#the CBC is just on the other side of it

[sammaggs]

1x02 Diefenbaker’s Day Off // 3x01 Burning Down the House | Arrêt

My house could be burning down, you’re worried about a stop sign?

[feminist-space]

"Joy Spence, 21, said she visited emergency departments at two hospitals in St. John's over the course of nearly two weeks this May.

What began as weakness and abdominal pain on her right side quickly deteriorated into blacking out from the agony in her torso.

But no matter how dire her symptoms got, doctors kept sending her home.

"They would just tell me, 'Your bloodwork's normal, there's nothing we can do.' They would send me home, then same thing again," she said. "I would go back again. They would get me to do the bloodwork, say everything's normal."

Ultrasound and CT scans apparently turned up nothing, but Spence, in such severe pain, says she had no option but to keep returning to the hospital, where she says she was eventually left screaming in a waiting room, ignored by hospital staff.

"If somebody doesn't help me, I'm going to die," she recalls wailing, watching doctors and nurses pass her by.

At one point, she was dismissed outright by a walk-in clinic nurse, she adds.

"Somebody said to me, 'I don't know what you expect me to do,'" she said. "'You're a healthy 21-year-old young female.'"

One night, she says, her boyfriend had to help her into an ambulance. Spence was in so much pain she couldn't stay conscious and stand on her own.

"I remember the man in the ambulance telling me … how often he sees other young women going into the hospital and seeing them be misdiagnosed and not taken seriously," she said, speaking through tears.

"He said that he would do his best to … get things going for me."

Spence says she went to an ER at the Health Sciences Centre or St. Clare's Mercy Hospital about 10 times over a 12-day period, beginning on May 21. She also visited her family doctor, who could do little except tell her to speak directly to the surgeon at Health Sciences Centre, she said.

Each time she saw a doctor, she says, she was sent home and told to dance around her living room or do yoga to cure what physicians believed was anxiety or sluggish bowels.

"I had so many laxatives," Spence recalls. "I would tell them … nothing's even coming out anymore. It's not just this, I don't think. But no, they were dead set on the constipation and only constipation. Like, it can only be that."

...

Spence says doctors only began to take her seriously once she began vomiting in a Health Sciences Centre hallway. The contents of her stomach were green and black.

An older doctor walking past her happened to notice, stopping in his tracks. Spence says he immediately identified the issue as appendicitis.

At that doctor's urging, Spence was finally wheeled into an operating room, where she says her burst appendix — now gangrenous — was removed.

"I think when I walked into the room and they seen a 21-year-old young girl, they immediately dismissed me and thought that there couldn't be anything wrong with me," Spence said.

"I was not on their minds and not on their radar. And if they didn't have that preconceived idea of me, those thoughts wouldn't have been formed and maybe I would have gotten the proper care that I should have."

...

Spence is still struggling to recover from her ordeal. Physically, she's now fine: her appendix was removed and her stitches have healed.

But she's lost an alarming amount of weight, she says, wakes up gasping in the middle of the night and can't stop herself from crying whenever she remembers the hospital.

"I've been losing a lot of hair," she said. "Mentally, it's just been a struggle."

Spence only received an apology from the health authority after CBC News requested comment and confirmed that Spence had done an interview — a move she says felt hollow and frustrating, since the manager who called her didn't give her an explanation about why she was repeatedly ignored while waiting to be admitted.

The ripple effect from her illness, and how she says she was treated when seeking care, has uprooted her life. She's taken a year off her studies in Memorial University's social work program and has lost her job. She's looking for trauma therapy, but now doesn't have the money to pay for it, she says.

"I think as young women we're always told what we're supposed to do, how we're supposed to think, and not to trust our instincts," she said.

"But most of the time … the gut instinct is right. I knew I was sick. I knew what was happening wasn't right, and I could have died if I didn't keep going back to the hospital.

"If I had listened to those doctors and went back home — what could have really happened?""

[flemingology]

breaking point ─ jessie fleming x reader

in which: the stress concerning everything going on with the national team causes jessie to lash out at you

Warnings: little bit of angst, if you can even call it that? argument but they make up, fluff at the end :)

wc: 5.3K

a/n: based on these two requests! thought they were similar enough to be grouped together. really enjoyed writing this, it's quite a long one too. hope you enjoy! <3

You were just downing the rest of your morning coffee when you heard a notification come through on your phone. The clock read 8am, which meant it was 5pm in France. If you remembered correctly, Jessie had a tactical meeting from 4:30 to 5:30 so it couldn't be her. You made your way over to the couch where you left the device earlier. Your eyes widened upon seeing the headline from CBC News.

"BREAKING: Canada Women's National Team Coach Dismissed From Olympics Amid Drone Scandal"

Your jaw fell slack. You had heard a little something here and there from the spying case, but you didn't know it had gone this far. Jessie hadn't told you much about it either. Despite being in the leadership group now she tried as much as possible to put it next to her – focusing on the controlables; her football.

Being away from Jessie was hard. Your schedules clashed quite frequently; her being away for games or for camps, you being away for business trips with your company. You knew what the downsides were going to be about dating your Canadian, but you wouldn't change it for the world. On moments like this, though, when you knew Jessie was going to be put under enormous loads of stress, you'd much rather be by her side in France than on the other side of the world in Portland.

Jessie was adamant you stayed home. Going with her to France would've meant you giving up on one of your projects you'd worked on the last couple of months, and as much as Jessie would've loved to have you by her side throughout the tournament, she knew that this was important to you.

So here you were, back in your shared apartment in Portland, sat on the couch not knowing what to do. You went over the options in your mind. You could call her, but you didn't know if she was free right now. Texting her seemed a safer option, but maybe she would want to come to you with the news instead of you coming to her about it. So that's what you did, you spent your morning dancing between trying to get some chores done and checking back with your phone if you hadn't magically missed a notification in the last 30 seconds.

After what felt like ages, just as you were about to take a shower – you'd contemplated it for a good 20 minutes, because what if she called while you were in there –, your phone rang. You sprung up from the side of the bathtub and knocked your elbow against the wall in the process, silently cursing while crossing your bathroom in quick strides.

You grabbed your phone and headed back into your bedroom, accepting the call once you made sure it was your girlfriend who was calling. "Hi," you breathed out as you sat down on the edge of your bed. "Hey baby."

Jessie sounded tired, and you noticed how her voice wavered – despite the effort to conceal it. A silence fell over your conversation, neither of you knowing what to say nor how to tackle the subject at hand. "How are you feeling?"

You tried your luck with an easy question. As far as she knew, you could be talking about how she was feeling after Canada's game against New Zealand yesterday – which they won 2-1. You had stayed up to watch her game, the bags beneath your eyes more than worth it seen as your girlfriend helped Canada win their game with an assist and a great performance.

If she remained silent any longer, you would've thought she had hung up on you, but right on cue Jessie spoke up. "Okay. Could be better. It's been a rocky afternoon," you hummed, acknowledging what she said.

"Is there anything I can do for you?", you knew she would probably say no, but that was Jessie's way of coping. She toughened up, built her walls a little higher than they already were. You had worked really hard over the past three years of your relationship to meticulously tear them down – and most of the time she kept them down around you –, but not everyone was that lucky. Especially in moments like these, stressful situations, you expected her to bring them back up.

"I'm fine," she quipped back. It came out quite harsh, and it left you a little taken aback. You bit back a disappointing sigh. "I know you are, Jess. You're strong and I know you can handle these situations. But that doesn't mean that you can't talk about it," you knew you were starting to push her, but you also knew that if you didn't, she'd never talk about it and bottle it up until one time it'd explode. You'd been the dupe of that a handful of times, and you knew that you were better off pushing her to say something than letting it get to that stage.

"Babe, I said I'm fine," she paused but you felt like she had more to say, so you didn't counter her. Jessie took a deep breath before she continued. "I'm fine." You felt like she was leaving many things unspoken. Even though you didn't feel confident in what she said, you decided to leave it for now and enquire her about the rest of her day.

You sensed an end was coming to your conversation. A glance at the clock taught you that Jessie would probably have to hang up soon, because she told you earlier that she had a couple media appointments to attend to that evening. She hadn't told you what for, but it was more than clear what the reason was. Still, after 20 minutes of conversation, the subject hadn't been mentioned directly. As much as you felt like Jessie needed this break away from the whirlwind that it had been this afternoon, you felt like she was excluding you and it wasn't a nice feeling.

Just as you were going to say your goodbyes to each other, you interrupted her. "Jessie, wait. I know you'd rather not talk about it but I just want to reassure you that if you're ready, I'm here for you, okay?", there was no malice intent to what you said. As you told her, it was just about making sure your girlfriend knew you were there for her if she wanted to talk to you. And maybe, just maybe, you were hoping you could pull something out of her – but you'd never expected the response you got in return.

"Please, for the love of God, I'm fine!", you could sense the irritability in her voice and went quiet. Jessie rarely ever raised her voice at you, so her tone took you by surprise. "I've told you I'm fine plenty of times, what don't you understand? I don't want to talk about it and especially not with you. I called you to get it all off my mind and not talk about the bullshit that I've had to deal with here but clearly you can't even catch a hint. Honestly I don't even know why I bother with calling you anymore, if you can't even give me a break from my football."

Before you could muster up a response, you heard the sound of the call ending. You slowly retracted your phone from your ear, remaining seated on the edge of your bed for a little while before you came back to your senses. You had nothing but good intentions with the way you handled the situation, although you could acknowledge that maybe you pushed her a bit too far. That aside though, you didn't feel like you deserved her lashing out to you like that. You fought back the tears that were threatening to spill when you thought back about the way she snapped at you, so out of character and something she'd never done before. Sure, you two argued from time to time but it never ended up like this. You sighed deeply before pushing the call and what your girlfriend said to the back of your mind, finally hopping in the shower and hoping she would come back to you sooner rather than later.

–

Jessie let her body fall against her mattress after she ended the call. Deep down she knew you were full of good intentions but it hadn't done her any good that you pushed, and she snapped. She'd never snapped at you before, not in the way she did now. She'd raised her voice, not often, but that was something that occurred from time to time. But it was different now. Especially the way the call ended, it wasn't just something that would pass overnight.

She rubbed her hands over her face and stared up at the ceiling as she fought back tears. Out of frustration or sadness – she didn't know. What she did know, is that an argument with her girlfriend was the last thing she needed to be added to the pile of growing worries.

Jessie's watch read 6:03pm now, which meant that she had to go down for dinner soon. She grabbed her keycard and left her hotel room, taking the elevator down to the dining hall. She rehashed the conversation you were having merely 5 minutes ago in her head while the elevator took her downstairs, thinking about where it went wrong and why she snapped at her. Jessie's frustration settled rather quickly after the call and insecurity settled in, the realization hitting her that she probably overreacted.

The bell of the elevator pulled her out of her thoughts. She dragged herself towards the noise, mentally preparing herself to plaster a smile on her face for the next couple hours.

