during concerts, he becomes a force of nature, a whirlwind of chaotic energy that doesn’t seem to understand the concept of slowing down or taking a break. He’s constantly on the move and bouncing around from one side to another. At times, he’ll dive off the stage to interact with fans, often leaving his signature on some over-excited female’s cleavage. Other times, he can be seen on his knees, utterly lost in the rhythm of the music, grinding to its beat with his eyes closed as if in a trance—this is the most calm he can be during a gig.

Apart from his musical talents and electric stage presence, Johnny has another talent - a knack for attracting attention, particularly from the media. His face graces the pages of magazines on a weekly basis—an occurrence that he insists is accidental rather than intentional. However, Johnny is notoriously outspoken—he has never been one to hold back his tongue or shy away from expressing his opinions, regardless of how they might be received. And so, while refreshing, his candidness often lands him in hot water, especially when his remarks come across as controversial.

Price, Price, Price. Definitely a band manager, and not because I think he couldn’t keep up with the guys. Oh no, that’s not it. It’s just that in my head, I can picture him standing in the unlit corner of the backstage, a lit cigar dangling between his fingers as he counts money. Every so often, he nonchalantly tucks some bills under his belt. He thinks he deserves some extra cash because, yet again, he had to clean up the mess that Johnny made.

What did Johnny do? Apparently, he decided to wear a kilt onstage. The choice of attire wasn’t the issue itself. The problem arose from his decision to go commando, wearing no briefs underneath. Price obviously had to execute some serious damage control and pay off literally everyone who came to see the band. Otherwise, the pictures of Johnny’s dick would have flooded the internet the second people left the venue.

And then there’s Riley, who dominates the drums. Like, just imagine him on the stage, drops of sweat forming on his furrowed brow as he immerses himself in the rhythm. His shirt is discarded, tossed aside as heat radiates off him in palpable waves, and his blond hair is in disheveled from the constant, frenzied head banging — literally every woman’s wet dream.

Sadly, even if you wanted to, you couldn’t stalk him on social media and drool over his shirtless pictures because all of his accounts are set to private. And because of how secretive he is about his personal life—unlike Kyle or Johnny, who don’t mind talking in interviews and sharing some details about what they get up to—the media has nicknamed Simon a Ghost.

Further contributing to his elusive image is a running joke among fans and media that the band doesn’t actually consist of three members, but is instead a duo of Kyle and Johnny. This is primarily because Simon seldom appears at public events. Even when a promotional interview is arranged for an upcoming tour or album, he tries to avoid attending by using every possible excuse, only to be eventually forced into it by Price.

What about you, though? Well, the answer to the question is obvious. You’re definitely a fan, but not the crazy stalker type. You just buy all their albums, follow them on every social media platform, and occasionally watch an interview or two, so you could gawk at how handsome all of them are.

So, when the news broke that they were having a concert in a city near you, you didn’t hesitate for a second. You purchased a ticket almost immediately, a thrill of anticipation coursing through you at the thought of watching them perform live. And the actual concert? It was the most fun you’d had in a long time. Even the fact that you went alone didn’t dampen your mood.

However, probably the part of the night that sent your heart racing, that made it beat the fastest, was an unexpected turn of events. You somehow, almost miraculously, managed to find yourself in the band’s tour bus. You were there, with Kyle’s hand lightly resting on your lower back, as he introduced you to the guys - Johnny, Price, and even Simon.

His exit left a strange silence, and your mind began to race; Price’s behavior seemed to confirm the rumors that had been circulating about Kyle might be true.

Price, to your surprise, did not seem taken aback by your arrival. He extended a hand towards you, the shake firm and lingering just a tad bit longer than necessary. His gaze then shifted over your shoulder, landing on Kyle and giving him a warning look before he excused himself to step outside.

Next, you were introduced to Johnny, whose demeanor was almost as tactile as Kyle’s, if not more so. He greeted you with a bear-like hug that almost crushed your ribs, squeezing the air out of your lungs. His wide grin was so broad it seemed almost idiotic. After releasing you from the embrace, Johnny leaned in close to Kyle, whispering something barely audible yet unmistakably complimentary, something that sounded suspiciously like ‘this one’s stunning’, before giving Kyle a hearty, brotherly clap on the back. You did your best to brush off Johnny’s remark, to dismiss it from your mind for fear of your face betraying your embarrassment by turning a bright shade of red.

Simon was sitting near the tiny window that allowed the soft glow of the moonlight to filter in. His long legs were spread wide in a display of relaxed confidence, and one arm was nonchalantly tossed over the leather couch’s backrest. He had yet to utter a single word. Which he did when Kyle mentioned you were here because you fancied a picture with them. This caught Simon’s attention.

At that point, the only thing keeping you standing straight was Kyle’s hand on your back. You knew, deep down, that you should decline this offer. Your mind was practically shouting at you to return to your rented motel room, reminding you of the early train you had to catch the following morning.

Simon turned to look at you, and you had no choice but to avert your gaze because it literally felt like he was undressing you with his eyes, as his lips curled into a sly, almost predatory smirk. “How about something better?” He suggested, his voice filled with a teasing lilt. “Have a drink with us.”

But how could you possibly refuse such an offer from your favourite band? Especially when you found yourself living the dream of every fan girl out there.

It was too tempting to resist.

[zici]

Right The Wrongs

Hey everyone, this was just supposed to be a hc, I thought up in the server(https://discord.gg/qAu8tqTjfQ) but it evolved into a fic(?). Please don’t mind any and all grammatical mistakes and typos, for I’m not proofreading the whole content. And a big thank you and love you to all the peeps from the server for live reacting❤️‍🔥😭🏃‍♀️✨

Part 1

So varadeva divorce happens and vara is with a baby. Now the baby is old enough to walk by the time deva breaks the seal. Now deva is brought to the court and he’s presented with two choices either hand over Aadhya as she has khansaars seal and take over his previous position of being the Salaar or yield his rights of being the Salaar, the shouranga heir and to cut off all ties with any Khansaarian until death. 

Relinquishing his right to the throne, Varadha and lastly unbeknownst to him, their daughter also. Jus when he puts the pen down. He hears a kids laugh from outside the room. He takes one look at vara. And starts sprinting towards the door. Vara quietly commands baba. And baba exits through another door. Deva is already out when he sees baba hiding someone from his view and walking to a room opposite to him.  A small hand peeks above babas shoulder. And deva let’s out a silent gasp and tries to reach for them. To turn baba around look at that someone. But before he could do that he’s being overwhelmed with men pushing him away. Any other day he would flick them off of him but today he’s mentally unstable. He sees baba getting inside the room. And vara appears at the doorway. Looks at him bitterly eyes red and closes the door. Deva is shouting at the top of his lungs. 

He’s pushed out of the Mannar mansion. He slaps his forehead for making the stupid decision of signing the papers. He’s not worried about a stupid piece of paper but what he’s worried about is vara will now have a reason to send his armies against him in case he tries to meet their kid breaching the contract. And armies he can handle, but their kid wouldn’t have a home to live in if their parents are at a war against each other. It starts to rain heavily and his tears disappearing in the rain droplets and walks and walks without any direction in mind he’s forgotten abt Aadhya Bilal and amma murmuring I’m sorry Varadha over and over again.

For next 7 years, Varadha is dealing with rebellions against his rule. And he can’t even bring deva back cause of the contract. Also his loyalists wolves in sheep clothing are waiting for a moment karta lets up and makes a mistake. One night vara with heavy heart goes to his daughter’s bedroom talks about her father, the Salaar of Khansaar, his husband and the only love of his life.  She’s very angry at deva and badmouths him but Vara admonishes her saying please don’t get angry at your father he loves appa so much and he loves you the double but she goes as if! he doesn’t even know me vara chuckles sadly brushing her hair out of her eyes bids her good night with a kiss on her forehead to behave good until he’s back attend classes and her training. The very next day she hears about Appa’s death as his tent had been ambushed by vedha, finally Radha Rama wins.

The entirety of Khansaar is thrown into chaos as karta Varadha is no longer alive. They know of the princess but she’s too young to get be installed as Karta. And all of Khansaar is eyeing the throne and they want the princess to be eliminated. Baba quickly absconds the Mannar mansion with the teenage princess without as much as mourning for Varadha. The shourangas welcome them with scorn for the one and only reason that the princess has shouranga blood flowing in her. Baba tries his level best to contact deva but in vain. The princess develops hatred against deva. For abandoning her, appa and baba.

It’s been seven years since then, baba has died, Radha Rama has claimed the throne and the princess presents herself as alpha on the fateful night they took up shelter in the shouranga territory. She’s 21 now and she’s craving for revenge, with deep rooted hatred for her Appa’s murderers and her father Deva. She’s 21 now and she’s craving for revenge, with deep rooted hatred for her Appa’s murderers and her father Deva. But it’s not as easy as it seems to be with them on the losing side so the princess descends into madness, and ambushes the dinner Karta Radha Rama schedules as a celebration for almost winning the battle effectively weeding out rebellions, alone.

She slashes all the pigs seated for a feast, throat parched with war cries, eyes red body drenched with the blood of her Appa’s murderers and murderers of her kin back in shouranga territory, bile rises up her throat to look at people ready to bite into flesh when their men are laying down lives in vain, ready to kill their siblings, ready to separate a daughter from her father. She finally goes up to Radha Rama, who looks up to the princess sneering still very much regal, white hair peeking out from her long braid and opens her mouth to talk but the princess slices her neck dejectedly saying You don’t have the right for last words, Auntie.

She walks out of the hall drenched in blood looking like Kateramma herself, setting fire the whole way to the throne room, she stands in the middle looking at the throne as her surroundings are engulfed by fire, lifts her sword up pointing to the throne and turns around slowly her sword now pointing to Deva who is now running towards her as she drops dead onto the floor. Deva runs into the fire holding the princess close to him wailing at the Gods standing tall in the throne room. The princess strictly commanded her army and kin to never let Deva know about Khansaar and most importantly Appa’s death , she said That man, who is not worthy to be called a father didn’t think twice before signing a stupid paper over a woman very much aware he would lose the right of calling Appa his husband, so why would he now run back when he hears about Appa’s death?! I don’t want his false show of tears nor his fake concern!

Deva has never looked back fearing Varadhas wrath and he first hand knows the evil reality of war and he doesn’t want his kid to grow up in a war ridden society and prays everyday for his husband and kid to live happily far away from him and the deaths he brings. He runs away to Ladakh drowns himself in alcohol and construction work. He had become a recluse. His only stops were home, work and the alcohol shop. He stares at the wall in his house replaying his last bitter farewell with his family time and again, how things would’ve been different if he hadn’t signed the papers, if he hadn’t stopped the seal and if he hadn’t left Varadha but nothing changes he’s still here in the dark about to doze off to a alcohol induced slumber instead of hearing his husband and kid calling him for dinner. One day, fourteen years later he gets a letter from Khansaar.

And it’s addressed to Devaratha Raisaar Shouryanga-Mannar, surprised he still has his birth and martial surnames intact. Hope glimmering in his eyes, thinking hundreds of possibilities that his husband has forgiven him and ready to have him back or their kid might be have been installed as a Dora or as Karta!? And he’s been invited for the ceremony but his racing mind suddenly stops at the first sentence; Karta Varadha Rajamannar had died 14 years ago. Radha Rama is now Karta. Your daughter had been leading us shouryangas and whatever traditional faction of Mannar is remaining to dethrone Rama. But victory is bleak. And she’s now determined to burn along with the entirety of Khansaar. She never listened to reason, it didn’t matter when it came avenging her Appa. We are not sure if anything of Khansaar will remain before this letter reaches you. Oh, her name is Devi.

Deva is on auto pilot, grabs his keys to his jeep, while covering his mouth and shouts into his palms muffling his angry wails, tears running down his face never blinking and starts his road journey to Khansaar, not stopping for sleep or food but only when the jeep is out of fuel or is broken down. His face swollen because of tears, not letting his mind think fearing he would break down and die in an accident before meeting his daughter their daughter it physically hurts him to even think about his love, he doesn’t deserve to.

He reaches Khansaar after 2 days of travelling which is splattered in red and covered in smoke, not a single soul around. He climbs the stairs leading to the sacred halls of throne room only to witness his signature sword pointed at him by an young woman with long black hair in tresses, and face streaked with kohl and covered in blood and starts sprinting towards her but then she drops onto the floor making his heart stop and legs to speed up not caring his for legs catching fire. He gathers Devi into his lap and finds that she already is dead. He loses his mind and cries and wails and beats his fists to the ground. Cursing Khansaar for their plight. Devi, you shouldn't have been named after me, says Deva regretfully.

He has lost both his husband and daughter at the same time. When exhaustion and lack of sleep catches him, he deliriously starts talking to Devi as if she were a baby. You have Varadhas nose! And my feet and hands! You will be inheriting Varadhas entire library filled with ancient scrolls and scriptures. And my weaponry! Everything belongs to you. I’ll take you to my favorite place tomorrow, it’s our secret place! Your Appa must be running late, but let’s first go to sleep? Then he closes his eyes clutches Devi tightly against himself as the flames are drawing in…

Deva opens his eyes, his cheeks wet with tears, finding himself back in their bed clutching Varadha tightly.

To be continued...

[thevulturesquadron]

Ok so this is me sorta headcanoning, so take this with a grain of salt, but one of the reasons why the infantilization of Rogue always bothers me is because I always felt like her powers were a metaphor for disability/chronic illness and fandom police act already like disabled women aren't capable of being in their own villain romances, example being Entrapdak antis denying Entrapta her own agency in her romance with Hordak in the She-Ra reboot.

Oh! But you make a really good point! It’s one of those subtle perspectives that can be dangerous just because of how easy they are to integrate into someone's view of the world. I'm not as vocal online as I used to be. I feel like there are people out there far better equipped to talk about it than I, while I grow old and cranky. But, you brought up a really important aspect that kinda sent me into a 'hold my beer' moment so apologies for the long answer! To start with, I wouldn’t call this a headcanon, not at all, clearly not in the context of X-men, and Rogue in particular. It’s a very apt analogy. The reason why these characters become relevant to us is because we recognize something from our personal journey in them, and the comparison you made for Rogue is a very strong one. Her inability to touch can absolutely be read as a disability! In so many of her stories/arcs it is often portrayed as a struggle, as an obstacle to a ‘normal life’. Her difficulties with gaining control over her powers and dealing with other personalities that are trying to take over her mind can also be a strong metaphor for mental health struggles/disorders. Rogue is a fantastic hero in that regard and seeing her be her own person, learning how to work and be proud of what she can do, can feel like a personal victory for so many people. It’s why it’s important to see her happy, to see her winning her battles and use who she is and what she can do in a positive and impactful way. There are many reasons why fans end up taking away her agency or attributing her choices to a different (often male) character. And, to be fair, a couple of comic-book writers have done this exact thing to her, so I can see where this skewed perspective might be coming from. Within fandom this happens mostly because it serves to support their arguments for whatever thing they prefer or project onto the character. If they don’t like a certain narrative or can’t accept that it might’ve be written for someone else, they have this to fall back on and point to. Or, sadly, one of the simplest reasons for doing this is the age-old turning their ship preferences into ‘I’m right, you are wrong’ arguments. But these things can hide some internalized misconceptions. Unfortunately I haven’t seen the reboot of She-Ra (shame on me) so I don’t have the full picture for the take on Entrapta, but now I have one more reason to invest some time in it. In this situation with Rogue, I believe that what you mentioned applies very well. The argument that I’ve seen going around a lot is that Rogue was manipulated/swayed by being presented with the opportunity to ‘be normal’. Because she wanted to be able to touch and as a result she was taken advantage of because of her ‘disability’. Which is entirely false. In no version of the relationship between Rogue and Magneto in the comics, and not even in the reinvented take in the animation, has he ever abused that. Her attraction to him has always, always, come first, and the ability to touch, second. He was never the first one to act upon it. Even in the animation, every shot in the flashback was carefully considered to portray that - she is shown as the initiator every time (my favourite scene is when she’s trying her very best to pose in a suggestive way and he just paints her as he sees her, lively and sincere). But some fans don’t want to see that. They don’t want to acknowledge the authenticity of her decisions because it doesn’t serve the narrative they want of her/for her.

I read your message and it hit like a hammer how much deeper this problem can actually go, because it’s masked by those surface-level justifications. Removing agency and responsibility from someone just because they operate differently than one’s expectations is damaging in and of itself, and within a fandom it perpetuates an idea that can stifle people’s perspective and critical thinking. (This whole topic actually reminded me of Madison Tevlin's “Assume that I can” commercial. I think it's relevant to the conversation) Thanks a lot for sharing this!!! We need to talk more about these things and if I misspoke on something or missed something important would love to hear it. 💜

[theroseceleste]

Mafia Miguel - Part 7

You can find previous chapters below.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Contains : Female reader, mentions of being restrained, injections, suffering of pain, murder, cardiac arrest and CPR.

Word count - 4038

Hope you enjoy chapter 7!

Don't forget after this chapter I'll post up a choice so you can choose which direction it will go. Be sure to follow and check for future posts!

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The giant science facility resembles something like a ghost town at night. All workers and lab technicians have clocked off and gone home. Labs are dark and deserted.

Miguel has no clue what time it is, but he suspects it’s the early hours of the morning.

He’s led through the building while his hands are still tied behind his back and his mouth still gagged. Dark, glaring eyes trained on the large man in front, leading the way. He clearly has somewhere very specific in mind.

One of the large man’s employees joins the small group of men walking down a corridor towards a lift. He carries a small metal case. Miguel eyes it suspiciously.

“Your wife was a very intelligent woman,” Kingpin says as he presses a button to call the elevator.

The sound of the lift mechanics whir into action behind the double metal sliding doors.

All Miguel can do is watch, scowling at Kingpin as he waits for the elevator to arrive.

Occasionally, his wrists tugs at his restraints, testing their strength. He longed to have the gag removed from his mouth. It is uncomfortable to say the least, feeling the dry cloth between his jaws.

A ding indicates the lift has arrived and the doors slide open, allowing the group to enter.

Kingpin looks like he is revelling in this exercise of gradually riling Miguel up. He takes a breath before speaking again.

“Her knowledge about spiders was extensive. Perfect for the job really,” he pauses as his captive wriggles aggressively.

The smug looking man seems to have touched a nerve.

“Such a shame she got too righteous about the nature of the project. She should have known you can’t make an omelette without breaking a few eggs…”

A now livid Miguel struggles against his restraints once again, more violently this time as the lift climbs up the building. As he pulls, he notices that his bonds feel like they’re getting weaker.

Kingpin watches with glee as his captive is pulled away from him. The angry lion doesn’t look quite so scary, tied up and gagged. He continues taunting Miguel, pushing in the dagger further, giving it a cruel sharp twist.

“I can show you where she worked, if you like? I bet you were so proud of her, working for a major corporation like Alchemax. And a leading scientist in her field too!”

His voice is in a mocking tone which pissed Miguel off even more.

“Sadly, it all went wrong for her when she couldn’t deal with testing the serum on live subjects anymore. Her refusal to cooperate after that was most frustrating.”

Between moments of pure anger, Miguel felt distraught that Maria went through this at work and couldn’t open up about it at home.

The lift’s metal doors slide open again revealing the bio-engineering floor. Lights flicker on as someone flips the switch while Kingpin leads Miguel into the room where the experiments took place…

***

Your car grinds to a halt in front of the Alchemax building. You have parked it in a space but it is hideously wonky, but frankly, you don’t care as you have bigger fish to fry.

Alchemax security guards spot you running towards the building, preparing to intercept you. For once, you find yourself glad that you’re able to shout that you work for Kingpin as you run past and dodge their attempts to grab you.

You knew they’d allow you through if you said you work for the large mafia boss. It seems Kingpin has Alchemax in his pocket, whether they liked it or not.

You need to go to the vault, which is under Alchemax. Kingpin and anyone who works for him unfortunately has access to it. Take a lift and select the basement floor.

Garcia’s voice echoes in your mind as you remember his instructions as you burst into the foyer of the science facility and head to the nearest lift you can find that goes to the basement.

The light on the call button blinks furiously as you press it repeatedly, willing this damn lift to hurry the hell up. Time is of the essence, you can’t waste any of it.

To your surprise one of your colleagues appears on the other side of the opening sliding doors. Your eyes lock on his own as they go wide. Realising who you are, he charges at you, shunting you against a wall as you yelp in shock.

“Kingpin thought you might show up, good job I found you first eh?”

You thrash against him in frustration. Every second that passes is precious time being wasted.

Adrenaline runs at an all time high within you as your heart pounds against your ribs frantically. You have to get away from him if you want to stand any chance at rescuing Miguel.

A tight grip forms around your arm as he tries to turn you away from him.

“Come on, the exit’s this way.”

“Let me go!” you scream as you jam your knee into his groin.

Your colleague cries out in agony and lets you go. His hands rushing to his crotch as he buckles over.

“You bitch!” he screams through gritted teeth, his seething expression fixed on you.

To make sure he doesn’t retaliate or follow, you hit him hard in the head to knock him out.

A thud fills the air as he collapses on the linoleum floor unconscious. His suit jacket flops open revealing something that catches your eye. You pause as you look down at it.

A gun in its holster is out on display. You’re not really a fan of guns, but you might be entering a kill or be killed situation. It’s best to be prepared - just in case.

Reaching down, you pull it out and take it with you. It feels weird to be carrying a weapon, as if things have suddenly become much more serious.

Finally, the lift door closes with you inside it and it begins its descent into the basement. Closing your eyes, you take a breath to calm yourself as you try to remember the next load of instructions Garcia had given you.

***

Miguel half expected that someone would have shown up by now. He knew Gabi would have called somebody. What’s holding people up?

His jaw flexes uncomfortably while his gag persists. Sympathy starts to rise for those he has gagged in the past. But at least they deserved it…

A lab surrounds him, along with Kingpin’s men.

Around the perimeter of the room are counters with cupboards underneath, stored with equipment; beakers; vials, microscopes and petri dishes - just to name a few.

Visions of his wife, Maria, sitting at the counter and running experiments dances in his mind as he looks around. Tears threaten to well up in his eyes as he remembers her but he blinks them away.

Then his gaze focuses on the centre of the room. A modified metal slab-like table stands ominously. He immediately gets a bad feeling about it. Straps are fixed halfway down and at the bottom of the table.

“I had the room set up exactly how it was when I last saw Maria alive. I thought you’d appreciate that.”

Kingpin chuckles darkly as he watches Miguel’s eyes fixate on the table.

“You see, I had to have her still enough so I could teach her a lesson. A lesson I considered teaching your new lady friend but I managed to find a way to get her to comply.”

There’s that wicked grin again. If Miguel had seen it, he’d have tried to smash that smile to smithereens, but he was busy putting the pieces together instead after the large man spoke.

His chest rises and falls as his breathing quickens. His mind, swimming with thoughts while he feels the room spin. Shock, anger and grief makes his entire body shake.

“Of course, I had to make it look like she had done it herself. Couldn’t have anyone pointing the blame at me now could I?”

Miguel is at his limit. Kingpin has more or less confessed to murdering Maria. And he looks so damn smug about it too. How he would love to wipe that smile off of his face. He fantasises doing it in the most hideous way possible. A growl rumbles low in his chest as his muscles tenses up.

With one last hard pull, the captive yanks at his bonds and breaks out. Rushing towards his captor.

Kingpin’s eyes widen momentarily and retreats behind a curtain formed by his men who all grab Miguel as he charges.

Muffled shouts and screams of rage fill the air as he kicks and thrashes around.

The force of Kingpin’s men drags and lifts the incensed man up onto the table.

One by one, each limb is strapped down but not without a violent struggle.

Wildly desperate and frightened brown eyes look around frantically. Searching for any kind of escape. Any kind of help. The sense of hopelessness engulfs him. Any chance to escape diminishes by the second. 