As much as she did her best to conceal how she was feeling inside, her inactivity and lack of participation in conversations around the table had grabbed some people's attention. Janine, especially, could tell that Jessie was acting off. She knew Jessie liked to take a walk after dinner, so when she set off, Janine followed suit a couple moments later.

She jogged up to her Canadian teammate who was trudging along the hotel perimeter. "Jess!", Jessie's head turned to the side upon hearing her name, offering Janine a tight-lipped smile when she joined her. "You okay, bud?", she threw an arm around Jessie who shrugged and looked down at her feet.

"My girlfriend and I had an argument earlier," Janine hummed, allowing Jessie the space to explain herself further. "And I think I'm the one that caused it.", Janine sucked in a breath through her teeth and squeezed Jessie's shoulder. "Dog house?"

She shrugged again, seemingly the only appropriate response she could come up with as she didn't speak further. "Wanna tell me what happened?", Janine tried. Jessie took a deep breath before she recited the whole story of what happened when you two were on the phone earlier, while taking a detour of the path she'd normally walk – allowing Janine and herself a bit more time to talk about what was going on.

"So yeah, that's where we are at right now. I sent her a quick message to check in after dinner but she's giving me the cold shoulder – I got left on read. And I don't know how to go about things now."

Before she replied anything, Janine couldn't stop the chuckle that escaped her lips. Jessie frowned and looked at her friend, confused as to what she found funny. "You're one of a kind, Jeff. Honestly. You've got a caring girlfriend that's on the other side of the world right now, and all she wants is to check in. She can't physically be with you so the only thing you can do right now is be emotionally available.", Janine grabbed Jessie's shoulders and halted them both, turning their bodies towards each other. "I know you don't like speaking about your feelings, but this is a serious matter, Jessie. This is not a silly subject, it's about your job. Our job. It's okay to be insecure, to be in your head, to be annoyed at the situation and to not know how the future is going to ensue. And it's more than okay to voice those feelings to someone – especially your partner. You've gotta let her in sometimes, okay? I know you're reserved but if anyone deserves to be opened up to, it's her."

Jessie closed her eyes and sighed, and Janine physically felt tension escape her shoulders as she still had her hands on them. "How about you fly her out here? Things like that are better talked about in person. If I remember correctly, the project she stayed home for was presented two days ago. Is her schedule free for the rest of the week?"

Jessie quickly checked your shared calendar on her phone and saw your free – granted nothing had been planned that you didn't put in the calendar yet. "Yeah, she should be. There's nothing in the calendar that she can't miss."

When she looked up her eyes found Janine's, who were full of concern. "Make it up to her, okay? Fly her out, talk to her about it. Maybe it'll give you a boost on the pitch too. We're all tackling this issue together, but it won't work if you get yourself into precarious situations like these. I know you love her, then show her too."

Jessie nodded, Janine's words convincing the Canadian midfielder to make things right with you.

-

From: Jess 🤍 "Hi baby, I checked the calendar and as far as I can tell you don't have any obligations at work anymore. I remember them telling you if you wanted to come to the Olympics for a couple days you could, so here's a plane ticket. It's for tomorrow and you would arrive in time for our game against France. I'd love for you to be there and have you with me again, and for us to have a chance to talk about things. Please?"

You had just woken up from a nap to Jessie's message. It was quite late in the evening in France now, way past Jessie's usual bedtime which confused you. She wasn't one to miss her 9 hours of sleep, especially not during tournaments.

You had ignored her previous message when she checking in with you a couple hours ago. You knew you were probably being unreasonable, but you wanted to let her know in one way or another that you weren't pleased with the way she handled the situation – didn't matter if she was under a big stress load or not.

You typed out a couple responses, none of them which seemed suitable to you. In the end, you settled on something relatively simple, yet would probably settle her worries around you a little.

From: You Thank you, I'll be there. Kick ass. ❤️

You finished up packing the next day around 10am and set off, your flight departing at 2pm which left you enough time to grab an Uber to the airport and be comfortably on time.

You arrived 2 and a half hours early, giving you enough time to check in and go through bag checks, making sure your gate exists before settling down on one of the free seats. You tried to kill some time by replying to some emails before you officially made an "Out of office"-announcement for a couple days.

The flight went reasonably smooth. Jessie got you a business class ticket – you always assured her there was no need –, because she 'only wanted the best for you'. You slept through most of the itinerary and when you woke up you let Jessie know you were almost there. The jet lag was something you'd have to deal with later, but all in all you were very excited to see your girlfriend. Argument aside, you'd not seen her for 4 weeks now and it was weighing down on you anyway – missing her embrace, her touch, her smell, her kisses.

You had booked a night at a hotel not far from where Canada would play France tomorrow, but far enough from Jessie's hotel to not be tempted to go over. The team didn't allow any visitors on the day before a match, and you knew Jessie wouldn't appreciate that either right now. Considering the energy between the two of you was still tense, meeting you now wouldn't be a joyful conversation for her, it would only add more stress to the load that was already on her shoulders and you wanted nothing less than to be an extra burden.

You spent your afternoon exploring the streets of Saint-Etienne, an adorable city where Jessie and her teammates would face France in Stade Geoffroy Guichard tomorrow. Soon enough the evening came and you ordered takeaway in your room, not feeling comfortable enough to go to a restaurant by yourself in an unknown country. You spent your evening scrolling through the French channels on tv, quickly realizing that the little French you taught yourself was way less useful than you thought it was. You fell asleep quite quickly after a long day of traveling.

-

Jessie woke up the next day feeling much better than before she went to bed, a whole lot of pressure off her shoulders ever since she knew you got to Saint-Etienne safe and well, and especially since she knew she was finally going to see you again tonight.

The usual matchday routine started for Jessie and her teammates, trying to dance around the ongoing scandal allegations and trying to manage the team without Bev in place. They prepared themselves as best as possible for the game and tried to put everything towards the back of their minds and focussed on the task at hand; trying to beat France in their second group match. The points may have been deducted, but that didn't mean they wouldn't go full on and leave it all out on the pitch. There was little chance, but it wasn't lost yet. And as long as there was opportunity, Jessie and her teammates would rise to the occasion.

Breakfast, mobility sessions, pre-match walk, it all went smoothly. Jessie had to refrain from texting you and asking what you were up to, but she knew that was a place she wouldn't come back from. She had always taken it upon her not to text you on matchdays, she liked her own bubble and as much as she wanted to break it for you on this occasion, she had something more important at hand tonight.

It was only on the short bus journey from the hotel where the Canadian team stayed at to the stadium when Jessie started to get nervous. She'd done incredibly well to keep all the nervosity at bay throughout the day, but reality came crashing down on her on the bus and she couldn't help but get a little anxious. It was the first time the Canadians would step onto the pitch since the scandal escalated. What would the reaction of the fans be? How will it be received? How will it feel to play against the home crowd? Jessie tried to ground herself by playing her pre-match playlist through her headphones instead of listening to the songs that were being played on the bus speaker.

Arriving at the stadium, it was easy for Jessie and the team to just go through the motions. Entering the changing room, getting changed into the warm-up gear, getting massaged or strapped by the physios, having an energy gel or drink – it was a routine that was engraved into their minds, no one in that room had to think twice about anything they were about to do. Some things came easy in football, and this was one of them. It's things like this that ground the team; the routines, things they could hold onto.

When coach called it was time for the team to go out for warm-ups, Jessie called the girls into a huddle in the changing room.

"Let's do this, yeah? We're up against the home team and their crowd today, it won't be easy. We might also be up against a whole lot more people seen what happened the past couple days. But that's not our focus right now. Let's go out there and show that we're pretty damn good footballers, yeah? I believe in us. In every single one of you. If you believe in yourself, we have one hell of a shot at turning this situation around. Canada on three. One, two, three..."

-

"... CANADA!", you only caught the back end of what the stadium speaker said, but you didn't care. Jessie had just scored the equalizer for her team in the 58th minute of the game, bringing the score back level and giving Canada a second chance of grabbing something from this game.

Jessie's mum engulfed you in a tight hug in means of celebrating her daughter's goal together. You high-fived her dad and her siblings, who were also in the family box watching the game.

You'd made it to the game just in time, Saint-Etienne traffic taking you by surprise as a quick Uber to the stadium turned into a 30-minute start and stop journey. You'd rushed to the family box, greeting Jessie's family before your eyes scanned the pitch looking for your freckled Canadian. Warm-ups were long done and the players were just about walking on the pitch, getting ready for the anthems. You noticed Jessie singing along, eyes closed while she took everything in. Your eyes stayed locked on her figure, waiting until she opened hers again. When the anthem finished, Jessie looked up to her family box and you couldn't miss the little grin that formed on her face when she saw you. You gave her a small wave which she reciprocated eagerly, then quickly falling back into captain's duties and getting ready for the game.

So now you were here. You were sure you didn't have any nails left, your leg bouncing up and down as the clock slowly but surely ticked further leaving the Canadians with little time to score a potential winner. The fourth official held up the board that said there would be thirteen minutes of extra time, a wave of excitement being heard from the stands from both sets of fans who believed their team could score a second goal.

Then, everything seemed to happen so quickly. Janine made a wonderful defensive move before passing a through ball to Adriana. She laid the ball of to Jordyn whose shot got saved, but the keeper had nothing against Vanessa's rebound. It felt like ages between the ball leaving her foot and the net rippling, but they had done it. They had scored in the 103rd minute and they successfully saved their Olympic group stage, giving them a chance at qualifying for the knock-out stages of the tournament.

You jumped up and down, no longer trying to fight back the tears that were threatening to spill across your cheeks. You found yourself once again engulfed in a hug, a big family hug this time. "They did it!", you screamed to Elysse. You could tell she was having a hard time to keep it dry too, endlessly proud of her sister and teammates.

Not long after, the whistle blew and the game was officially over. The Canadians made their way around the pitch making sure to thank as many fans as possible for having made the long trip from Canada to France. They took pictures, signed jerseys, gave away boots, until they found themselves in front of the family boxes.

They all started climbing up and over the barriers and made their way to their friends and families, as you took a step back from the group to allow Jessie to talk to her parents and siblings first. She got engulfed in many hugs, accepting the congratulations from many other people around her. As captain, she had led this team to a historic win and you couldn't be more proud of her. When conversation died down with her family she slowly retreated from that group and tentatively made her way over to you, a slight smile creeping on her face once you noticed her coming up to you. She stopped right in front of you, locking her eyes with yours.

"Is it okay if we talk about everything later, please? I missed you and I really, really want to kiss you right now."

You hummed in agreement and couldn't stop the bright smile from spreading across your face when Jessie closed the final couple steps of distance between the both of you and wrapped you in a tight embrace, digging her face into the crook of your neck. "I missed you so much," you could just about make out the words she mumbled against your skin and you pulled her impossibly tighter against you. "I missed you too, Jess. I'm so proud of you," she retreated her head from your neck and you cupped her cheeks, looking her in the eyes. "You've done incredibly well. What you did tonight is amazing. I couldn't be more proud."