Pulling against the straps is useless as they’re firmly attached to the table by chains, but he still tries out of sheer desperation.

“Roll up his left sleeve for me,” Kingpin orders one of his men, his tone commanding.

As someone carries out the task, the boss opens the metal case and produces a serum in a syringe equipped with a needle, all ready to go.

“Your wife was working on creating the perfect serum for me, to genetically enhance humans. But unfortunately, she was never able to make one that didn’t kill the test subject.”

Kingpin now begins his slow and taunting approach to Miguel. A broad, smug grin stamped across his face. An evil glint shines in his eyes.

“I’ll let you have a taste of her work. You can experience everything she went through in her final moments. And then you’ll be reunited with her. How sweet…”

Now standing right next to the violently thrashing man on the table, he speaks again.

“Keep him still for me. He’s just as wriggly as his wife was.” He speaks louder just so he can be heard over his captive’s angry roars.

Four pairs of hands working in unison press down on his limbs, holding him still. His chest heaves as he screams through the cloth. Eyes open wide and his brow severely furrowed as he watches the needle plunge into his lower arm and the contents of the syringe begins to empty.

Searing pain spreads through his veins. Every muscle tenses and an unpleasant tingling sensation crashes over him like a violent, freak wave on a beach. His body erupts with heat while his lungs struggle to get enough air in them through the gag.

Withdrawing the needle, Kingpin watches with glee as his captive is reacting - badly - to the serum.

Kingpin chuckles darkly, almost getting drowned out by Miguel’s agonised yells and screams.

“This, Mr. O'Hara, is only just the beginning. Sit tight.”

***

Rows upon rows of safe-like vaults are in front of you. Many corridors and alleyways of secure containment boxes to choose from.

I couldn’t store the antidote with project #2099 as I had to keep it safe. So I created my own project, #2100. Find that vault, the code is Maria’s birthday, September 28th.

Looking at signs on the walls, you see Alchemax has run thousands of experiments, too many to count. You look for a sign that indicates where the projects in the 2000’s are and follow the direction it points you in.

The sea of numbers goes down in numerical order as you stride along a corridor. Your eyes skimming over each project number until you find #2100.

September 28th… You think to yourself as you look at the number pad on the door of the box. It’s a three digit code.

Thinking quickly, you punch in 928 and a green light followed by a beep follows, indicating you entered in the correct code.

As the small vault unlocks, your eyes wander over to the containment box to the left, #2099. You sincerely hope you don’t need what’s inside #2100.

Pulling the door open, you grab a small case and run, not even taking the time to close the vault again.

Now the real hard work begins. You have absolutely no clue as to what floor Kingpin and Miguel are on. Entering the lift again, you spam the close button and press the first floor to begin the tedious task of finding the correct floor. You just hope you reach them in time.

If it wasn’t for pressing the button for each floor in the lift, you would have lost count of the number of levels you have tried in the large science facility. Your only saving grace is that every floor is pitch black and silent, suggesting no one is there.

So when you come to floor fifteen and you see lights on and hear bone chilling screams you know you’re in the right place. Your heart plummets as soon as you hear the sound.

As you rush out of the elevator, you see the bio-engineering lab is lined with windows all around it and the scene before you almost stops your heart completely.

Seeing Miguel screaming, sweating and writhing in agony on the table makes you worry you’re too late, but you can’t stop now. He’s restrained and gagged, in desperate need of help.

With the case in one hand and a gun in the other, you enter the lab. Kingpin and his goons seem preoccupied with their captive.

Lifting the weapon, your trembling finger rests on the trigger, aiming directly at Kingpin.

You steel yourself and make peace with what you have to do. If the roles were reversed, Kingpin wouldn’t think twice.

In reality, he’s killing the man you care about right in front of you, and he’d do the same to you if he knew that you’re there.

You promised Gabi you’d do everything in your power to get her papa home. Pulling that trigger is in your power. And that is what you have to do.

It’s scary how easily it can be done. Pulling that trigger wasn’t difficult physically. A shot rings out. The other four men look up as they flinch, while Kingpin crashes to the floor, dead. The force shakes the entire room.

You feel sick at the thought of what you have done but as you swallow hard, you bravely press on.

While Miguel continues to roar and thrash at his restraints, the other four men hold their hands up in surrender.

“Get the fuck out of here!” you yell at them while pointing the gun in their direction.

They didn’t need telling twice. As they scatter, you grab one roughly by their suit. Your aggressiveness surprises you.

“Call off the attack on O’Hara’s people while you’re at it.”

The man nods silently and leaves the room after you release him.

Heavy panting steals your attention.

Miguel, dripping with sweat, thrashes his head side to side as he reacts to the serum.

Prizing open the case, you seize the antidote, nicely prepared for injection already.

If the antidote needs to be administered, inject directly into the serum’s injection site.

You remember the last bit of Garcia's instructions. Rushing to the table in the centre of the lab, you urgently look for where the serum had been injected. It doesn’t take long, the skin on his left arm is a bright angry red and is hot to the touch.

You do everything you can to not cry. His pain and desperation is palpable. And the sight before you hurts you to look at. Seeing him so distressed hits you hard. You can’t bear to see him gagged. His mouth is freed as you pull at the cloth, although parts of you wish you hadn’t as his agonising screams hit you harder.

“Miguel!” You call out to him as you’re not even sure he knows you’re there.

Your hand caresses his contorted face of agony as you lean in close.

“I need you to stay still for me. I know it’s hard, but you’ve got to try. Please!”

He roars with eyes clamped shut as a fresh wave of pain rolls over him, you nearly scream when you spot two enlarged canines.

Desperately stroking his face and holding it more firmly, you try again.

“Please! You’ve got to do this for me!”

Miguel huffs as he registers a kinder touch. He grits his now razor sharp teeth as he tries to stay still long enough for you to do what you need to do.

Reaching over his shuddering body, you hold the needle above the injection site.

“I’m sorry if this hurts, Miguel…” you mutter as you press the needle into his skin.

His body immediately arches upwards beneath you, almost bucking you off of him. Another yell of pain erupts from his wide open mouth.

“I know!” you sob, tears streaming down your face “I know - please, stay still a little while longer…”

Your thumb presses down on the plunger of the syringe, pushing the life saving serum into his bloodstream. Hoping against hope that you’re not too late.

Once the syringe is totally empty, you pull it out and drop it as you return to Miguel’s top half.

As before, your hands cup his damp face, moving any hair stuck against his skin while he pants heavily.

What you would give for him to open his eyes. You wish for him to see you. To see that you came for him. To save him.

Relief washes over you as his breathing slows. The large heavy panting turns into short huffs. Tense muscles begin to relax as you continue to stroke his sweat soaked skin.

“Ga- Gabi…” he starts to mutter between his puffs as his breathing regulates.

A relieved smile spreads across your face. Snaking your arm under the back of his neck, you cradle his head gently.

“She’s at home, waiting for her papa.”

Miguel’s eyes remain closed, but he cracks a faint smile across his parted lips. You see just the tip of one of his large canine teeth peeking out. Just what did that serum do to him, you wonder as your fingers now run adoringly through his damp hair.

In that moment of peace, despite what he has just been through, you’re happy. You’re still not entirely sure if he knows who you are; but,  you’re holding him close and caressing his hair. Something you thought you’d never be able to do again.

Leaning down, you plant a loving, tender kiss on his forehead as your fingers return to his cheek. Making the most of this precious moment.

As you lean close, the cold hard chain of his wrist restraints presses against your body. You realise the poor man is still bound to the table.

Placing his head back down gently, taking care not to move him suddenly, you start to undo the straps around his wrists.

As you go to move his hand away from the strap, you feel something sharp snagging your skin.

“Ouch!”

Your hand instinctively jumps away as you look down at what stabbed you. Nothing can stop your jaw from dropping in total shock.

Protruding out from his fingertips are razor edged, bloodied claws.

Scooping up his large right hand in yours, you inspect the talons more closely. Your fingers ghost delicately over them and then run along down his long, slender, manly digits. All the while Miguel remains calm as his breathing slows even more.

The silence between you is punctuated with the sounds of the velcro on the straps ripping apart from itself as you free him. His long limbs are heavy and you’re careful not to hurt yourself with the strange sharp claws on his other hand.

Looking at the clear result of the serum injection, you wonder if this is what Kingpin wanted for the men who do his dirty work? Has he managed what no other living thing could?

As you ask yourself those questions, you start to hear that his breathing has become laboured. The blissful feeling of relief drains from you as that sound doesn’t exactly fill you with confidence.

His brow creases as if he’s feeling pain again and begins to gasp for air.

Rushing to his side, you pick up his hand and squeeze it in hope to provoke a response from him. Your gaze desperately searches his expression, pleading for him to relax again.

“Miguel?” Your voice quivers slightly as you lean over him more.

Your other hand rests on his right shoulder and you start to shake him. He’s not responding.

“Miguel?”

You shake him harder as his laboured gasps continue but he still does not respond.

Something’s wrong - very wrong.

“No, no, no, no, no…” you murmur as your hand goes up to his cheek and tap him gently. Panic sets in. This isn’t supposed to happen. Has the antidote actually worked?

His brow furrows more as his breathing becomes faster and shallower.

“No - don’t… Don’t you dare…”

More tears stream down your face as you watch his struggle, totally powerless and without a clue in how to help him.

To your absolute horror, peace falls upon him once more. But the wrong kind of peace. His brow relaxes totally and his breathing stops all together.

“No…”

Eyes frantically search for signs of life in his face, hoping that he’ll move again in a second. But without any further change you search for a pulse in his neck. Nothing.

“No!”

Dropping his hand to his side, you feel his chest for a heart beat. Nothing. He has gone into cardiac arrest.

Shit!

A loud sob fills the air from your parted lips. Without even thinking, your body takes over. Clambering up onto the table, you straddle his body as you place the heel of your hand against the centre of his chest.

You feel something hard underneath his clothes. Undoing the first couple of buttons of his shirt, reveals a bulletproof vest. Nothing can get in the way of your attempt at CPR so you continue to undo all items of clothing covering his torso.

Once again, you place the heel of your hand in the centre of his chest while pressing the palm of your other hand on top. You push down hard enough to compress by about five centimetres and repeat thirty times at a fast pace.

“You’re not dying on me…” you pant between compresses. “Not today.”

The first thirty compressions are complete. Leaning forward you gently tilt his head back and pull at his chin to part his lips. Pinching his nose with your finger and thumb, you seal your mouth over his and blow firmly, twice.

His lifeless body rocks with each compression as you start the process all over again in a desperate bid to revive him. Sobbing and panting you think about his daughter. You said to Gabi you’d get her papa back, you can’t let her down.

“Come on!” You yell as you desperately will him to take a breath, open his eyes or do something!

It feels like an age since he stopped breathing, but it’s probably just been a minute.

More tears roll down your cheek as you continue to perform CPR. Your knees ache kneeling on the cold metal table but you press on. You don’t care if you can’t feel your legs anymore, if it means you bring him back.

“Damn it Miguel!”

Panic increases again as you do another thirty compressions and prepare to give him two more rescue breaths.

Suddenly, his body moves on its own as you seal your lips over his. The unexpected movement makes you pull away and gasp as he draws a sharp intake of breath. Relief washes over you as you see him breathe for himself for the first time since he fell silent.

His eyes snap wide open as they lock onto yours immediately. However they’re not how you remember them. The beautiful warm brown they used to be, is now replaced by a deep red.

“(Y/N)?”

----------

Part 8

I hope you enjoyed the drama. Sorry if I made anyone cry! Heh heh...

I'm currently open for commissions. If you have a scenario you'd like to be written about your OC and our lovely Miguel, please check out my carrd.co or get in touch via email (also on the website)

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[justanamesstuff]

If I could, I'd choose you (Royal!au)

Matty Healy x f!reader (and a bit of Prince!George)

A/N: Hiii guys, i come back with a royal!au i wrote AGES ago! I hope you like it...let me know!! <333

Warnings: hurt feelings, mention of death, typos.