You leaned in closer to her and waited for Jessie to cross the final bits of space before you finally pressed your lips against hers. You couldn't hold back the soft moan that escaped your throat upon the feeling, Jessie chuckling and digging her fingers into your waist. In this moment it felt like you'd never ever been apart, her lips slotting perfectly against yours and bodies moulding together. Jessie deepened the kiss as you started playing with the baby hairs at the back of her neck, a shiver going through her body when she felt the soft touch of your fingertips on the sensitive skin. Before you could get carried away, you broke the kiss with a teasing bite on her bottom lip, smiling ear to ear as you locked eyes again.

"Go get a shower, you must be cold. I'll wait for you up here," Jessie nodded and pressed another chaste kiss against your lips, savoring the feeling of being together again and having you at arm's length, rather than on the other side of the world with a 9 hour time difference.

Jessie emerged from the changing rooms about an hour later, caught up in conversation with some of her teammates when she entered the family box. Her parents and siblings had already left, their journey to their hotel quite a bit longer than yours. You were waiting for your girlfriend while sipping on a drink you'd ordered, when she dropped her washbag next to you and put her hands on your shoulders, towering over you as you were sat down.

"You wanna get going? We're allowed to have a visitor to stay the night the evening after matchday. I've not been able to make use of that yet, so I'd like to do so now," you grinned at your girlfriend and nodded your head, excited about the idea of sleeping in her arms again tonight.

The ride to the hotel went smooth. Jessie came with the team bus so you had to get a taxi back there, which caused a dent in Jessie's wallet but you both went with it. The ride was silent, and as much as you enjoyed being in your girlfriend's presence, you could feel the air shifting. It grew tense upon nearing the hotel, unspoken words hanging between the both of you as you knew you'd have to talk about things later. You grabbed Jessie's hand that was in her lap and pulled it into yours, steading yourself with her touch.

Once arrived, you greeted and congratulated some of the other Canadian players who had also brought their partner back to the hotel. They were all mingling in the entrance hall as you moved past them, Jessie leading the two of you to the elevator and towards her room on the second floor.

Seen as the squad moved around the south of France for their games they didn't have a set hotel, which meant they couldn't really make it their own space. This meant that no home comforts were trickled around the room, something Jessie would normally do when she was away for multiple weeks for camps or tournaments. You let her unpack her stuff while you sat down on the bed, having quickly changed into something more comfortable and forgiving.

A few minutes later Jessie joined you in bed, ushering you both to lay under the covers as she claimed to be cold and tired, wanting to be in bed properly. You laid on your back as she cuddled up next to you, a big smile on her face as she finally felt the warmth of your embrace again. She pressed a kiss against your chest and let out a sigh of relief.

"How are you feeling, Jess?", you were well aware the last time you posed your girlfriend this question it turned out in a way no one wanted, but you were confident it wouldn't happen this time. Jessie shifted and positioned herself so that she could look up at you, a faint smile lingering on her lips. "I feel good. Genuinely. Better than I have been feeling the past couple days," you nodded, silently pushing her to go on. "It's been a lot but the game and you being here have helped me settle. Thank you," she pressed a fleeting kiss against your lips to accentuate her words.

You reciprocated the kiss, but pulled away rather quickly to not get lost in her affection. Jessie understood why you did and spoke up again. "I'm sorry about what happened the other day. I shouldn't have snapped at you," you soothingly rubbed her back when you sensed the nervosity that crept in her voice. "It had been a rough day and I wanted nothing more than to unwind and talk to you about other things, but when you started pushing I just couldn't bare with it anymore. I know you were just trying to do good, though. I talked about it to Janine and she made me realize that I'm not honest enough with you. I always try and bottle up my feelings, but that ends disastrous in ways like it did between us two days ago. I promise I'll try and be better for you. For us."

Her words were laced with emotion, her voice soft as she tried to keep the emotions at bay upon expressing how she felt about the situation. You wiped away a stray tear that had escaped her eye and was making its way across her cheek, pressing a tender kiss against her forehead. "Thank you, baby. I want to be there for you, but you need to let me. It's a two-way thing, okay? We both give, we both take."

Jessie nodded, shifting again and now burying her face in your neck, soaking up the warmth of being under the covers together. "Thank you", she mumbled barely audible against your skin. You let out a chuckle at her words. "What for?", you asked. "Just, for being you. For being the person you are and for dealing with my moods. I love you so much," she lifted her head from out of your neck and looked you in the eyes before she lowered her head and pressed her lips against yours. "I love you too," you mumbled against her lips before you two got lost in one another and made up in different ways for all the time you had missed out on together the past month.

[writeonthrough]

Namy Nuggets: A fanfic collection of interconnected one-shots of Amy and Nathan scenes from CBC's Heartland.

Nugget #1: Birch Tree Meeting Place

Amy slows Shadow down as she turns him from the spanning Heartland fields into a cluster of birch trees. The sound of the nearby brook babbling along calms her after she raced Shadow to arrive on time. She follows the curve of the brook further into the woodland until the water spreads into a small pond. As she dismounts, she spots the blanket laid out on mossy grass and the cowboy standing waiting for her.

“Hey,” she greets Nathan with a slight smile. “Sorry I’m late.”

“Aw,” he reaches for her. She enters his encircling arms. They kiss briefly. “You’re not late. I was early.”

Amy chuckles. “I’m pretty sure I was late. But you’re kind.”

“I try,” He releases her waist, slides his hand down her arm, and guides her to the blanket. He sits comfortably and Amy finds a seat on the blanket between his legs. She rests against his chest while his arms return to their place around her.

They sit for a minute, cuddling in silence, letting the sounds of the babbling brook and the two horses grazing fill the air.

“This is nice,” Amy confesses. “Heartland is so busy. So many people in the house. It nice to get a breather.”

“Too many people?” Nathan questions. “You’re so close with your big family and you’re such a natural with people. It seems like you enjoy being around people.”

“Oh, no,” she turns in his arms to face him. Though her expression is serious, Nathan catches her lighthearted tone. “More than once I’ve been accused of preferring horses to people.”

Nathan smiles into her neck. “Really?”

“Like often,” she emphasizes. “It’s people’s go-to insult about me.”

Nathan chuckles, squeezing her playfully and rocking her from side to side. “Their go-to insult?”

“Yes!” Amy exclaims. “You’d think people would stop after a while.”

“I wouldn’t take that as an insult.” Nathan shrugs. “I prefer horses to people.”

“Hmm, maybe that’s what I like about you,” Amy teases. “I couldn’t figure it out before—” Nathan teases her back with one more squeeze. She sits up in response, pulling away to look at him. “But now it’s clear. That must be the one thing we have in common.”

“The one thing?” He asks, raising his eyebrows.

“I don’t know anything else we have in common,” Amy continues to interplay between her serious and lighthearted tones. “It couldn’t be the ranching—your business is cattle and mine is horses. Those are totally different. It couldn’t be our social lives—You just have Molly to follow you around while I am constantly surrounded by people. So, obviously, I couldn’t possibly enjoy the quiet. Our families are in direct competition with each other and probably would not be happy if they found us here together.” Nathan’s smile fades at her last comment, but she continues, “I mean, all this time we’ve been hanging out, I had no idea what I liked about you.”

“Is that what we’re doing?” Nathan turns serious. He searches her gaze. She notices the vulnerability in his eyes. “Hanging out?”

Amy takes a deep breath and grows somber in his arms. She ducks his gaze by leaning back against his chest. Nathan adjusts his position around her, but only finds comfort again when she speaks. “Hanging out is what we started off doing in our open adjoining fields. Now that we’ve found this new beautiful spot hidden in the middle of these birch trees, I don’t know what I’d say we’re doing.”

“Hmm,” Nathan withholds any further reply. He chooses instead to trace her arm up and down with his fingers and bury his chin in the curve of her neck.

“Whatever we’re doing, it’s important to me.” Amy nuzzles against him. “You’ve made me feel things I haven’t felt in years.” She brings a palm to his cheek and turns him to her. “I’m in this, Nathan.”

He matches her intensity and sincerity as he promises her, “Me too.” He strokes her face with his thumb, bringing her closer. “To all of it.”

Before Amy can respond, Nathan leans down to capture her lips. She meets his kiss with enthusiasm, raising her fingers to the nape of neck and into his hair to pull him closer.  His hand lowers from her cheek and wraps around the small of her back. Their kiss deepens and their surroundings disappear. The sounds of babbling brook, the crickets hidden in grass, and the horses’ tails whipping the flies away all fade away as they embrace.

Nathan pulls back first. Amy gives him a kiss on the cheek before returning to rest against his chest. His hand returns to her cheek as she gives him a small smile.

He hesitates before speaking. “As much as I love it, here, with you,” his arm lowers to her shoulder.  She searches his face, anticipating his point. “We can’t hide out here forever.”

“I thought you wanted to keep things between us,” Amy responds thoughtfully.

“I do,” he assures her. “I do. I just want to be sure on we’re on the same page before someone somehow figures it out.”

“Okay. That’s fair,” She reflects for a moment. “I think we’re on the same page here. I mean we just said we’re in this—together, right?”

“Yeah,” He strokes her arm in reassurance. “We are.”

“Okay, so?” She turns back to him, waiting for him to explain further. When he doesn’t, she offers. “Things don’t have to change, Nathan.” Amy reassures him. “We can still meet here.”

“Amy,” he says softly. “We can’t keep meeting here every day and then pretending we barely know each other around our families.”

“Okay,” Amy catches the slight edge to his words. “And would you like that to change? Because,” she keeps a neutrality to her voice, hoping to sound curious rather than accusatory, “Last time we talked about it, you didn’t.”

“It was a mutual decision,” Nathan corrects her.

“Okay,” Amy nods in his reply. “And now it’s not?”

“No. Yes.” He detangles this bodies and throws his arms in air. “I don’t know.” He plants his hands behind him and leans back. “I don’t know how much longer we can keep hiding this. And I don’t know how we’re going to start to being seen together—”

“Oh, there’s no starting.” Amy interrupts, “Once one person in my family knows, everyone is going to know—”

“Yeah,” Nathan nods. “Kind of my point here.”

“Okay…” Amy repeats herself again, still trying to figure out what he wanted. “So…do you want to start telling people?”

“No,” he tries to speak seriously. “I don’t want to tell people. What I want is for people to know we’re together without having to explain or defend anything to anyone.”

“Ah. Very admirable goal,” Amy smiles, repositioning herself across from him. “Good luck with that.”

“Yeah,” he laughs. “That’s what I thought.”

“There’s probably a middle ground,” Amy offers, hesitating slightly. “Where we don’t have to be as private about it and we don’t say anything either.” She notices him perk up at the idea. “But people are going to start asking questions sooner or later.”

“So, we ease into it,” He leans forward. “I kind of like that.”

“There’s no guarantee it’ll work, through,” she warns. “One person could catch something right away and the inquires could come on as an onslaught.”

“Yeah,” he agrees with a nod. “They could.”

For a moment, they sit in silence, letting the magnitude of the change in their relationship and the change in their decisions about it sit between them.