Word count: 3.3 K

MASTERLIST

One year ago the kingdom went to war with a long life enemy. The kingdom won the war and

brought back home many treasures, but sadly they lost many people as well. The victory was bittersweet. 

Among those brave men and women, the king gave his own life for the sake of the better good. With the supreme gone for good, the heir to the throne had to step in. Problem was, the king had three daughters: Y/n, Victoria and Angelica. Before Y/n was born the first the king and his helpers decided what would happen if he decided to decline or in the other case died. 

During her entire life Y/n lived with the idea that someday she will be queen. At the very beginning, she felt lost and insecure. Since Y/n was only a little girl, running around the castle with her sister, she was far from sure about her being a good ruler or if she could do it without her father along her side. Time went by, and the little girl turned out to be a very confident woman, ready to rule since the first minute someone told her. 

Duty called and Y/n answered for her people right away. Although she was still a young girl who suffered the loss of her father with her little sisters. On the contrary when they lost their mother, they were alone in the world except for the company of each other and most of the decisions– not to say all– fell on Y/n’s shoulders.  

One of the many decisions she had to make was to find a husband. One of the big rules her father insisted was that when Y/n became queen she had to marry a wealthy man. Y/n hated her father for that, because she felt very capable of ruling on her own without a partner. Also, she didn’t have the time or energy for courtship, she had a lot of important matters to deal with instead of wasting her time.

Y/n tried to delay the choice as long as she could, although the time was ticking and her advisors -a couple of old men very old-fashioned- insisted on the matter every day a little more. So, despite her complaints the royal ball for Y/n to choose a husband was in the making. 

She felt bad because, despite her opinions about it, the whole kingdom woke up. After a difficult war, with many losses and suffering, there wasn’t a single soul unhappy for this. The news about the influential men and princes that will come travelled fast and cheered everyone up. All of them were happy except Y/n. 

………………..

The morning of the ball, Y/n woke up sensing her body vibrating with anxiety and wishing she could run away from this madness. But the sense of responsibility and duty keep her in place. Well, not in place exactly because she started to walk around the throne room from one side  to the other. 

“Why are you huffing now?” Victoria, her sister, came in, interrupting Y/n’s thoughts. 

 Y/n turned to look at her, with an annoying face,“You know why!”

“The marring stuff?” she walked closer to her, while her velvet dress flew between her feet. 

“Yes” she simply stated.

Victoria rolled her eyes visibly, “You’re making a big deal out of it…”

“Excuse me?” Y/n exclaimed.

“You heard me.”

“Yes, but watch out. I am…” the queen went to scold her, but Victoria interrupted.

“Yeah, yeah…the Queen. You still have to wait for the coronation to say that…” Y/n’s sister reminded her. 

“Victoria!” Y/n warned her.

The girl was unbothered by her sisters words, she continued walking away from her going to sit at the throne. “As I was saying…”

Y/n stopped her this time, “I’m not making a big deal. I don’t understand why I have to marry someone I don’t know at all, just to claim my right of birth.”

“Because that’s the rule!”

“I know that part, but still…”

“Y/n, just do it and live your happy life as the Queen.”

“I can’t.” Y/n said looking down. 

Victoria stood up, coming closer. “You can, and you will!” Victoria said, lower, reaching for her sister’s hand. “You’ll be the best Queen this fucking- “

“Victoria, watch your mouth!” Y/n interrupted.

“This place would ever have, and no matter which asshole-” Y/n huffed again. “Which man you marry, you’ll rule! Not your husband, not me, not the servants…you! It’s just like a procedure, okay?”

Deep down she was thankful for her sister’s words, even though her mind was foggy with thoughts about her father and the future. And more importantly…who would be the man she married? What if she ended up hating him?

“It’s easy for you to say.” Y/n walked away.

“Do you want to marry for love?” she inquired.

“That would be very idealistic, unrealistic of me to expect a love…” Y/n said trying to convince herself. 

Who didn’t want to marry for love and not because of an arrangement? Maybe somebody, but not her. At the same time, she had no choice.

“Yeah, but…” Victoria tried once more.

“It doesn’t matter.” Y/n shook her head, stopping her sister. “I’ll choose somebody suitable today and that will be the end of this nonsense.” she stated, stretching the wrinkles of her dress while walking away.

Y/n didn’t look a way, or she would’ve seen her sister's empathy filing her eyes.

………………………………………

The party was in its highest peak. Y/n didn’t know how many men she greeted, and her face was hurting for all the smiling. The soon-to-be Queen was beyond exhausted and frustrated too.

 No one, not a single soul seems suitable or slightly good for the place they’ll have to fill. 

In line awaited three more princes. One of the servants was in charge of announcing the names one by one to later approach her presence. 

“Prince George Bedford Daniel, Kingdom of Ocaton.” the loyal servant shout for everyone to hear.

The prince walked forward without dropping the eye contact. Those hazelnut piercing eyes playing a battle with hers, made Y/n felt observed and insecure for a minute.

“Princess Y/n, it’s a pleasure to meet your highness.” the tall blonde said while he bowed.

Y/n extended her hand, which George answered kissing her rings. “The pleasure it’s all mine.” the princess didn’t know how many times she said the same sentence.

“It is?” he crocked an eyebrow.

“Excuse me?” she was shocked by his abrupt answer.

“Pardon me, your highness. I can tell you met more eloquent men this night.” he said, smiling with sarcasm.

“Sir!” one of her advisors tried to warn him about his attitude.

“Don’t worry, Philip.” she turned to look at him, and then returned her sight to George. “I can manage him.” she gifted the old man a smile. “Replying to you, Prince…” Y/n inquired him, faking not remembering his name.

“George, my princess.”

Y/n didn’t acknowledge the possessive pronoun. “Right. Well, I’m happy about meeting all of  them…all of you, my guests.“ 

“Yes, I can perfectly tell.” George kept the amused tone, surprising Y/n once more. “Can I tell you how stunning you look in that dress, princess?” he asked, cheekily gaining a smile from Y/n

After many boring candidates George was a breeze of something different she found quite interesting and seductive. Y/n still have two more candidates waiting for her attention, so he would have to wait. 

“Thank you. You look adequate for the situation, Prince.” she teased him.

George found it amusing, replying, “It was what I was aiming for, your highness. ” Y/n tried to hide her chuckle, but the man noticed it. 

Containing her laugh, Y/n ended the conversation with a simple, “Hope you enjoy the evening, my prince.” finally dispatching him.

“Until next time, Y/n.” he lined down kissing her hand once more before leaving without looking back at her. 

****

The next candidate was pretty much the same as the previous before Matty. Hence why, Y/n didn’t spend more than a minute talking with him, listening to the stupid speech the advisors of the prince –with a flat personality– made him memorize probably. 

“Sir Matthew Timothy Healy.” the servant screamed the name of the last men. 

Since the first moment Y/n placed her eyes on him, her entire body tingled and burned. She was shocked by this unknown causing a reaction on her. Y/n couldn’t keep her eyes away from him. He was shorter than George but not for much. His eyes were brown, like hers, but shined brighter than any others. His brown locks were perfectly and imperfectly at the same time arranged in the top of her head. 

As if he knew what colour her dress would be, Thomas wore a blue suit which defined his body in the most beautiful way. Physically, he was perfect. The definition of the prince her father always talked about for her. 

“It is a great pleasure to meet such a beautiful Queen.” he said, looking directly into her eyes.

“Princess. Soon to be Queen.” she replied.

“Pardon me, your highness?”

“It’s my pleasure to meet you.” she continued the conversation.

Y/n wanted to listen to his voice forever, she was very sure she would never get tired of it, of him. His voice was mellow and rhythmic, inviting her to drown into his beautiful melody. He captivated her.

“Are you satisfied with the candidates?” he dared to ask.

“Watch your place, Matthew.” she said sternly but sweet.

“I only want to know if I have a proper competitor or if I’m winning already.” he smirked. From sweet, he turned to a little bit cocky and that was another refreshing moment during the boring night.

“You’ll have to wait for my answer…as the rest of the men.” Y/n answered.

“I’m looking forward to it.” he lined down and kissed her cheek.

Y/n froze on her place even though before she could acknowledge the action or even say something, Matty was gone and out of her sight. Her heart was pounding so loud in her chest that probably everyone could hear it above the music. 

The princess had to decide, although between all the people she met that night she had only two options.

……………………………….

Y/n was talking with her advisors and letting them know what she thought about the men they chose for her when Victoria stumbled in her private conference room. 

“Princess Victoria, you have to wait outside until we finished!” Philip reprimanded her.

“I want to speak with my sister.” the young princess demanded in her place anxiously. Probably the men in the room didn’t notice her bubbly feelings but Y/n knew her sister as the back of her hand. 

“It’s all right. I already finished expressing my opinions and heard yours, when I have a final decision I’ll go out and speak to the waiting room.” all of them moved their heads in agreement, proceeding to leave the room.

Victoria couldn’t contain herself and started talking. “I meet the love of my life!” she screamed, sitting down abruptly in a chair near Y/n’s.

“Oh, really?” Y/n said suspiciously. Victoria tended to fall in love with many men along the way and never truly persuade a relationship.

“Yes, he’s perfect. He’s handsome and dresses very nicely. He’s a gentleman and…I love him.” she sighed romantically.

“That’s quick.” Y/n bitterly said.

Victoria turned looking at her older sister, stunned, “You don’t believe me.”

“Who is this prince?” Y/n decided to ignore her words because she knew it was useless to tell her sister anything involving love and feelings.

“He’s not a prince. He’s a Sir.” Victoria looked at her, waiting for a reaction. Y/n didn’t show a single change on her face, but her body got warm again. Sir Matthew was around the castle, and she wanted to talk to him again.

“And that’s fine for you?” Y/n asked.

“Yes, he’s the love of my life!” Y/n admire the self-confidence she had to say that so easily.

“Do you know his name?” 

“Yes!” Victoria smiled even more widely if that was possible.

“And?” Y/n grew anxious.

“His name is Matthew.” with that sentence Y/n’s world fell apart. 

She knew they were talking about the same man that captivated her half an hour ago. Right away, Y/n understood why her sister was so sure about it, and she knew very well that her desires couldn’t be fulfilled.

Y/n needed, had to make the better decision not for her heart but for the kingdom and for her family. Matty was a Sir and George was a Prince, she couldn’t pass above that fact. And with the information of her sister wanting Matthew for herself, the decision was already made.

 “Tell me more.” Y/n said absently, letting her sister rambling about this new man while her heart broke bit by bit.

…………………………………………

The night of the ball ended with Y/n’s assistance, Philip, announcing that George was the choosing one by the soon-to-be Queen. After that, Y/n gave a short speech thanking all the candidates and promising George her willingness to build a good and prosper alliance.

During her turn to speak, Y/n couldn’t look at Matty. Although, she felt his sight on her. Y/n would’ve to live with the pain weighing in her heart. 

Matty understood right away why Y/n chose George, but it hurt him deeply. Sir Matthew felt his heart settle down for Y/n since the moment he saw her standing, listening to boring men without a single grimace of annoyance. He admired her and felt very fond of Y/n. 

Healy decided that no matter what he wouldn’t run away like a wounded animal. He would be close to her and help in everything he could, or she asked him. 

Matty wasn’t ready to walk away, so he decided to turn all his love and caring to Victoria who was obviously whiling to accept whatever he offered. He proposed to her right away after Y/n’s engagement and Victoria accepted without skipping a beat. Since their father was gone, Matthew had to ask Y/n for Victoria’s hand, and he would never forget the pain on her face when she muttered her approval. 

It was so frustrating for both of them because they only had the chance to properly talk only once, and they never shared a proper kiss, but the love was there. Matty and Y/n could feel it, even though they’ll never tell anyone…or the other. They weren’t selfish people. He was sure of it. Both of them knew that it was a better option for everyone.