Amy scoots closer to him. She extends her leg out so her foot nudges his leg in reassurance. “As long as we know we’ll get through it together, I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

“Together,” he leans forward for a kiss. “Sounds like a plan.”

“Good,” Amy settles it.

“So…” Nathan imagines being around her whole family this coming weekend. “What does that mean for the cattle drive tomorrow?”

“Oh,” Amy starts seriously. She crosses her legs on the blanket, sitting up straighter. “I’m not going on the cattle drive.”

“What?” He retreats in surprise. “Why? Is it Lyndy?”

“No, no. Lyndy is coming with me,” Amy points across the field. “I’m doing a horse clinic. I’ll be gone most of the day.” 

“Oh,” Nathan quiets in reflection. “I thought you’d be there tomorrow. I was looking forward to it.”

“You’ll just have to tolerate my dad and grandpa without me,” Amy smiles, “Sorry.”

“You’re leaving me to the wolves, huh?”

She chuckles. “Lou will be there. It shouldn’t be that bad.”

“It just…” he searches for something to say. “It won’t be the same without you.”

“It’ll be fine,” she promises. She uncrosses her legs, “Speaking of tomorrow, I actually have to go prep some things,” she stands and brushes off. “I wish I could stay…”

“No, no,” Nathan stands after her, “I should go too.” When she steps off the blanket, he tugs it up and rolls it together.

Amy starts to mount Shadow, but then turns back to him, her long hair flipping around her. “Umm…” she reaches for him and he steps into her arms. “Thanks for the people break.”

He smiles, “Anytime.” He leans in for a kiss and she meets him a final time, stroking his cheek as she does so. “I’ll see you later.”

“See you,” she promises. She looks at him once more before turning and mounting Shadow, riding off, out of their birch tree-covered hideaway.

[tzifron]

First, is the legitimization of hatred. Hatred is a force that can be fuelled and used for any number of purposes. People will vote against their own interests if it means they can vilify some other group of people and feel superior. And let me be explicit: this is the hatred of white supremacy. I hadn’t fully comprehended just how potent such hatred still can be. It’s truly amazing, in the most frightening way.

Second, from my own little corner of the world, from something I know a little about, I see a failure of journalism. The failures go back further than that, but I remember how in 2016 CNN and other news media organizations played hours upon hours of Trump rallies live, without fact-checking him, without pointing out where that would all inevitably lead. It was like he was a circus act, ha-ha. It was good for ratings, I suppose.

Over the years since, the large commercial media (and public broadcasters like NPR and the CBC) played a game of bothsiderism, equating on the one side the villainous, corrupt, ignorant, and hateful with on the other side old fashioned tepid liberalism. We’ve all seen the headlines, or even lack of headlines, about Trump saying just the most terrible things in the world — he’s going to sic the military on dissidents and so on — next to headlines declaring Harris is having trouble articulating what section 24 of her trade policy will mean for Midwestern farmers.

A fascist movement arose and grew and until the very final days, the media failed to even name it. Over the course of years, the news media mostly failed to clearly explicate the movement. It was just some dumb game.

What to do?

[click on the link]

[uzumaki-rebellion]

"King Killmonger: The Golden Jaguar" Chapter 1

Author's Note: You must have read the "Black Boys Bloom Thorns First" series before trying to dip into this new book!

"I will be one of the greatest That is a vow, yeah, that is a promise Always wanted to be famous Just being real, yeah, just being honest

My haters gon' always be nameless Give them no cloud, I give them no power

Creators built different, they ancient Sooner than later, all will be ours…"

Iniko—"The King's Affirmation"

King N'Jadaka Udaku of the Panther Tribe from the kingdom of Wakanda sat at the head table for the Congressional Black Caucus's newly minted Pan-African symposium/dinner. Housed inside of the National Museum of African American History and Culture, the event brought together Black leaders from all over the world that wanted to shape their future with the influence of Black American politicians after the great disaster of the Infinity War.

The king sipped from a glass of lemon water with his young Executive Assistant Mpilo by his side, very much aware of the eyes dragging across his intimidating figure in the midst of seventy-five world politicians of African descent with their various entourages. Women and men allowed to participate in the momentous occasion chanced glancing his way to assess what kind of man he was on this rare occasion that N'Jadaka visited Washington, D.C.

He grew accustomed to the staring. King N'Jadaka became the legend made flesh among them, the rare Black man of real power surrounded by other Black leaders that tried to balance governing in the face of American neo-imperialism. The people in that room would've given up their firstborn child just to be in his presence, especially the representatives from Sudan and Ethiopia. Thanos's ridiculous plan to snap problems away only created more dire ones on earth and Africa suffered as a result. The rise of new warloads and the loss of faith in democracy sprouted far and wide. Slavery, coups, and genocide had ramped up. Troubled nations in the motherland looked to Wakanda and not the U.S. for leadership, and that made N'Jadaka's stay in his former homeland dangerous. The C.I.A. had a bench warrant of death on his head. Western powers wanted the king of Wakanda eliminated.

The Golden Jaguar sighed and pressed his hands on his thighs and flexed his fingers to offset the ribbons of tension coursing through him. Despite it being an all Black affair, there were enemy ops in the conference hall among them. The Dora Milaje and his Onyx Squad remained visible and dispersed throughout the perimeter, their smart-looking uniforms marking them as superior protection among the American security hired to keep unwelcome outsiders from trying to sneak an audience with the Wakandan king.

This attempt at a heavily-publicized gathering of Black international elites became a way for powerless Black politicians in the U.S. to rival and possibly supplant N'Jadaka's influential UDC creation that made waves in under a year. No matter what power-to-the-people slogans were used to get them in office, Black American politicians were still…politicians. No different than their white counterparts that only worried about getting re-elected and stuffing their pockets with money, connections, and a fat board member assignment or consultation position on some corporations dime after retirement. No matter the pithy declarations about supporting the Black community he heard all evening, there were wolves in the room seeking access to more power. The white American power structure lit a fire under the CBC's ass to put together something that would convince diaspora Africans to join with them instead of the Wakandans. N'Jadaka knew what it was and decided to participate anyway. Just to let the CBC know he was watching them closely and feigning diplomacy. America was a weak and decaying order. The bored king found solace knowing he would be its demise.

N'Jadaka tapped his hand on the fancy table cloth. Mpilo took note of his mood and quickly checked his comm tab for the expected time of arrival for Yani and the children. The trip abroad had lasted over two weeks, most of it spent at the United Nations in Geneva, and meetings in New York, London, and South Africa. N'Jadaka cancelled a trip to Saudi Arabia when one of the crown princes of an oil billionaire insulted him on a viral vid. He made an example of them by snubbing a much-anticipated visit there. Any form of anti-Blackness anywhere was swiftly aired out. Mexico, Argentina, Spain, France, Italy, and the Dominican Republic were already smarting from his public call-out of their treatment of Black people due to an increase of racialized violence targeting poor Black citizens in their nations. With Yani's urging and Ramonda's powerful voice as an ambassador, there was a rallying call against global femcide in the wake of the disappearance of so many people.

The U.S. didn't let the great loss of citizens stop their continuing encroachment of resources and they took advantage of pumping predatory capitalism along. What could've been a moment of self-reflection, a shift in priorities, and a new way of being for the country as a whole was simply an opportunity to prey on weaker nations even harder. Their only hindrance in achieving more power was the rise of Wakanda under N'Jadaka's leadership. He instilled fear in every nation that wanted life to go on the same way, and he also gave hope to those parts that saw a chance at progressive changes aligning with Wakanda. The western powers still gasped at his U.N. speech criticizing colonial apartheid in Palestine and Gaza. The gasp turned into full-fledged choking when he charged genocide co-signed and funded by the Americans. Once he pontificated on the historical similarities between Gaza, South Africa, and the Black American segregation of his own people, his War Dogs got wind of Mossad operations trying to penetrate Wakandan intelligence through the C.I.A.

Back home, the continent was split.

African nations that had long been ignored and left to suffer on their own benefitted from supporting Wakanda. N'Jadaka flooded their lands with tech support, agricultural advances, doctors, and a quick rebuilding of infrastructures with his Wakandan Humanitarian Corps that embarrassed the U.S.. At N'Jadaka's urging, Azania and Caanan had stopped selling uranium, colbalt, and platinum to anyone outside of Africa in exchange for advanced agricultural expansion. Mining had ruined and polluted their lands with run-off depleting usable soil and water. Rapid climate change didn't help them either and the neighboring nations were on the verge of famine. Wakanda helped clean their water, soil, and air for free, allowing farmers to produce a bumper crop that saved millions from starvation and prevented them from becoming refugees in other nations. Those who had been malnourished received the best medical treatment, and once snatched from the brink of disaster, Azania and Caanan were staunch allies for good.

Niganda and Mohannda were a different story, currying favor from the CBC leaders and complaining to the U.S. president that Wakanda was a global threat to sovereignty. The other African nations galvanized by the freely given help, threw all of their allegiance to the Wakandans, thus leading other unaligned African nations to fear him creating a United States of Wakanda to rule them all.

It wasn't a bad idea.

He never acknowledged those types of concerns and just let the rumors grow to keep his enemies on their toes. His own father N'Jobu had flirted with visions of a united continent under Wakandan rule in his journals. Currently, N'Jadaka scrambled to replace War Dogs lost to the blip in order to keep his finger on the pulse of other nations.

"Princess Yani will arrive within the next two hours. They have crossed onto the Atlantic," Mpilo said.

N'Jadaka nodded. He gave Mpilo a full-time job as his personal assistant since the loss of his father in the snap. The king had no idea the young man suffered that loss until months after the memorial honoring the lost ones. Mpilo continued to do his work professionally until Yani brought the news to the king's attention. She recognized Mpilo's family name from one of the palace attendants sending personal condolences to their staff on her behalf. When N'Jadaka questioned him, Mpilo broke down in tears in the king's office. His father and two oldest brothers had vanished leaving behind his mother and baby sister. Barely an adult, Mpilo now had the responsibility of looking out for his immediate family. N'Jadaka terminated his fellowship and gave him a permanent job title as his executive assistant.

The king let out a sigh of relief.

He needed to be with his family again. Normally Yani would be with him, but she was on her own global tour promoting her book, "The Wakandan Way of Birth". Their children traveled with her and he caught interview segments of her in three countries. The world was enamored with the exotic princess. It was her first appearance outside of Wakanda representing the nation. N'Jadaka grinned thinking about the reaction of the Caribbean. The entire region went nuts finding out officially that an island girl had snagged the most powerful man in the world.

She promoted the book in St. Thomas first, and he hated not being there with her. She traveled to Jamaica next to visit the land of her father and paid her respects to their relatives there. In the midst of the new global normal, Yani's book became a smashing success. All proceeds went to funding her midwifery scholarships to further the number of Black and Native midwives and doulas learning at the Wakandan birthing centers. The money allowed women to focus fulltime on their craft without monetary constraints. She planned to give more once she became queen because the palace allotted a salary for Queen Consorts that she planned to use for more income-based scholarships. Wherever there were Black and Indigenous women in need, Yani made sure they took priority over anyone else.

Everyone wanted their hands on the book. A Wakandan publishing company mass marketed the coffee-table sized manauscript, and they looked exquisite. The cover was created by a Birnin S'Yan artisan who made a vibranium-tinged dye that was threaded into a gorgeous royal purple and silver cloth overlay. The book had fifty full-page color photos that Yani spent months agonizing over from a total of 200. The cover photo itself deserved to hang in a museum. It showed a young woman holding her newborn daughter and they were both dressed in the vibrant colors of the River Tribe.

When the pre-release online sales skyrocketed, Yani made the decision to only provide non-online sales out of Wakanada through global Black bookstores. The international brick and mortar stores made bank with the flood of non-Black customers wanting their hands on something from Wakanda. Even people who weren't even interested in childbirth or culture clamored to snatch up a copy just to get a glimpse of what Wakanda looked like from the inside. The first print sold out in one week.

The talks finally ended and the affair moved into a spacious outdoor dining area where a small jazz trio played music in a corner. The balmy weather made it comfortable to be outside and he took in a deep inhale of D.C. air.

Okoye and Ayo kept the pre-dinner rush to talk to the king at a distance, giving N'Jadaka time to snag a moment of peace. After ten minutes he shook hands and greeted caucus leaders, trying not to look annoyed at their requests for selfies with him. He obliged to be polite and to give an air of camaraderie. Everyone wanted everyone else to think they had connections to him by how loud they talked or laughed with him. He knew the drill.

The hosts ushered his entourage to their dining seats near the front of another podium. No one pretended to be sly about sneaking candids of him with their smartphones.

"King N'Jadaka, your son is here to see you right away," Ayo whispered in his ear.

N'Jadaka looked around and spotted Riki walking out from the museum with his personal Dora, Quamba. All the diners stopped to watch the prince of Wakanda walk through with his hands behind his back and his eyes searching for his Baba. Some people tried to snap photos of Riki, but all of N'Jadaka's children wore necklaces that thwarted any cameras from getting clear pictures of them by jamming up electronics and flash photography cameras.

Riki looked too clean.

Yani braided his hair in the spiral style of his Wakandan ancestors, threaded with shells and beads that bounced around his shoulders. This week, Riki wore jade and black fingernail polish decorated with mini panther claws in bright gold which was the rage of young children in Birnin Zana who loved their local team that played a popular sport called ukudlala ngomlenze…leg play. It was a game that required balance, and intense leg flexibility as two teams battled each other on a low swinging wooden bridge that moved across a deep body of water. One member of each team took turns standing in the center of the swinging bridge as the other team members of the challenging team split up on either side to rock the opponent off their feet, without any of their own teammates falling over too. The narrow bridge swung higher and higher, pushing athletes to go against gravity, their exhausted limbs put to the test for long durations. N'Jadaka had promised Riki a trip to the national competition in the River Tribe territory once they returned home.

Riki's black royal sash rested snug across his chest with the family crest emblazoned on it. The boy was seven-years old and sprouting a bit of height. He was almost as tall as Sydette and would probably surpass her by the time he was eight. The freckles on his red-brown skin were more pronounced, covering his nose and cheeks. Riki's eyes lit up when he spotted N'Jadaka.

"Baba!"

The boy ran past chuckling adults who admired the tailored royal suit and polished shoes. N'Jadaka held his arms out and his son jumped onto his lap and kissed his cheek. The happy king wrapped his child up in love.

"I've missed your busy behind," N'Jadaka said. "Where's your Mama and the girls?"

"Changing clothes. I couldn't wait to see you," Riki said, squeezing his arms around N'Jadaka's neck.

"Good trip, Dumplin?"

"Yes. People went crazy for Mama and her book. I'm ready to go home though. I don't like this country…the people here are so fake. They only like you if you're rich or famous."

"Hungry?"

Riki nodded and scanned the tables for the evening's selection. He scrunched up his nose at the servers placing rolls and butter on the tables.

"Can we eat this food, Baba?" Riki asked.

"We have people watching the chef in the kitchen."

The Udaku children had been taught to reject outside food unless their parents permitted them to partake. N'Jadaka had become cautious with poisoning and normally had his own personal chef make all of their food, but he opted to watch the American cooks this time around instead of turning down a plate. The head chef for the evening was a famous Black American from New Orleans who read that N'Jadaka liked food from that region and wanted to create a menu to impress the powerful king.

"Sit next to me," N'Jadaka said, pulling out a chair for Riki.

Mpilo took a seat across from them at the circular table that seated twelve. Members of the CBC organizing committee greeted him then took their seats at other tables. The jazz music grew softer as guests took their seats all throughout the guarded space. A congresswoman from Philly took to the podium near N'Jadaka's area and announced the arrival of Yani and Ramonda. Eager applause broke out and N'Jadaka stood up from his seat. He helped Riki stand in his chair so he could see his mother and aunt enter.

N'Jadaka's Uncle Bakari escorted Yani and Ramonda together as Sydette and Joba walked in front of them wearing matching purple dresses with their hair twisted and pulled back with amethyst panther-shaped hair clips. Yani mesmerized the crowd in a shimmery emerald green dress that revealed all her rounded curves. She styled her hair with extensions in an upswept fancy roll that denoted her status as queen-to-be. Ramonda had the crowd transfixed with her tall purple isicholo and deep purple gown. Uncle Bakari appeared dapper in his black tux. N'Jadaka's grandfather Dante escorted Bakari's wife Shavonne and they all made their way toward the front where their Dora Milaje escorts brought them to the king's table.

Sydette and Joba dashed to him first and he picked up both girls and smothered their faces with kisses amidst their squeals of delight for being with him again. He put them down the moment Yani reached him and he couldn't hide from the world his love for her.

He wrapped eager arms around her tight and pressed his forehead against her brow. The tense energy in his body drained down into the floor and he exhaled a long breath. Yani rested her arms around his massive shoulders, her perfume drowning him in memories of their shared bed and the last time they had been alone without the world watching their every move.

"Baby, I missed you so much."

"I know. I couldn't wait to get here and hold you."

"You know these niggas is starin' so we better play it cool for Ramonda's sake."

Yani giggled and pulled away from him. He kissed her hand and turned to Ramonda, giving his auntie double kisses on both cheeks. He hugged his grandpop next and finally showed love to his American aunt and uncle who raised him after his parents died. They all took their seats at the dining table. Yani sat at his right, and Riki, Joba, and Sydette took over his left side.

As the first courses of salads, soups, and finger foods were brought out, announcements were made. The head chef was brought out and recognized. N'Jadaka allowed the nervous man to take a picture with him holding up a plate of sausage gumbo with rice. There was special recognition given to Yani, along with a surprise plaque presented to Ramonda for her role as an ambassador fostering goodwill between America and Wakanda.

N'Jadaka caught up with his aunt and uncle and the family chatter reminded him of being home except they were being watched like fish in a fishbowl. When dessert and coffee were brought out at the end of the meal, Ramonda switched seats with Riki and leaned in toward the king.

"President Mubiri would like to have a nightcap with you during the mixer inside the museum," Ramonda said.

"Why?"

Ramonda's sharp eyes observed the guests.

"He believes D.C. is neutral ground and he would like to discuss rumors of you inciting a coup in his nation."

"Sounds like C.I.A. bullshit."

"Even so, it wouldn't hurt to appear cordial. Get some photos taken that shows two rival nations talking together. Yani is your icebreaker. Madame Mubiri is here, too. A nice photo-op of beautiful African women mingling will make the CBC very happy."

N'Jadaka glanced at Yani's fingers. She had on her deadly finger armor. Hopefully she wouldn't threaten the man again.

He signaled for Quamba and several Onyx Squad security to take his children and grandfather back to their penthouse suite at the hotel they were lodged in for the weekend. He hugged and kissed the children promising to read a bedtime story to them later. People moved out of the way and stared at his heirs. All three children walked like royalty, heads held high, backs kept straight.

The after dinner mixer started inside the lobby of the museum where a giant abstract art installation above their heads looked like the unfurling of giant bronze ribbons. N'Jadka read the description of the sculpture that was supposed to represent the swinging motions like a band of angels coming down to carry Black Americans back home like the old spiritual "Swing Low, Sweet Chariot". The artist, Richard Hunt, used suspended cables to anchor the work, and the swooping arcs of the bronze bands reminded N'Jadaka of his mother's arms around his body when he was small.

Several servers traipsed the lobby carrying drinks and savory finger foods. A D.J. played contemporary R&B and the guests relaxed into full-blown partying mode. Bakari and Shavonne headed toward a display of Harriet Tubman's shawl further inside the museum and Mpilo escorted Ramonda to meet some caucus members who were dying to be seen with her.

N'Jadaka held out his arm and Yani rested her hand on it. She walked with a majestic stride that matched his and they mingled for a bit. Yani's charm was her greatest weapon and they spent a considerable amount of time discussing her book and tour. Her radiance overwhelmed a few people who couldn't stop admiring her even as they moved on to other guests. The allure of power was a true aphrodisiac, and Yani wielded it well. All of her Wakandan training and years of experience dealing with all sorts of people paid off in spades as she delighted American dignitaries. He couldn't stop staring at her himself. Her voice lit up his face and he smiled at everything she said. Yani's youth also surprised people. She would be entering her late twenties soon enough, but carried a greater maturity and self-awareness in the last year representing Wakanda internationally.

They worked the first three corners of the lobby before the mixer branched out to the rest of the museum, and they headed toward President Mubiri and Madame Mubiri who lingered near a replica of a slave quarter. The Mohanndan president stood with a glass of liquor in his hand entertaining cronies as his wife watched her husband's dour animated face with his uppercase gums spilling over his lowercase teeth. Her eyes sparked up when Yani approached holding out her hands toward the woman.

"Madame Habiba Mubiri, I finally get to see you again in a less formal setting," Yani enthused.

Yani ignored Mubiri and immediately pulled Habiba away from her husband, touching her hand in informal friendship.

"Mubiri," N'Jadaka said, offering his hand. Mubiri shook it.

"King N'Jadaka."

Yani reached for a glass of wine from a server that had been freshly poured from the bar. She presented it to N'Jadaka using the ancient submissive stance of queens in Wakanda, holding the glass up to him with her right hand, while her other hand cradled the elbow of the serving arm. N'Jadaka caught the lust in Mubiri's eyes again for his fiancé. He took the glass from Yani and kissed her cheek.

"Thank you, baby," he said.

"May I please borrow Madame Mubiri? I would love to introduce her to the head organizer," Yani asked Mubiri.

It was clear that Mubiri didn't want his wife to do anything, but Yani's seductive voice couldn't be denied. She played on the man's need to control women by asking his permission. Her earlier exaggerated submissive act toward N'Jadaka fed into the man's cultural ego. Yani upped the ante by touching his arm and squeezing it. Her touch ignited something in the president and he lifted his wife's arm and practically threw her at Yani.