****

Even though the day of the ceremony something itched him thinking about what he was going to witness, what the whole kingdom would. The ceremony would declare Y/n and Harrison as a married couple, as the new rulers, Queen and King. Matthew’s heart felt heavy. 

During the morning of Y/n’s wedding, Matty felt the need to find Y/n and tell her about his feelings, or do something. He didn’t want to live his life letting this opportunity slip through his fingers.

He ran around the castle looking for her. Matty thought numerous people would be surrounding her although to his surprise, two guards await at her door and not a single sound could be heard. Even the clicking of his shoes was louder than anything else.

“I wish to see Princess Y/n.” he told the guard.

“You’ll have to wait for after the ceremony, she didn’t want to see anyone.”

“I need to speak to her.” he urged the guard.

“Sir, please.” the other one alerted him.

In the middle, one of her personal stylists opened the door and Matty took the opportunity running inside. The guards followed him, stumbling till the three men stood in front of the future queen.

Quickly the guards rearranged their posture and the senior one started talking, “We’re deeply sorry to interrupt this way, Princess Y/n. Your brother-in-law…” he continued, making her heart sank. “We warned him you didn’t want to see anyone.“

“It’s fine. Leave us alone.”

“But Princess- “

“Leave us alone! It’s an order!” she half shouted. The guards obeyed and until the door made a noise letting Y/n and Matty know they were in fact alone, they just stared into each other’s eyes.

“What do you need, Sir Matthew?”

“Please, don’t do it!” he said directly.

“What are you talking about?”

“Please, don’t marry George!” he walked closer, but Y/n moved backwards.

“I don’t understand.”

“I know you do.” Thomas grabbed her hands carefully.

She warned him, “Matty- “

“Y/n, please.” he begged. “I know you, as well as me, felt it…” he leaned forward and touched her forehead with his.

“Please don’t do this now.” she closed her eyes, feeling pain and happiness having him so close to her. “You have Victoria, and I have Harrison now…You’ll be happy.”

“Every time I tried to convince myself of that I instantly think that I’ll be miserable for the rest of my life without you.”

“You have me forever.” she stated low. “You have my heart, although you know this is better for everyone.”

“Think of me. Think of you. Us. What we want…not what is best for- “

“I have to- “

“Screw that!” he startled her with his high tone, leaning slight backwards.

“This it’s not easy for me either…” she looked down. Y/n was as hurt as he felt. Matty took her chin, making her look up.

“My angel…” he whispered, making Y/n sob quietly. “Shh, shh, don’t.” he cleaned her tears. “I love you.”

“Matty” she looked up to his eyes. She saw the love for her.

“I love you, I’ll never stop but… I do understand that’s why I’ll leave my selfish heart here when I leave. I’ll marry your sister, watch you marry another man…and no matter what I’ll be close to you because I can’t live without you in my life, my eternal love. We’ll be close…because you’re my moon, and I’m the stars. I’ll be by your side watching you become the best Queen this twisted world would ever have the privilege to have. I’ll be close, supporting you…but I’ll love you from afar…I’ll love you till my last breath, Y/n.” Matty leaned forward, catching her lips on a slow kiss. 

The kiss was bittersweet. They shared in that simple but meaningful act all the love and care, as well the pain and frustration they felt.

“Please go.” she said, closing her eyes while crying.

“Of course, my Queen.” Matty reluctantly walked backwards. 

“I’m not- “

“You’re…for me.” he smiled at Y/n.

Y/n watched Matty walked around her room going directly to the double door. She had her heart in her hand at the same time she held the tears from falling.

“Matty!” she exclaimed, desperately. He didn’t turn around completely, he gave her a side look.

“Yes?”

“I- “she tried to say it.

After a couple of seconds in silence, Matthew asked. “Yes, my Queen?”

“I lo- Damn it!” she exclaimed, and he chuckled a little, turning around fully.

“I know, my love. I know.” he gifted her a sweet smile and then he left for good.

…………………………………………….

After the ceremony, the newly-wed couple step outside on the balcony, greeting the people that happily cheered for them. Some of them cried, some laughed, even though the entire kingdom was alive again in spirit. 

Y/n turned around making her sight land on Matty.

No matter how much the people, her people, would be happy for her and her new husband she would never felt the same as them. The only reassurance was thinking Matthew would be there, by her side, forever. Their love would last until their last breath and beyond.

[the-musings-of-a-manga-reader]

Sensitive Boy

TW: Rape/SA, PTSD

Sensitive Boy is a newer series delving into a bit of a taboo subject. The MC was raped in middle school by a female teacher. There is a certain stigma around this subject as some people think it’s not possible for a male to be raped by a female. Tho of course it does happen, it’s just not something that people really talk about or gets portrayed much in media.

As mentioned the MC of this series, Kaede, was raped by a female teacher in middle school before the start of the series. As a result, he has PTSD from the incident, having panic attacks revolving around females in certain situations. Such as when a girl accidentally fell on top of him. On the other hand, we have Tsubasa, a love interest, who is a romantic at heart and dreams of having a relationship like those in the shojo manga she read. Of course, those idealized romances don’t usually play out in real life. 

Kaede's first attempt to tell her about the incident in his past didn’t go well as the Tsubasa mistook it as just groping. But in a recent chapter, she realizes she misunderstood the situation and asks him what really happened, to which he explained everything.

I’m interested to see how Tsubasa handles this because she has such an innocent idealized view of romance. So far it’s not looking good, as she seems to find herself sick by this, focusing on the fact that he’s had sex (even tho it was non-consensual). Tho we also see that she’s having an internal debate about this. She’s disgusted that he’s not “innocent” but at the same time, she keeps reminding herself that it wasn’t his choice. I’m curious to see how this goes, will she be able to continue with this relationship? Or will she end things? 

Spoilers for the most recent chapter, ch. 16. 

This is a hard chapter to read. We see Tsubasa let out everything in front of Kaede. Telling him how she doesn’t know how to handle all this and asking could him if he really could have been raped by a female. Why didn’t he just fight back? Personally, this part made me pissed, he told her everything and then she has the nerve to question him if it really happened. I don’t think she and Kaede are a good match. She is far too innocent and filled with too many ideal fantasies to be with him. He deserves someone better. After she asks him if it was really against his will we see Kaede tell her to stop and says she doesn’t understand since she didn’t experience it. He breaks down apologizing for everything, crying and Tsubasa runs off leaving him alone. 

The sad thing about this situation is that people truly do think that. There is a misconception people have that men can’t be raped by women.  And in my opinion, it doesn’t help that we don’t talk about this topic much. We see plenty of media dealing with a female being raped by a male but almost never the other way around. I think this is why this series is important, it brings up this topic that people don’t want to talk about.

All Kaede wants to do is live a "normal" life. He wants a girlfriend, he wants to be like the guys his age and date, but it's not that easy for him sadly. As much as he wants a gf, his trauma isn't going to make it easy for him.

(Screenshots are from fan scans via Tanzanite Scans)

[unkwn0s]

Rebirth of a Star General

And i'm back with more chapters, they are starting to release content from the drama so it feels closer.

Chapters 101-120.

So far we have seen a bit of how He Yan's life was, Xiao Jue discovered she is a woman and now they second chance really starts. I think the chapters ahead are some of my favorites bc we are also introduced to Lin Shuanghe (sadly his character gor cut in the drama adaptation and aparently Song Taotao and Cheng Lisu will represent his role.

Quote Chapter 101: “It’s special because… I know the Commander has a small red birthmark about an inch above your waist.”  SHE SAW EVERYTHING OMFG

Quote Chapter 102: "He Yan wondered absentmindedly if there was anyone who would shed tears for her death. Someone who would remember her in private moments, sympathize with her, and grieve for what she had suffered. Her family in her previous life had sent her to the underworld with their own hands and even used her in death. But had there ever been a moment when they truly cared for her?"

Quote Chapter 102: "Xiao Jue said, looking into the distance. It seemed that through the branches in the courtyard, he could see something else. His expression was calm, his tone indifferent, but within that indifference, there was a subtle and imperceptible sense of compassion. He said, “These women had no choice in life, like caged birds and fish in a pond. Burying them here, I hope they will be free to ride the wind and be proud and call the mountains and lakes in their next lives.”

In this novel in general we get to see the cruelty humans can reach. QSCK makes sure to highlight womens suffering by the hands of the men which is nothing more than reality, that is the scariest and saddest part.

Quote Chapter 103:

He Yan replied with a smile, “I’m so outstanding, and everyone in Liangzhou Garrison knows me. Suddenly discovering that I’m a woman, they’ll find it hard to believe. They might wonder why a woman is in the military camp, so I can only say that it’s because Commander deeply loves me and can’t bear to be separated from me. He’s hidden me in the military camp, even bringing me along to Liangzhou garrison. When others hear this, they’ll envy my good luck and, of course, admire the Commander’s deep affection.”

Xiao Jue, hearing this, couldn’t help but smile, “Shameless!” (WE SCREAM CHAPTER 200 WE WILL GET TO YOU).

Chapter 105: THE DAMN HOT SPRING LMFAAOOOOOO. This scene will be in the drama

Quote Chapter 105: “I didn’t know they were bringing me to the hot spring!” He Yan was furious. “At this rate, I’ll have to fight them off to escape.”“Oh,” Xiao Jue nodded with interest. “In that case, go ahead and fight.”He turned to leave, and He Yan gritted her teeth. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll reveal the red mole around your waist?” In the end, she felt that her threat was weak, and Xiao Jue was not genuinely threatened by it." HE YAN THREATENING HIM W THE RED MOLE ON HIS WAIST IS SO FUNNY @&*$$&@*

In the next chapters Xiao Jue goes on a trip and He Yan is left alone to deal w a spy on the camp. i love how shr immediately knew there was something wrong with him. Also Shen Muxue, we will see ahead her reap intentions and while i don't think she was entirely evil i think the drama adaptation will make her way worse 😭.

Quote Chapter 111: “Sure,” Wala sneered. “But are you sure you don’t want to switch to a sword or a blade? A whip won’t kill anyone.”

The young man’s lips curved slightly. “To kill you, this will be enough.” YAN YAN SO FCKING COOL.

Quote Chapter 112: "However, he directed his words to He Yan, his tone as mocking as ever, “Why is it that every time I meet you, you manage to make yourself so miserable?” 

She chuckled softly and said, “Maybe it’s because every time, I know you’ll come to save me.” WHAT THE FUCJCJFFJUFJFJF

In the following chapters we also see a bit of Xiao Jue's past when his parents died and he took over the General position, it is honestly sad and helps to understand his character a bit more too.

Chapter 118: "Xiao Jue turned away, leaned slightly forward, and looked down at her, a faint smile playing on his lips. “Miss He is quite knowledgeable in military strategy. It’s a pity not to become a general.”

Xiao Jue had good judgment in this regard. He Yan nodded and said, “I also feel that way. I believe I’m naturally suited to be a general. Sometimes, I even think that I was a female general in my past life.”

Xiao Jue: “…..”

“You don’t believe it?” He Yan poked a hole in the snow with her stick. “Or do you think that women shouldn’t be generals?” 

“I don’t think that way.” 

He Yan raised her head to look at him. The world believed that women should stay in their chambers, doing embroidery and waiting for their husband’s favor. It was rare for women to become generals or even engage in public activities. Those who dared to step forward faced the judgmental eyes of others. 

“Anything you want to do, you can do,” the young man said lazily, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Just do it if you can.” SCREAMING CRYUNG THROWING UPPPPPPPPP.

Chu Zhao is officially introduced in this chapter although we saw him in the early chapters. In the novel he does pose some threat to Xiao Jue but in the drama by the stills ive seen so far (June 2024) it will be WAY worse. JEALOUS XIAO JUE TEHEHEHEHE

Quote Chapter 120: "Seeing that Xiao Jue remained unfazed, Lin Shuanghe continued from another angle. “On a personal level, how could you let your girl go to drink with another man?”

Xiao Jue paused in his actions, raised his head, and gave Lin Shuanghe a cold look. “Who told you she’s mine?”

Drunk He Yan (again), jealous a Xiao Jue, the damn jade pendant. A lot to unpack in the next chapters. (If you can't tell i truly love this novel).