"I'm sure you two have some important things to discuss without us present," she added.

"Enjoy yourselves," Mubiri said, his gaze plastered all over Yani's figure as the two women strolled further into the heart of the museum.

N'Jadka pretended to drink his wine while being focused on something else until Yani was gone.

"I thank you for the personal invitation to your wedding King N'Jadaka. I didn't think you would extend us any welcome to your country again."

"It's a time of celebration, not political intrigue. Yani wanted your wife there. They have been corresponding for a time getting to know each other. You don't have to come if you don't want to."

"And miss the nuptials of that delightful woman you parade around like a trophy? Never. We will attend and enjoy the splendor."

They both drank in silence.

"Did you like the tour of the museum earlier?" N'Jadaka asked.

"An intriguing history lesson. You must be proud of your heritage here."

"I am."

"Rebels at heart. I see why the Americans want to control you."

"I know you don't want to stand here and shoot the shit about my lineage. You want to know if I'm plotting to throw you out of office."

Mubiri choked on his drink as N'Jadaka stared at his face. The Mohanndan's cronies flicked their eyes away in embarrassment, not expecting the king to be that blunt.

"What would I gain from having you taken out, Mubiri? There would only be another leader who thinks the same as you, so nothing would change. Pinning your hopes on the Americans holding me in check has not paid off in a year. I offer nothing but hope and a chance at directing Africa's vast internal wealth and ancient wisdom back to where it belongs…on all of our people."

"Our people? You Wakandans are stand-offish and think only of yourselves. These little excursions into other African nations giving them little trinkets of your resources reeks of a ploy to rule over us all. At least your uncle acted like a benevolent father-figure in the west."

"My uncle was not the man you all think he was. I am telling you now, to your face Barasa Mubiri…I have no plans for a coup, an assassination, nor war with your country. Did you not read my fiancé's book? Wakandans value peaceful living, enhancements to prolong life, and self-actualization that benefits the whole and not just the individual. We kept to ourselves for centuries even when we had the means to colonize the world and bend it to our will. But we didn't."

"I still think that is an option in your arsenal, King N'Jadaka."

"I am from the school of 'don't start none, won't be none'. My goal is transformative liberation for whomever wants it."

"So-called liberators often transform into something sinister, if given the chance."

The king moved closer to the east African president, closing the small gap between them.

"I only plan to bring hell to those who mean us harm. Do you plan to cause problems for us with this U.S. administration?" N'Jadaka asked.

Mubiri shook his head and smiled.

"I want peace and prosperity for our people too."

"Good. You have heard directly from my mouth what I want. Let's spend the rest of the evening showing the world that Africans can co-exist on the continent without people confirming their biases about us being warlords and despots. We can be civil with our disagreements. Everything doesn't have to be bloodshed, or rumors of hostile take-overs."

N'Jadaka excused himself with Okoye by his side.

"You were very civil, kumkani," Okoye said.

"I promised Umama that I would control my hostile tendencies here."

"She would be very pleased. Princess Yani is speaking to a delegation from the Sudan. Ambassador Udaku is with the Press Secretary for the American President."

N'Jadaka peeked at his kimoyos. He wanted to leave as soon as possible without making it glaringly obvious that he was ready to dip. His declining of the White House meeting with the President didn't sit well among the ruling Republican party.

"Kumkani!"

Mpilo rushed to him breathing heavily.

"You must come immediately," Mpilo said.

N'Jadaka quickened his steps with Okoye at his side. Mpilo led them through a throng of people and Yani rushed forward, clasping his hand in hers.

"What is it?" he said.

He squeezed a protective hand around hers and she pulled him toward another room. His family stood with other guests admiring a wall display. Ramonda stood with Dante and his uncle Bakari had taken off his glasses. Shavonne held an arm over Bakari's shoulder and they made room for N'Jadaka to move in front of them. Yani linked her arm with his.

"We didn't know this was here," Yani said.

N'Jadaka looked at a series of life-sized color photos of his mother Califia leading a Berkley BSU meeting. Her young face looked on fire like her hair as she held up a fist, her brows knitted together, and her mouth open spitting fire. A second photo connected to the first in a collage-styled presentation showed her carrying N'Jadaka on her hip. He was four years old wearing intricate cornrows and they both looked directly at whoever took the picture for a public event in Oakland. A deep inhale filled his lungs. The third image brought the handsome beauty of his father N'Jobu to life. He wore the dark ceremonial royal robes of Wakanda looking noble and fly as fuck. A fourth photo made N'Jadaka blink trying to figure out where it came from. He sported an MIT sweatshirt and his grin looked so innocent long ago. It came back to him. Chocolate City. A school paper had done an article about him and his dorm mates The final photo was a formal publicity photo of himself as the king of Wakanda. The entire collage mural threaded his Black American roots to his Wakandan roots, forming a romanticized link of the diaspora back to the motherland.

He appreciated his family becoming a historical footnote in the museum. Dante wiped his eyes and Yani wrapped an arm around him, helping the older man to reconcile the pain they felt in not having Califia and N'Jobu there with them.

The museum director approached N'Jadaka with a timid smile, her pale brown eyes dazzled by how close she stood next to him and his entourage. She down casted her gaze quickly when he stared directly at her.

"We hope you like this new installation King N'Jadaka. Unfortunately, the artist has been ill, or else he would've been here," the director said.

"Very impressive," he said.

His eyes lingered on his mother's image holding him while Ramonda gazed at N'Jobu's image. He wondered what thoughts went through her mind. Was there regret? Any remains of sadness that he had chosen someone else over her?

"Every time I see your parents, I see our children," Yani said. "You look so much like Riki in this one."

Yani reached out and let her fingers hover under the chin of his childhood image. He wanted to go home. Back to Wakanda. He whispered in Ramonda's ear and she slid next to the director to heap praises on the installation. Clasping Yani's hand, he guided his relatives toward the nearest exit. The Dora snapped to attention flanking them while the Onyx squad scanned for any problems.

Five dark SUVs pulled up to the side of the museum with Kingsguard drivers. Their entire party was whisked away to a luxury hotel in the heart of the capital and they disembarked in an underground parking garage to avoid paparazzi.

N'Jadaka entered his suite with Yani, and their children tackled him onto the floor wearing their pajamas. Dante watched them from a couch for a few minutes before standing up.

"I'm heading to bed, JaJa. What time do you need me to be ready for Joba's grandma?" Dante asked.

"She's arriving with the rest of Disa's family in the half cruiser around noon. We'll pick up some family in St. Thomas and Jamaica too before we travel back to Wakanda. The wedding rehearsal happens on Wednesday instead of Thursday."

"Yani's still doing the Today show interview?"

"Yes," Yani said, pulling Sydette from on top of N'Jadaka's head, "It's the only place I'm promoting the book."

Dante looked surprised.

N'Jadka gave Yani a look to take the children to their shared junior suite. Dante watched the family leave and he moved closer to his grandson.

"What's going on?" Dante asked.

"I don't want Yani in this country any longer than she has to be. We have some credible threats here in the states, and we're doing some culling of problems."

"Culling? You mean killing right?"

N'Jadaka glanced over his shoulder. Yani's voice gently scolded the children from being so hyper and loud before bed.

"Grandpop, things are escalating. Neutralizing threats will become more common for me."

"I don't have any issues with that."

N'Jadaka nodded.

"I'm turning in. See ya in the morning."

"I'm sleeping in."

"That doesn't surprise me."

He squeezed his grandfather's shoulder and watched the older man shuffle off to the adjoining door that led to another private suite. A Dora on night duty greeted Dante and closed the suite door behind him.

N'Jadaka stepped into the bedroom with his children frolicking across two queen beds. Sydette bounced on hers and played with her kimoyo beads while Riki and Joba tried to sidestep Yani's attempts to get them under the covers. N'Jadaka clapped his hands and all three children stopped goofing around and centered their attention on him. Yani placed hands on her hips, her long extensions fallen over one shoulder.

"Hey, what's going on in here? Mama said it's time for bed. Stop playing around."

"You promised us a story," Joba said.

He sighed and tread softly to the younger children's bed and plopped down on it. Pulling Joba onto his lap, he nuzzled his chin on top of her head. She touched his cheek.

"Are you too tired Baba? We can wait for another time," Joba said.

Her soft voice and soft hands brought forth all the mental exhaustion of the day.

"Thank you, Sunshine," he said.

He kissed Joba's cheek and she scrambled under the covers next to her brother. Riki patted his hand and he stroked the boy's braids.

"Night, Baba," Sydette said.

His oldest climbed under thick blankets and blew him a kiss. He pretended to catch it and place it lovingly on his cheek.

"Tomorrow you will go with Grandpop to have breakfast with Uncle Bakari and Aunt Shavonne, then Grandma Theresa will arrive and we'll all meet up for lunch," Yani said.

"When are we leaving this place?" Riki asked.

"Soon," N'Jadaka said. "Get some sleep."

All the children looked relieved. He slipped his hand over Yani's and pulled her out of the room, turning off the lights and closing the bedroom door. Yani threw her arms around his waist and they hugged each other, allowing their mutual warmth and affection to flow through one another. He had his family back.

N'Jadaka's sleep was interrupted not by a sound, but by the missing softness removed from his side. Opening his eyes, he spread his hand out feeling for Yani. A toilet flushed from the bathroom outside of the hotel bedroom and she padded in quietly, closing the door before re-joining him. Glancing at the clock on the nightstand he was surprised to see it was only three in the morning. His body felt like it had slept later than that. He spooned back around Yani's lush form and they threaded the fingers of their right hands together, tucking them under her breasts.

The TV they watched before nodding off played a twenty-four hour news channel. Broadcasts of his visit stayed on loop most of the night, but the current images flashing onscreen highlighted the weather and celebrity gossip.

"At the end of this week we will be married," he whispered into Yani's ear.

She giggled and pushed her rump against his crotch.

"Queen Yani and King N'Jadaka," he said. "Nervous?"

"A little. Our counseling sessions with Elder Efetebo gave me a lot to think about. Umama and Ramonda have helped me too. Feels like I'm a part of something bigger than anything I have ever known in Wakanda…and yet…"

N'Jadaka reached over and turned on a lamp. He turned her face toward him.

"What is it?"

Yani's eyes watered and she blinked quickly. Two small tears trekked a lonely trail down her round cheeks. He kissed them away and cuddled her in his body heat and strength. She continued speaking in a low voice.

"At times…I know many still see us as outsiders on the noble court. They don't come for mi like they used to in the beginning, but I see it in their eyes. I know they want you take a Wakandan concubine. As modern and visionary as our country is, they hold on to these old timey ways to discredit our reign. I can see if they don't want Sweet Pea to have claim to the throne, but Riki and Joba have the bloodline in them. That should be enough. They want you to have a legally sanctioned child with a second wife to make the new line more legitimate…more Wakandan than diaspora. Everyone is scared to say this to your face, so that is the only thing that keeps them in line."

"Zola and Ilana tell you this?"

"They tell me everything. They love us."