[sunshinelulusplatoon]

4 months ago:

Lilia.

At first she was confused.

Then tears seeing Orca again.

And then questions.

She was surprised to hear life had continued on Earth and that we had advanced so far to be able to reach here.

We were surprised to hear what happen to the humans.

Typical really; at least for me.

Population growth, different opinions that broke out into civil war, Obo got the idea to turn everybody into robots to protect the survivors of the depleting oxygen levels as the atmosphere they once created to let them live was now dying due to their actions.

Yet people put their fate into Obo and his terrible thirst for control let them all down a grim path. Stuck in a cruel hive mind, any left who had converted to wires and steel were being hunted down by Obo’s men.

And sadly, they got to the last of them.

As Lilia gave their graves blessings in hope for a peaceful afterlife, there was business still attend to.

Obo was building a rocket.

He wanted the hive mind to head back to Earth.

With the threat looming over us, we had no choice.

Target: heart of the colony to destroy Obo.

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

“I’m so surprised the ink is effective,” Lilia remarked in complete shock as the squidbeaks were taking soldiers down one by one.

“Squid Ink is a funny thing. Texture and Strength makes it quite stronger than typical bullets and seeing the change of the atmosphere here and from Earth after so long, typical metal composite won’t stand a chance to it. It’s just get int the systems and gunk things up before it breaks,” Lutarna explained.

“And we Squidbeaks are quite use to combat,” Joey boasted.

“Our grandfather is military trained. So us, Joey, and Lutarna’s sister have been trained under him,” Marie explained.

“I’m from Octarian military as well. I was a top solider under King Octavio and have position in the palace guard,” Pixie replied.

“Octavio is my sister and I’s grandfather and we are also combat trained,” Lutarna remarked.

“And I..um..have been trained a little under my friends...I’m a good shooter,” Marcy hesitated.

“Marcy’s one of the best charger users I’ve seen. Can hit a mark miles away,” Joey chuckled.

Marcy just blushed in embarrassment.

“My mother and aunt have trained me as well as my grandfathers and cousins,” Jr. replied.

“So one big unit. Impressive. I hit the jackpot with sending out my help signal,” Lilia replied in relief, “I know we can stop Obo. We must. He can’t reach Earth.”

“And he won’t. We won’t let him. Right?” Joey replied sternly.

“RIGHT!” the rest of the Squidbeaks replied.

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

Lilia giving us the floor plans of the colony, it wasn’t safe just walking in. We needed to take a back route. Sending in a squid drone, a project Joey asked me to work on, it went unnoticed as we got footage of the place; so low to the ground the robots couldn’t spot it.

Sure enough, although a long wrap around, we could easily take the back corridors and access the rail systems to go directly to Obo without being detected. We just had to be careful, sneak around, knock solders out to let Lilia through, and once there, deal with Obo.

Over the years in secret, Lilia had been devising a virus to inject into Obo’s main motherboard to destroy him and destroy the hive mind. The attack we had found her and the humans in, was an attempt to get to Obo to execute this virus into him.

So with getting all supplies we need, we made way on foot to the entrance of the corridors to make our journey.

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

“You hear it...don’t you,” Lilia whispered as she noticed Lutarna tugging at her ears in annoyance.

Lutarna blinked; a look of confusion before sighing.

“Is it what I think I’m hearing?” Lutarna asked.

“I’m afraid so…..Their pain...crying out for freedom...sadly on a frequency most can’t heard,” Lilia sighed.

“….I’m glad they can’t hear it….” Lutarna replied.

“May I ask how?” Lilia questioned.

Lutarna looked at her for a moment before speaking.

“Head’s not all squishy,” Lutarna replied.

“I can tell from the phone pieces,” Lilia chuckled.

“Was once a phone,” Lutarna explained, “The became a octo.”

“I see….” Lilia replied.

Then the walk went silent again.

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

Taking a rest, things have been quite so far. As we figured, Obo has abandoned this pathways. With humans practically gone, he feels no need to bring robots here. I have a feeling he has caught on to our presence yet either.

That being said, I’m not sure if Lilia has caught on to what I am yet.

Or if I should even tell her.

[sullustangin]

Fluffy February Day 5: Amber

Rating: PG

Fandom: SWTOR

Time: In between KotET and Iokath

Pairing:  none

Word count: 1323

~~

“The inscription identifies the original owner and crafter of the piece.  The kyber crystal utilized here is a unique color choice.  The age of the hilt combined with the exceptional crystal leads me to one conclusion.  This is not a forgery.” Talos Drellik took an unsteady breath inward.  “Yes, I do believe that this is Tulak Hord’s lightsaber, pending its activation.”  

“Last known owner: Darth Marr,” Lana Beniko added sadly.   Then she brightened up, a little.  “It is good to see it again.  Like an old friend.”

Captain Eva Corolastor nodded, a smile forming, then tapering away.  The sequence of events made sense, all these years later.  There was some relief in knowing that it was safe, not lost at all.

The three of them had known and admired Darth Marr while he was alive; Talos wasn’t sure if the word was ‘admiration’ from Eva’s point of view, but she and Marr seemed to have an acute understanding of the other.

And then…

There was Arcann, who was helping to oversee the liquidation of the Eternal Empire’s ill-gotten gains. Of the four, Eva and Arcann had been in the room when Marr met his end…and they had been on very different sides at the time.

Now the former Eternal Emperor stood quietly, like a man in the dock, waiting to be judged yet again.

“Figured this is what happened to it,” Eva said quietly.  “He had to have both my blaster and Marr’s lightsaber on him, depending on who was ultimately going to make the killing hit.”

Talos saw Arcann’s throat bob, nervously.  She didn’t say his name.  

When Arcann said, “The construction of the artifact is superior.  I remember being fascinated by it,” he reached to pick up the lightsaber.

“Don’t even think about it.” Eva’s voice came coolly, the ice belying the anger Talos could already see simmering.  “You’re not worthy of it.”  

Arcann stopped his hand, immediately, and withdrew it.  He was more than adequately chastised and stung by her words.  However, he still had his tongue in his head, and he was wise enough to compliment the piece.  “Such wonderful objects are made to be used and passed on.  Do you know if Darth Marr had any heirs?”  

“Ramesses.”  Talos and Eva said in one voice.  Then, disparately, yet still together. “Have you heard—”  “Do you know –“  Then “What of Fria –?”  “Halfsand might, if she –”

Eva rapped on the table in frustration.  “So many dead.  So many missing.  So many in hiding.”

Arcann bowed his head. “That is my fault.”

“Yes, it is,” Eva confirmed, not looking at him.  Then she turned to Lana.  “Fire it up?”

Lana nodded, reaching for the saber.  With a careful grip, her fingers and palms trying to align with the grooves worn into the hilt over the decades, Lana activated the lightsaber.

The amber blade hummed to life, as brilliant as Talos remembered it.  In the sea of Sith red and purple, Jedi blue and green, Marr’s personal weapon stood out among them all.  Objectively, it was beautiful.  

Lana held the hilt carefully for half a minute before she deactivated the blade.  “It is uncomfortable to wield, in more ways than one,” she said to Eva.  Then to Talos:  “Is the museum on Dromund Kaas able to hold this?  And keep it, mind you?  Many would give a great deal to have this trophy.”

Talos sighed longingly at the lightsaber.  “As much as it does belong in a museum, no, I think we’d be tempting fate if we were to take it there, at this time.  Too much clamoring to be at the top of Sith society, too many aspirations to be on the Dark Council.”  

Lana laid the lightsaber back in its case and closed it, then handed it off to Eva.  It would remain on Odessen, the silent consensus.

“Thanks, Talos.  Catch you at Dr. O’s at 1600?” Eva tossed the invitation over her shoulder as she headed toward the vaults of Odessen to store the lightsaber of two powerful men.  

“Yes, I’ll be along.” And with his words, Eva and Lana walked out of the room together.  As they moved down the hall, Talos saw the two women bow they heads in toward each other to speak.

Talos gathered his datapads and his holocam.  He had documented the hilt and its disposition thoroughly.  

Then a voice.  “I would like to make this right.  Can you help me find him?  The one they call Ramesses?”

Talos startled slightly to find Arcann still there.

…he had a tendency to do that.  Despite the stark white garments and the large, imposing frame, Arcann had the knack of being able to disappear into the walls of Odessen… probably because many wished he simply was not there.  

“You do know people would hide him, just because you are the seeker.”

Arcann nodded, frowning deeply.  “Yes. And I know you have no reason to help me.  But… I see more clearly than I did when Darkness consumed me.”  He looked down at his hands.

Everything Kallig had been to Talos ran through his mind, like a holofilm on fast-forward.  “…do you have any friends here on Odessen? Those that might be able to help us?”

Arcann nodded.  “Koth plays multi-dimensional chess with me.”

Oh, what a simple definition of friendship.  

~~

Some months later, the storage container was retrieved from the vaults by Lana Beniko.  She brought it, as ordered, to the war room on Odessen.

Standing seven feet tall, his skin a brilliant red, and shockingly soft-spoken, Lord Ramesses of Bergeren bowed deep and low as she entered the room.  That visibly threw Beniko slightly, even as she deposited the box on the table.

Talos had told him that’s how ‘the boy’ had been on Yavin 4.

It was Ramesses, Marr’s last apprentice, who opened the case.  He gazed upon the large, heavy hilt as Talos gave him a historical briefing on the item. Ramesses nodded along; from what Talos had said, he had been the object’s caretaker on Marr’s behalf when he wasn’t using it in combat.  

Then the moment of truth came.  Ramesses picked up the large hilt with far more ease than Beniko had, and he ignited the blade.

The amber of the blade matched the amber of his eyes.  The hilt seemed to fit easily in his hand.

Yes, Arcann decided, this was the rightful owner. Another thing put to right, something else yanked out of the Darkness he had brought to the galaxy.  

This… reunion… felt more true to his nature than what he had done before.

Once the lightsaber was deactivated and holstered by Ramesses, the Sith had turned to the Captain for her approval. (Arcann knew what that was like.)  She affirmed the obvious: it was his, and welcome to the Alliance – a firm hearty handshake ensued, then an invitation to the next pazaak night the cantina had.

As everyone started to file out, Arcann caught Eva’s eyes for a second, the kindness she’d extended to Ramesses still there.  “Good work.”

He heard the words, and for a split second, he had all the warmth in the universe.

Even after she had gone, with Agent Shan and his hand at the small of her back, Arcann lingered in the happy feeling.  Not just her approval, but the sensation of righting wrongs, untying all the ugly knots he’d made in the ties of the galaxy, and defying fate and destiny.  

During their war, Eva had spoken out against any fate that was shoved upon her.  Arcann agreed with her, but for wholly wrong reasons.

She was still right. He still agreed with her, but not out of pride or ego.  Arcann despised the concept of destiny, because by his birth, raising, and actions until he was 25, his destiny had always been Darkness.  

And now it wasn’t.  

He could do so much more in the galaxy than that.

~~

@fluffyfebruary

~~

@ermingarden @starlightcleric @the-sith-in-the-sky-with-diamond @bluephoenix1347 @ayresis

~~

Arcann peoples who kindly responded to my page about their boy:  @sheyshen @haledamage​ @queen-scribbles​ @valleyofthemachinegods​ @swtorramblings​ @sarpndo​  -- thank you!! 

[trans-elrond]

THE TERRORRR PLS PLS PLS, also his dark materials 👀👀

omg YES! so the problem with me talking about the terror is that most of the cast is Indistinguishable White Man to me but i do know crozier is played by jared harris and hickey... oh god is his name actually hickey has anyone made the obvious joke yet...??? is played by the guy who was also in gunpowder milkshake (terrible film but i love michelle yeoh and karen gillan so of course i watched it.) and paul ready and ciaran hinds are there too. lots of guys. i’m sure i’m missing a lot. anyway. white men! tumblr lesbians seem to love these white men!