"I've been on the elders' asses about that shit."

"There's only so much they can do. They can't stop other people from talking what they feel to be true in their hearts. A segment of the population will always see us diluting the bloodline."

"I will have Zola and Ilana tell me who the gossipmongers are and I will cast them out on their asses."

Yani sighed and burrowed into his arms.

"That will only make them feel justified and maybe cause more trouble for me in the palace. I will deal with it in mi own way."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure. Right now I'm a weak piece on the chess board. But once that royal isicholo is on my head, I will have more power to play a different position. I won't need to run to you all the time complaining."

"You don't run to me."

She rubbed his bicep and kissed the skin there on his arm.

"I can stand on my own. I have to in order to survive the politics as queen. The more time I spend in the throne room with you, I see why you wanted me there so much."

"Does it overwhelm you?"

"Sometimes. The Council of Elders are so particular…so strict. Like I said, we have the most modern country and I can't get over how backwards they can be with a willful adherence to tradition without even considering the impact of our population being made up of so many young citizens. Nearly half of our citizens are under the age of twenty. Even before the Infinity War. These young people are hungry for change. They want to create new traditions. Look at Zola and Ilana, my staunchest supporters…their desire for new things spills over into every conversation we have together. So much goes on back home and yet, we both have to deal with the rest of the world's problems too. I tell myself I'm up to the challenge, that I can multitask and handle every little fire that breaks out in the Court of Nobles, but it can look daunting at times."

"We have each other. We have our family. There's nothing we can't get through together. I put us all in hell and we climbed back out… you and me. I plan on protecting you Yani, and providing you with anything you need for yourself or our children. The nation will know your power and influence for generations to come. I mean…look at your book tour. The world knows who you are…"

Yani's eyes drifted away from N'Jadaka's face. She reached for the tv remote on the nightstand and turned up the volume on a previously broadcasted segment. Onscreen a male news anchor out of D.C. spoke over a background image of N'Jadaka back in his Killmonger days. Mercenary fatigues covered his body and his short locs had barely curled over his forehead.

"They outed you," Yani said.

N'Jadaka listened to the anchor list his accomplishments at MIT and the Navy before cutting to alleged covert missions for various off-the-grid companies and ghost units. He sat up on the bed as a female political analyst sat in front of an image of the Pentagon. She shared a clip of N'Jadaka's speech to the U.N. and inferred that the Wakandan king's connection to the C.I.A. and mercenary past would prove to be a detriment to African nations seeking true democracy. The overall segment painted N'Jadaka in an unsavory light.

"…King N'Jadaka has stated publicly at the latest U.N. gathering in Geneva that he will continue to interfere with African nations that are in turmoil. Our government can't afford to have Wakanda becoming the world police if the U.N. can't rally around the support of ending genocide in the Congo or demanding that Rwanda and Uganda stop their pillaging of coltan in that region. His calling out of multinationals is dangerous to the progress America is making to help the DRC put an end to the loss of life there. We've sat on the sidelines long enough waiting to see what direction Wakanda will move in since the mysterious ousting of King T'Challa, and now that we know the full background of the rebel king…this by the way is what he is known as in Mohannda and Niganda. Those two nations also have large deposits of colbalt, coltan, and uranium, and their leaders have hinted King N'Jadaka may wage war to secure those resources just like he hoards vibranium from the rest of the world."

"Janice, are you suggesting that King N'Jadaka's background as a C.I.A. operative may provoke a World War Three scenario in the future? He is in our country right now, in this city exactly with other African leaders and Black politicians from around the world. You really believe he will bring us to the brink of another global disaster after we've gone through so much?"

"He is a threat to our national security and the security of other African countries who desire peace and free-trade without violence. It is our duty to protect those people, and to protect the leadership who want to sell resources that benefit all. We are all witnessing the emergence of a secretive superpower under the leadership of a man we trained in black ops and who has no allegiance to anyone. I find this disconcerting and frankly, Bill, I'm shocked at how casual the leadership in this country is taking this troubling revelation."

"Excluding his recent U.N. speech, King N'Jadaka has only spoken out publicly against the on-going genocidal war in the DRC. As far as we know, he hasn't done anything outright on the continent of Africa that should warrant the type of forceful caution you are suggesting. Why are you so adamant about this discourse in the capital?"

"Wakanda is an unknown factor in global conflicts to date. U.S. officials and the Pentagon would like to see it stay that way, but King N'Jadaka appears to be rattling his saber. His training and access to the most powerful weaponry on earth scares me. It should scare everyone, especially with his negative views toward the United States…the land of his birth."

"Genius…decorated solder…Navy SEAL…C.I.A. operative…mercenary…king…you've given us a lot to think about with your upcoming book about Wakanda's place in geopolitics."

"Here's something else to think about. King N'Jadaka —Erik Stevens when he was an American—used to have Tony Stark as a mentor."

"Iron Man?"

"Yes."

"Are you implicating the billionaire superhero in anything to do with King N'Jadaka's spectacular political trajectory?"

"I'm only pointing out how entrenched the Wakandan king is within bleeding edge technology in the military arms race and his close proximity to someone many found problematic years ago as an industrialist. Who knows if these two men are still in contact with one another? Tony Stark should be called to Washington to answer pertinent questions about his past with this king."

N'Jadaka flicked the off button for the tv. Yani placed it back on the nightstand.

"They've been sitting on this shit for a year. Been wondering when the C.I.A. would drop it in the court of public opinion. Of course that bitch pushes her upcoming book during the last leg of your international book tour. I bet all of your book sales that Everett Ross had a hand in being a ghostwriter for it."

"Will they connect me with your mercenary past? Klaue?"

"No. Klaue used aliases on St. Thomas."

"What if they ask you about how we met?"

N'Jadaka lifted a long braid from Yani's face and tucked it behind her ear.

"I was on vacation in paradise and met you…a beautiful island girl. We fell in love and that's all there is to it."

Yani kissed his lips gently and rolled back on her side. He curled around her and they snuggled for a bit. He whispered in her ear.

"I don't want you to worry about anything that woman said. They've been looking to smear me every chance they get. It doesn't take away from those who support and believe in us."

She nodded into his arm and he kissed her temple.

"These people can only speculate from afar. We'll always be ahead of them. The only thing I want you thinking about is how you'll look in that wedding dress when I see you walking down the aisle," he said.

"That woman on tv tried to make you look like a monster, but all of your achievements only made you look like a man they should praise."

"I came up out the mud and took my talents to the last place they expected. They're starting to see what Africa could become once I get these wars abolished. Africa has always been the center of the world. Once we get the rest of these colonial shackles off her feet, I'll make her flex."

"You sound like you want to be king of the motherland."

"Don't tempt me."

Yani glanced back at him.

"Would you do something like that?"

"No more talk about the world. The sun hasn't come up yet and the children are still asleep."

N'Jadaka smashed his lips against hers and hurriedly slipped his tongue in her mouth to hush more inquiries. Her watery mouth tasted of 7-Up that she must've snuck a sip of from the suite's mini-fridge. His mind slowed down the way it always did when he kissed her. The heartbeat thumps in his chest matched the speed of hers. His long locs fanned out around her face and his Golden Jaguar necklace claws grazed her throat. Yani hummed into his mouth while sucking his tongue and he gasped at the initial thickening of his dick.

Pulling away, he stared down at her face, taking in the wide round eyes with curling lashes that fluttered whispery kisses against his neck as he kissed her forehead.

"I hate when we're apart," he said.

"I know."

"I love being with you like this when the children are in the next room asleep and safe…when no one from the outside bothers us. I can have you all to myself…oohhh…."

Yani slid her hands down his chest and squeezed the growing bulge in his pajama bottoms. He leaked a growing spot of precum and she toyed with it through the silk barrier. Her fingers became sticky and slick. He groaned and murmured her name into her hair, lifting his body higher so he could watch her hand do wonders teasing his erection.

Resting against her, he slid his fingers across her chest, fondling her breasts through her gauzy nightgown top. He pulled down on it until her titties spilled out, the plump nipples feeling like fat grapes on his fingertips. Pinching and plucking at them gently, he played with her breasts until he was ready for more. He climbed above her and pushed his groin into her mound, the friction swelling his dick until it poked out of the waist band on its own. He tugged his pajama pants down and gripped the thick erection in his eager hand. Yani lifted off her gown and he pushed the covers back so he could see the blessed globes jiggle.

"Oh shit," he groaned.

He pressed the tip of his dick against her pierced clit and a glistening long thread of precum shined up her labia. Swiping the bulbous head back and forth, he smeared the clear fluid on her fat vulva like icing on a chocolate cake. Yani shifted her big thighs and her ass cheeks jiggled. He smacked the underside hard and the recoil from that position forced a heavy moan from his lips. She had gained weight. He knew her trip back to St. Thomas and Jamaica meant eating good childhood food, and his woman didn't miss nary a meal. It was a gift to him no doubt.

Kicking off his pajama bottoms all the way, N'Jadaka played with Yani's breasts and labia until he was ready to penetrate the pretty pink opening flashing at him. Yani turned on her side and he parted her labia with one fluid motion of his dick sinking deep into her. She whimpered at the stretching of her walls after a long absence.

"I won't go crazy, baby…I promise. Too many people close around," he huffed.

Her pussy accommodated his girth with a tight wetness he was accustomed to having mold like a second skin around his dick. All he could think of was President Mubiri ogling Yani's body, especially her ass. It looked so round and ripe in her dress. He thrust forward knowing that man would never know pussy as sweet and juicy as the one sheathing his exceptional length. Only kings deserved the clenching his dick received at that moment.

"Yani….dassit…baby…damn…"

He grit his teeth trying to keep from shouting. Lowering his head, he dropped his face into the back of her neck and muffled his vocal straining. In and out…her perfect gushy cavern squelched and he dug in deeper, wanting to hear the sounds of his balls smacking her ass.

"Fuck…girl…"

She arched her back and he smothered his body over hers, preventing her from taking control and making him nut too quick. His dick needed to marinate in her pussy. He held Yani's back against his chest and reveled in the snug pussy cradling his dick. Keeping still, he played with her clit without thrusting, making her indulge in the pressure off all that meat stuffed inside of her. She huffed into her pillow and wiggled her hips, but he kept her anchored against him without mercy.

"You miss Daddy's dick?" he asked.

"Yes."

She whimpered pitiful sounds and clawed the sheets, eventually wilting in his arms. His dick could stay hard for hours, the gift from the heart-shaped herb's power flowing through his blood. He rested in her walls for an hour, teasing her clit and whispering nasty things in her ear. She started crying from the delicate teasing of his fingers all over her jewel-pierced vulva for such a long time without release.

"You betta not cum until I tell you…okay?"

"Okay…okay…I can't take much more…"

She bit into his arm and the heat from her mouth made him chuckle. Yani sat on the edge of her orgasm. Her legs shook from the anticipation. He needed the slow revving from her to keep himself in check.