ANYWAY it’s based on the doomed antarctic expedition of, i wanna say the mid to late 1800s, but it adds the element of Giant Fucking Monster to the whole shebang which i think is really sexy. i’m 99% sure the show features cannibalism and mutiny and freezing to fucking death, which i think is super sexy of them all. despite the tumblr fame of this show i have not seen a single episode. mostly because it would be sad to watch it alone, i wanna hoot and holler at these objectifyable men with someone who Gets It, you know? also because i’m a wimp and i need someone to hold my hand :3 i think there’s also an Indigenous woman who shows up but i really don’t know the plot beyond “oh no we’re trapped in the ice boys we’re gonna have to take drastic measures to survive!11!!!” and then they all die. all i know about the characters is that hickey is a jerk and everyone thinks crozier is hot. that is all.

as for his dark materials, i LOVE the lead actress from logan and the actor from the (very bad show but he was great) letter for the king. we also stan whatshername the adult female lead who played cathy in wuthering heights and the lead in true things (2021) what iS her name this is going to haunt me forever. i think lin manuel is also in it? with his polar bear??

and i know the concept of daemons and vaguely that some magical Dust is important, also that james macavoy and cathy from wuthering heights OH HER NAME IS RUTH WILSON YAYYYYY my brain has not failed me--anyway they’re the protagonist’s parents but also fighting each other??? and i know philip pullman was writing these as retorts to CS Lewis’s Narnia/Christianity as a whole so it’s a takedown of Christianity as an institution and canonically lesbian Mary Malone was a big deal because she wasn’t canonically gay in the books? she has something to do with the biblical Garden and man’s fall and how important individual choice is??

i also know that it ends sadly for lyra and will and they’re separated forever :( and i’ve definitely read the tumblr post book excerpt about lyra not being able to use the altheiometer (i am definitely spelling that wrong) anymore at the end but having to learn from scratch. anyway it would absolutely destroy me if i ever chose to watch this show but heyy what’s fiction for if not ripping my heart out!!!!

[eris-abomination]

Very random PSA, but this is an extremely important topic and I hope this will reach someone who needs it. Please consider reblogging.

From a survivor’s perspective:

Wtf do I do if my friend is stuck in an abusive relationship?

1. Know your limitations. Unless you’re professionally qualified to intervene, don’t expect to single-handedly bail someone out of a dangerous situation. You’re not going to be able to do everything, but doing what you can will still help. Look into local shelters, organizations, or mandated reporters at your school or workplace who can pick up where you leave off. Keep safety in mind and do not do anything that will further endanger you or your friend.

2. Ask for consent. Sadly, you can’t help somebody who doesn’t feel comfortable or safe accepting help. Make sure you clear everything with your friend in a safe, private environment before proceeding; forcing help onto a person unexpectedly can run the risk of making the situation worse if they’re unprepared.

3. Be respectful and compassionate. Allow your friend to speak uninterrupted. Don’t preach to them, use emotionally-charged language, or blame/invalidate their experience. Open the conversation in a neutral, non-accusatory way: “You haven’t been acting like yourself, is everything alright?” or “I saw what you’re going through and I want to help you, do I have your permission to?” Discard any biases or stereotypes you may have: men can be abused, women can be abusers, abuse can happen in queer relationships too, and it doesn’t always involve physical violence.

4. Keep it confidential. Keep all planning and discussion confined to a safe place where your friend feels comfortable and can speak without fear of being caught. Do not call or text your friend about the situation if they could be in the presence of the abuser, especially if they live in the same home. Limit conversations to in-person settings and, if it’s safe to do so, try to help your friend stay out of the abusive setting as much as they can. If your friend is looking online for resources, ensure that they know how to wipe their search history. Staying confidential does not mean you’re alone though; therapists, specialists, and mandated reporters will keep these situations confidential until it’s safe to bring external help in.

5. Create a safety plan. Some websites have safety plan templates you can fill out to ensure your friend is prepared to take action. It’s good to consider and plan out transportation, accommodations (and whether they’ll be temporary or long-term), a list of contacts, what essentials they’ll be bringing along, when they’ll be leaving, who they’ll be following up with afterward, and whether or not they have evidence that can be presented in a hypothetical legal case. Be sure to have your friend’s personal information on hand in case of an emergency situation.

6. Follow up. Once your friend is in a safer environment, check in on them. Help guide them to resources that can help them long-term and let them know you’re there for them. Be sympathetic and affirm them in their choices.

7. Don’t neglect yourself. Helping a friend escape an abuser can be scary and mentally taxing. Be sure to give yourself breaks and take time to do things that make you feel happy and calm. Taking time for yourself does not mean you care any less about your friend’s situation; you need to be in a stable state of mind and be strong for them, and this can’t happen if you’ve pushed yourself past the edge.

Please remember this is NOT a comprehensive list, it’s just a place to start. If you’re dealing with a situation, I highly recommend consulting the National Domestic Violence Hotline, Safe Connections, One Love Foundation, RespectMe, or similar organizations for more comprehensive and informed advice.

[dankusner]

Obama — Michelle

I want you to think about which presidential candidate could possibly care more about our reproductive health.

I just want to take a moment with this particular question, because there is so much that gets lost in the conversation about women’s reproductive rights.

I want the men in the arena to bear with me on this.

Because there’s more at stake than just protecting a woman’s choice to give birth.

Sadly, we as women and girls have not been socialized to talk openly about our reproductive health.

We’ve been taught instead to feel shame and to hide how our bodies work.

Some young girls enter puberty not knowing what to expect.

Too many of us suffer with severe cramps and nausea for several days every single month.

Then on the other end of the reproductive timeline, too many women my age have no idea what’s going on with our bodies as we battle through menopause and debilitating hot flashes and depression.

See, fellas, most of us women, we suck up our pain and deal with it alone.

We don’t share our experiences with anyone, not with our partners, our friends or even our doctors.

Look, a woman’s body is complicated business, y’all.

Yes, it brings life, and that’s a beautiful thing, but even when we are not bearing children, there is so much that can go wrong at any moment.

Every woman here knows what I’m talking about: an unexpected lump, an abnormal pap smear or mammogram, an infection, a blockage, all of which could be early signs of a variety of life-threatening cancers.

In those terrifying moments when something goes wrong, y’all, which will happen at some point to the vast majority of women in this country, let me tell you, it feels like the floor falls out from under us.

In those moments, all we have to rely on is our medical system.

In those dark moments, all we have to rely on is our faith in a higher power and the experience of doctors to get us the care we need in a timely manner.

Look, I don’t expect any man to fully grasp how vulnerable this makes us feel, to understand the complexities of our reproductive health experiences. In all honesty, most of us as women don’t fully understand the breadth and depth of our own reproductive lives.

That’s because our experiences are often neglected by science.

There’s a huge disparity in research funding for women’s health.

If you happen to look like me and report pain, you’re more likely to be ignored, even by your own doctors, studies show.

So let me take a minute to help folks, especially the men in our lives, get a better sense of what could happen if we keep dismantling parts of our reproductive care system piece by piece, as I fear Donald Trump will do.

I want folks to understand the chilling effect, not just on critical abortion care, but on the entirety of women’s health, all of it.

There are good reasons why so many women and physicians are horrified by what’s happened since Donald Trump’s justices overturned Roe v. Wade.

We’re seeing women scrambling across state lines to get the care they need.

Just this week, a major medical journal reported that after Roe was overturned, infant mortality in this country rose.

One woman spent 22 days in jail on murder charges after she miscarried in her own bathroom.

We are seeing doctors unsure if they can treat ectopic pregnancies, doctors being told that they can’t treat a woman until she becomes so close to death that only a “life of the mother” exception will allow them to act.

Just imagine the profound effects for all of us if Donald Trump wins the election.

In states that are already putting abortion bans into effect, his F.D.A. could further outlaw patchwork systems of telehealth appointments and mail-order pills, thereby eliminating the last remaining protections for women in those states.

He could take actions that effectively ban abortion nationwide, which would put all of us in danger, no matter what state we live in.

We will see more doctors hesitating or shying away from providing lifesaving treatments because they are worried about being arrested;

more medical students reconsidering even pursuing women’s health at all;

more clinics without enough doctors to meet demand, closing their doors, leaving untold numbers of women in communities throughout the country without a place to go for basic gynecological care, which in turn will leave millions of women at risk of undiagnosed medical issues like cervical and uterine cancers.

This is real.

Do you think Donald Trump is thinking about the consequences for the millions of women who will be living in medical deserts?

Does anyone think he has the emotional maturity and foresight to come up with a plan to protect us?

Y’all, we are teetering on the edge.

Even before these state bans, America was already lagging behind every other wealthy nation on measures like maternal mortality and paid leave.

We could be right back to the days before Roe, which many young people don’t even remember, the days when abortion wasn’t as safe as it is today, the days when the number of mothers of color dying in childbirth was higher.

So to the men who love us, let me just try to paint a picture of what it will feel like if America, the wealthiest nation on Earth, keeps revoking basic care from its women, and how it will affect every single woman in your life.

Your girlfriend could be the one in legal jeopardy if she needs a pill from out-of-state or overseas, or if she has to travel across state lines because the local clinic closed up.

Your wife and mother could be the ones at higher risk of dying from undiagnosed cervical cancer because they have no access to regular gynecological care.

Your daughter could be the one too terrified to call the doctor if she’s bleeding during an unexpected pregnancy.

Your niece could be the one miscarrying in her bathtub after the hospital turned her away.

This will not just affect women.

It will affect you and your sons.

The devastating consequences of teen pregnancies won’t just be borne by young girls, but also by the young men who are the fathers.

They, too, will have their dreams of going to college, their entire futures totally upended by an unwanted pregnancy.

If you and your partner are expecting a child, you’ll be right by her side at the checkups, terrified if her blood pressure is too high, or if there’s an issue with the placenta, or if the ultrasound shows that an embryo has implanted in the wrong place, and the doctors aren’t sure that they can intervene to keep her safe.

If your wife is shivering and bleeding on the operating room table during a routine delivery gone bad, her pressure dropping as she loses more and more blood or some unforeseen infection spreads and her doctors aren’t sure if they can act, you will be the one praying that it’s not too late.

You will be the one pleading for somebody, anybody, to do something.

Then there is the tragic but very real possibility that in the worst-case scenario, you just might be the one holding flowers at the funeral.

You might be the one left to raise your children alone.

See, these are just some of the ways women die during childbirth.

I don’t want to be a downer, y’all, but in many cases, there is no warning, and things can go bad very quickly.

When it happens, every second of hesitation or delay can lead to devastating outcomes.

I am asking you, from the core of my being, to take our lives seriously.

Please do not put our lives in the hands of politicians, mostly men, who have no clue or do not care about what we as women are going through, who don’t fully grasp the broad-reaching health implications that their misguided policies will have on our health outcomes.

The only people who have standing to make these decisions are women with the advice of their doctors.

We are the ones with the knowledge and experience to know what we need.

So please, please do not hand our fates over to the likes of Trump, who knows nothing about us, who has shown a deep contempt for us.

Because a vote for him is a vote against us, against our health, against our worth.

Let me tell you all to think that the men that we love could be either unaware or indifferent to our plight is simply heartbreaking.

It is a sad statement about our value as women in this world.

It is both a setback in our quest for equity and a huge blow to our country’s standing as a world leader on issues of women’s health and gender equity.

So fellas, before you cast your vote, ask yourselves:

What side of history do you want to be on?

Michelle Obama Had the Best Closing Argument of the Campaign

The former First Lady distilled what this election is really about.

On the last Saturday of October, Michelle Obama appeared in Kalamazoo, Michigan, and gave one of the most remarkable political speeches in memory.

It was expansive and nuanced, yet conveyed the most straightforward message imaginable, applicable not just to the presidential candidate she was supporting, but to the millions of people who will be voting in the 2024 election:

“I am asking you all, from the core of my being, to take our lives seriously,” she implored.

“Please, please do not hand our fates over to the likes of Trump, who knows nothing about us, who has shown deep contempt for us.

A vote for him is a vote against us. Against our health, against our worth.”

This is a question, she said, “about our value as women in this world.”

I hadn’t been watching Obama’s speech at the time.

I only knew she’d given it because of the blizzard of texts I began receiving from friends who were seeing the clips that immediately flooded social media.

It was one of those rare speeches that sends an electric shock down the spine of those who hear it, and a particularly invigorating one coming at the end of a short and scary sprint toward an existential electoral choice.

Most people I love are doing the things they need to be doing —writing letters, phone banking, canvassing, giving money to Jon Tester — yet are also working hard to not let themselves feel anything, because the intensity of those feelings might leave them paralyzed.

In recent weeks, I’ve developed a persistent pain at the bottom of my right rib cage that a doctor friend has suggested might be a diaphragm cramped by my recent failure to breathe normally.

Yet Obama’s words roused many to sensation, permitted us to inhale and exhale.

These words were more potent than the overpolled enunciations crafted by Democratic strategists, which have this fall rolled over airwaves like troubling theme weeks, built around Democracy, Freedom, Joy, Abortion, The Economy, and Liz Cheney.

In the days following the Kalamazoo rally, the Trump and Harris campaigns would offer more official closing messages:

Trump’s sprawling, ugly gathering at Madison Square Garden and Harris’s efficient and bright speech at the Ellipse, in which she reviewed her policy priorities, offered bipartisan warmth, and strove to offer a crisp contrast to the wrathful energies that led to the January 6 insurrection.

Obama’s address — which, at 40 minutes, was long for a stump speech by someone who is not the candidate — was the real gift:

the more vivid, deeply felt, blood-and-guts vision of what this election is about.

At its heart was the simplest and most heartbreaking of contentions — that women are people.

Two nights later, Trump’s dystopian open-mic night for Nazis would provide its own perfect distillation of the contemporary right’s project:

the dehumanization of vast categories of people.

Yes, there was the horrific joke, told by the villainously named Tony Hinchcliffe, about Puerto Rico being a floating island of garbage.

But also cracks about Latinos who “like to make babies” and “don’t pull out … they come inside, like they’re doing to our country,” and Black people who “carved watermelons” for Halloween, and Palestinians who are born violent rock throwers, and Jews who are cheap.

Trump’s friend David Rem called Kamala Harris “the Antichrist,” while Tucker Carlson referred to Harris as “a Samoan Malaysian low IQ” person.

Trump adviser Stephen Miller crowed that “America is for Americans,” echoing the mid-century German call nur für Deutsche, on which the eventual extermination of millions was predicated.

What is left in the face of this orgiastic festival of brutality and domination?

When the New York Times is directly calling Trump’s campaign racist and misogynist, and Trump’s former chief of staff is calling him a fascist, it can feel like most people have simply run out of words to convey the alarm they are feeling.

What Obama did in Kalamazoo was to come at it from another angle: emphasizing not the cruelty of the opponent, but the humanity of those whose bodies are on the line.

Democrats have long loved her speeches.

She is a passionate, motivating orator, who despite loathing politics has too often been named as the fantasy-football pick of electoral hobbyists who imagine her the sole, shiny answer to the question of what woman might be able to win the presidency.

But her speeches have also been constrained in a way that this one was not.

Back in 2008, at the historic convention at which Barack Obama accepted his nomination, Michelle gave a speech in which she presented herself as a sister, a wife, a daughter, and a mother, surely a corrective to racist caricatures of Black women as ornery and to the unwillingness to celebrate them as maternal ideals.

But the speech also forced her to blot out parts of her professional and intellectual identity, to present her powerful voice as exclusively in service to others, and therefore palatable to a nation discomfited by the meteoric ascent of a Black president and his dynamic partner.

In 2016, at the historic convention at which Barack’s successor, Hillary Clinton, would accept the nomination to be the first woman major-party presidential candidate, Michelle gave a speech in which the famous takeaway was “when they go low, we go high,” a pithy call to civility from powerful members of a party apparently unwilling to recognize that they had brought a dessert fork to a gunfight.

At the 2024 convention, at which Harris was nominated, Michelle gave a barn burner, exhorting people to “do something.”

In Kalamazoo, she was heeding her own advice, with oratory that was winding and complex, offering a view of women and their bodies miles away from the careful messaging around abortion that Democrats deployed for too long and have only recently begun to amend. Instead of characterizing women as satellites of men, she centered them as the moral concern around which our political choices should orbit.

She started with a plea to not “buy into the lie that we do not know who Kamala is or what she stands for,” noting that the media has two sets of standards for the two candidates on the ticket.

“We expect her to be intelligent and articulate, to have a clear set of policies, to never show too much anger, to prove time and time again that she belongs. But for Trump, we expect nothing at all, no understanding of policy, no ability to put together a coherent argument, no honesty, no decency, no morals.”

“So I hope you’ll forgive me,” Obama went on, “if I’m a little angry that we are indifferent to his erratic behavior, his obvious mental decline, his history as a convicted felon, a known slumlord, a predator found liable for sexual abuse. All of this, while we pick apart Kamala’s answers from interviews that he doesn’t even have the courage to do.”

Admitting she’s “a little angry” was a risky choice for Obama, who has long been caricatured and devalued as a stereotype of Angry Black Womanhood.

Indeed, coverage of her Kalamazoo speech quickly homed in on that single admission, featuring images of her with an aggrieved finger in the air.

But Obama had accounted for that response in her speech, lamenting that Harris had been unjustly asked to “never show too much anger.”

She also had an invitation to extend, without rancor, to “the men in the arena.”

She did not scold them, as her husband had a few weeks ago, when he told a roomful of Harris volunteers that he suspected that Black men were not voting for Harris because they didn’t want a woman president.

Instead, Michelle asked the guys “to bear with me on this” as she began to talk about women’s bodies, explaining that she didn’t blame anyone for not knowing much about the reality of having these bodies, since even women and girls “have been taught to feel shame and to hide how our bodies work.”

She explained out loud — and it is impossible to overemphasize how rarely this has been discussed in the context of a major political contest — that many women “suffer with severe cramps and nausea for days on end every single month.”

She added that “too many women my age have no idea what’s going on with our bodies as we battle through menopause and debilitating hot flashes and depression,” another utterance that has no precedent in a presidential context, in a country that devalues women and especially devalues older women.

In fact, the previous startling reference to menopause in this race came during an unearthed 2020 interview with J.D. Vance, in which he explained how his mother-in-law had become a primary caretaker for his newborn baby when his wife, Usha, had taken a high-powered clerkship. His interviewer had asserted that “the purpose of the postmenopausal female” was to raise grandchildren, a sentiment Vance had appeared to agree with.

But here was beautiful, brilliant, powerful Michelle Obama, identifying herself as a postmenopausal female who understood her function differently:

to expose the many risks posed to bodies by politicians like Trump and Vance.

Obama described the fear caused by “an unexpected lump, an abnormal Pap smear or mammogram,” noting that as OB/GYN care is decimated by the post-Dobbs legal regime, so is access to all kinds of testing and treatment.

“I don’t expect any man to fully grasp how vulnerable this makes us feel,” she continued.

“In all honesty, most of us as women don’t fully understand the breadth and depth of our own reproductive lives. That’s because our experiences are often neglected by science. There’s a huge disparity in research funding for women’s health. And if you happen to look like me and report pain, you are more likely to be ignored, even by your own doctors.”

Here Obama was laying out the racial and gendered exclusions in medicine, which for too long has not treated women’s bodies, and especially not Black women’s bodies, with the same seriousness it has applied to men’s bodies.

It was a metaphor for how our political system has excluded women, robbing them of their civil rights and their rights to bodily autonomy, which are really one and the same.

She laid out a picture of loss and pain and fear, urging men to see the women in their lives not as subsidiary beings, but as loved ones whose suffering would be devastating.

“Your girlfriend could be the one in legal jeopardy if she needs a pill from out of state or overseas,” Obama said.

“Your wife or mother could be the ones at higher risk of dying from undiagnosed cervical cancer. Your daughter could be the one too terrified to call the doctor if she’s bleeding during an unexpected pregnancy. Your niece could be the one miscarrying in her bathtub after the hospital turned her away.”

The bonds between men and women — both romantic and familial — are imperiled by the systemic devaluation and forced control of women’s bodies, Obama was arguing.

“This will not just affect women,” she said, “it will affect you and your sons”: men forced to become fathers too early, men whose futures are derailed, men who will fear for the lives of their partners and the well-being of the families they love.

“You’ll be the one pleading for somebody, anybody, to do something,” she said.

“You might be the one left to raise your children alone.”

Contra the claims that Obama was participating in a kind of misandry, it wasn’t just women whose humanity she was recognizing.

She was addressing men as people with hearts and emotions, as fathers and sons and lovers capable of grief.

That is its own refreshing frame on masculinity, especially in the same days in which Carlson had given a twisted speech about “daddy” Trump spanking “bad girl” Democrats; the MSG crowd had chanted “Tampon Tim” as Vance mocked Tim Walz; and North Carolina Republican gubernatorial candidate Mark Robinson’s spokesman had responded to Democrat Josh Stein’s call to “treat others with dignity and respect” by saying, “Shut up, you lying beta male.”

Obama reminded the crowd that Harris supported abortion rights “not because she’s a woman, but because she’s a decent human being,” a distinction that hits a nerve as we stand, once again, at the brink of electing a woman president for the first time in American history.

In Obama’s entreaties to recognize the existence and value of women’s (and men’s) lives, there were centuries of reverberations, stretching back to Sojourner Truth’s assertions that her pain was every bit as real as a white woman’s:

“I have borne thirteen children, and seen most all sold off to slavery, and when I cried out with my mother’s grief, none but Jesus heard me.”

There was the parallel with Hillary Clinton’s less emotional yet somehow still revolutionary point in 1995 that “human rights are women’s rights and women’s rights are human rights.”

And Ruth Bader Ginsburg’s blistering 2007 dissent in Gonzales v. Carhart, in which she spoke of a “woman’s autonomy to decide for herself her life’s course, and thus to enjoy equal citizenship stature.”

The need to endlessly reassert the humanity and civic existence of people who have not been counted as complete creatures of God or country feels so basic.

But everywhere we see that it remains a necessary point to make, such as when Trump’s running mate devalues “childless cat ladies” as “sociopathic,” or when the government attempts to police women’s bodies.

At Brett Kavanaugh’s 2018 Supreme Court confirmation hearings, Harris asked him, “Can you think of any laws that give government the power to make decisions about the male body?”

His answer was “no.”

Of course, calls to recognize the humanity of women might be heard as hollow or incomplete coming from a party that, even in these dire months, also has refused to treat certain categories of people as legible civic participants.

Michelle Obama was speaking, after all, on behalf of a candidate who has not offered Palestinians a voice, platform, or meaningful recognition of their suffering during her campaign.

Obama may have made oblique reference to this in her speech, speaking to the “disillusioned people out there upset with the slow pace of change,” assuring them that she gets it.

“We all know we have a lot more work to do in this country,” she said.

“But to anyone out there thinking about sitting out this election … your rage does not exist in a vacuum.

If we don’t get this election right, your wife, your daughter, your mother, we as women will become collateral damage to your rage.”

The bodies of Palestinian wives, daughters, and mothers are already collateral damage, and I can offer no exculpatory but, only a series of ands.

Tens of thousands have been killed in Gaza, and Madison Square Garden was full of people who would gleefully destroy more, while deporting, detaining, and denying health care and housing to millions here.

And this is the presidential choice on offer.

And the Harris campaign is the only chance to preserve access to the levers of dissent with which to continue the work of ensuring more people gain freedom, safety, and dignity.

The project of electing a woman — one imperfect woman — does not reverse the systemic exclusions of the past or in itself create a more just future.

Yet failing once again to elect one will cement a ghastly and exclusionary future, rooted deep in the erasure of millions.

This presidential election offers two options: one promises the obliteration of bodies and systems of democracy, packaged as cruel punch lines; the other begins with an aspirational recognition of shared humanity and our only chance to gain another day in which we can fight for better.