They shared a sex routine they always adhered to on their reunions since their year of living together in the palace. It was a way to protect her pussy from his veracity. He was never allowed to cum in her pussy first when they joined. It took too much out of her to handle him regularly, so he learned to control his first release and saved it for her submission to him on her knees. The king's affirmation was always a facial for his beautiful queen.

If Yani orgasmed too quickly first, he would head straight to pound town, spurting too much semen that always released the beast in him. Uniting their bodies in slow methodical build ups kept him manageable for her. As he resumed stroking her walls after the long delay of cockwarming, he kept tabs on his arousal levels. When it was time to shift the pace before he wore her down, he pulled his dick from her precious pink sanctuary. Yani scrambled off the bed to submit to his need for dominance.

He moved his legs over the bed and spread his thighs wider, giving Yani room to position her knees on the floor properly in front of him. She offered him her tits, smacking them together playfully, and he fondled a nipple, fisting his dick, and watching her big beautiful brown eyes stare up at him.

"I love you like this…looking up at me…yeah baby…open that mouth…stick out your tongue…yeah, just like that. You gon' let me fuck that pussy some more after this?"

She nodded, looking innocent and expectant.

"Sexy ass…" he hissed.

He bent down and kissed her and she sucked on his lower lip, tugging on the skin with her teeth. Pulling back he shoved his dick down her throat, the girth hallowing out her cheeks on both sides as she sucked and worked her neck. She smacked her lips against his tip, releasing it with a loud pop and a sliding of her tongue across her top lip.

"Suck dick so good…suck it some more…right there…let me stretch that mouth. Stop playing with it Yani, take that shit the right way…"

He reached out and softly slapped the side of her mouth and she gave him a sly grin and licked the underside of his thick ridge. He grabbed her hair then, yanking on the braids to remind her of her place. She hit that itchy sensitive part of his dick with the friction of her scandalous tongue. The thinnest part of the dermis seemed to rest there in that spot that gave her tongue-tip the secret combination to start making his dick leak with clear fluid again. His erection was like a rigid pole vault in her mouth and he was so ready to dismount with a fat nut. Yani hummed, and slowly licked along the sides of his dick. His breathing quickened to a pace that alarmed him. She was beginning to control him, making him react like a desperate man under her spell, and that was being disobedient. Her bratty behavior couldn't be corrected in the heat of her deep throating him. That would require major spanking and loud cursing. The last thing he wanted was for their children and security team to hear him curse a blue streak while spanking Yani's ass. She wanted him to hurry up and ejaculate so she could ride his dick and cum.

A surge of semen rose up through his balls. He slapped Yani again for putting a super charged gwak-gwak 3000 on him too soon. She became obedient again and squeezed his fat sack, staving off his release. He thought about letting her milk him and cumming in her mouth, but the decadent and demanding king wanted to paint her face with hot semen when he was ready. It was his way…he craved the ritual of it between them, and also because he knew a little secret about her.

He grinned slyly thinking about it.

Yani had been sneakily watching old videos of him with past lovers. Months earlier he had scanned old computers that he planned on destroying until his spyware cam detected unusual activity in secret files. The spycam revealed Yani's viewrship and he chuckled at the thought of her using him for her personal porn collection. He said nothing, and left the old computers where they stayed in their home, pretending to ignore them as old artifacts from his past life. The most viewed images were his cum shots on women's faces, and he clocked the intense looks of pleasure on her face when he did it to her. She loved submitting to him that way and it was a great help to their energetic sex life. Lovemaking wasn't as frequent as it used to be because their lives were so busy, but the intensity increased because of it.

Yani continued the arousing slow sucking. He watched her glossy plump lips slide back and forth across the top half of his dick. Her fawning eyes stayed locked on his, riling up his body because she made the act of dick sucking look so illicit. So pornographic.

Every now and then she would stop sucking and rubbed her lips back and forth across the mushroom cap creating a delicious tickling. His balls throbbed. She twisted her fingers around the head to give him new sensations, never once breaking eye contact. Yani knew how to chip away his defenses by giving off innocent vibes. She'd stay on her knees looking up at him with her big titties all out, nipples perky and offered to him like delectable appetizers. That look took him back to St. Thomas and the first time he ever touched her. His dick felt heavy between his legs. Thoughts of her back then being a little spitfire towards him ratcheted up his emotions for her in the present. In six days he would wed the most beautiful, cunning, and loving woman he had ever had to call his own. She latched onto him like a ride or die and he never wanted her to be that way ever again. She deserved better…she deserved more from him. His best. No, he would be a ride or die for her. Always.

He palmed her breasts and squeezed them. Lifted them up and down. Thumbing her nipples with wide circles, he listened to her breathy pants of pleasure. She stroked his dick. Yani would soon be the composed queen of a mighty nation in public, but at night, she would always be his nasty little slut…on her knees begging for Daddy dick to be stuffed in all of her orifices. That turned him on as he pushed her tits together. Her eyes were glassy. Lips pouted. She reached down and peeled back the wings of her inner labia giving him peek-a-boo glimpses of her wet pink. She needed his dick and slapped her pussy lips to ignite a wild fire in him.

"Taste mi," she purred.

Yani held up her wet fingers scented with her love and he licked them, opening his mouth wider so she could stuff three digits inside to paint his tongue with the dew. He swallowed her offering and she traced the shape of his lips with her own until the swollen skin on his lips itched for more.

"Killmonger."

Her moist lips pushed out the air to say that name. It ended him. He jumped to his feet and leveled the deep slit of his dick toward her cheek.

"Yani! Fuck! Fuck!"

Hollering out more expletives, a rush of thick hot cum splashed all over the side of her face. It dripped down to her neck in a sticky white deluge. He gulped for air and groaned to the ceiling.

Cumming on her face soothed the raging libido in N'Jadaka long enough for him to gather Yani in his arms and put her back on the bed. She leaned on her side again. Curling around her ass, he lifted her heavy thigh and pushed back inside her pussy.

"…fucking this pussy…."

He groaned and pumped, letting his lust take over, grateful he ejaculated on her face first because he would've broke her back if he hadn't. She took the pounding like a graceful queen, fully aware that he was lost in the pussy, her pleasure forgotten because her loving blotted out all of his senses. He took advantage of his selfishness because once she became queen, their sex life would switch over to ancient protocols that dictated that the queen had to cum first with her pussy being eaten before the king could even put his dick inside of her. Yani looked forward to that, and he plowed into her knowing that he had a week left to be a bedroom bully.

He smacked her ass cheek harder, talked his shit in her ear and knew his dick tugged on her labia long enough. The king pushed her onto her back and mounted her with one purpose: to hear her scream his name in his ear.

"Cum all over this big dick. Show me how much you love me."

Rocking into her, he held onto her bouncing tits and they both watched him pump long strokes into quivering walls. Her mouth fell open and he crushed her with his full weight. Her lips brushed against his ear and he waited to her that old name of his called out.

It didn't take long.

"Killmonger…Killmonger…fuck me…fuck me Killmonger…."

The silky muscular walls of her pussy squeezed around his dick in a constant flow of contractions that only added to his pleasure listening to her cry out for more. The ecstasy of her voice spiraled him out of his soul.

Hunched over her, N'Jadaka pressed his face into her pillow and roared into the cotton. His dick swelled inside of her and the intense throbbing rippled all the way to his anus and down the back of his ankles. He gasped like he was dying, mashing Yani's breasts into his sweaty chest and enjoying the rooted sensation of his balls throbbing and pushing out semen.

"Goddammit," he sputtered into her hair.

His eyes rolled back into watery sockets that blurred his vision. He rolled over and she climbed on top of him, breasts swinging in his face. Yani bounced on his dick and he thrust up to meet her passionate energy. He settled into sucking on her nipples and areola, letting her rock the bed with her own efforts. She gave him nurturing with the fucking, cooing to him and rubbing his locs.

"My man works so hard…you like your queen taking care of the royal dick, Daddy?"

He nodded, groaning at her soft accent and the way her pussy yanked on his dick with perfect timing. She went at his stiffness at the speed and depth that was comfortable for her and he submitted to whatever she wanted to give him. He watched the up and down movements and admired how shiny she made his dick. Her sticky wetness overflowed and made his lap slippery. The sounds of a fat ass smacking on his balls pleased his ears.

Yani leaned forward and her breasts covered his face entirely, smothering him in buttery softness like a fleshy curtain hiding him from the world. Grateful to be hidden inside her warmth, he relaxed into letting go of all of stresses, all of his problems, all of his worries. He let his queen carry him away to physical delights that poured life back into him. That's what she had always been for him. A life giver. A true goddess the way Tahir had called her.

He started hollering and Yani slammed her hand over his mouth. His heels pressed down into the mattress and his toes curled. Yani panted above him, her voice going up an octave as her second release ascended its peak.

"I'm cumming! I'm cumming on your dick, Killmonger!"

She whipped her head back and forth. Arching her back, her nails clawed his chest.

"Oh, God….oh god! Killmonger…!"

He grabbed her arms and pressed her against his chest. Thrusting his hips upward, he forced Yani to take all the dick as her pussy contracted and milked every drop of cum he shot into her. Their cries of lust co-mingled into an ancient primordial release.

N'Jadaka's voice became hoarse and Yani cradled his face and kissed him, uniting all of their parts together. Her slow languid kisses centered him once more. He hugged her tight, his face mashed into her breasts, and she rubbed his head. They both could feel his stiff dick still throbbing inside of her.

"Can you take more?" he asked.

She nodded.

"Go to the restroom and come on back," he said.

He smacked her ass cheek and she climbed off of him.

Waiting for her to urinate and put special lubricants on her vulva and inside her vagina, N'Jadaka stretched his body. His dick fell back onto his stomach, the head pulsing and dribbling semen above his belly button.

"Fuck, I miss this shit," he said to himself.

Yani returned and they kissed. He licked a trail down to her pussy and pampered her with plenty of earned licks and kisses. The sweet odor of the lubricant she used to protect her womanly parts excited him. He blew a soft breath on her clit and the lubricant warmed up on her vulva adding more pleasure to their adult play time. The pale lighting of the sky heralded the new morning. Yani came in his mouth with her thighs covering his head.

Before the children arose to greet them, Yani rode his dick reverse cowgirl so he could watch the new weight of her backside gleam from the sunlight. Each time she rose up, he watched how tight her pussy gripped his dick. He kept quiet, swallowing his groans, nearly crying himself looking at how big her ass had gotten. N'Jadaka knew the weight gain wasn't from pregnancy. They had been apart since her last period, but he imagined how she would look with pregnancy weight. He liked her chunky and round like a butterball. Her weight had fluctuated over the last year, but it had settled down in the last two months until she did her book tour.

He watched the massive orbs of jiggly ass cheeks bounce on him. It was insane to have a body like that. But it was all his. Her voluptuous gifts belonged to him.

A new thought floated in his mind.

Part of the royal protocols meant that Yani wouldn't be permitted to take birth control during their wedding and honeymoon. Any child conceived during the first month of marriage to a royal couple was a sign of a prosperous future. The world was missing billions of people. Wakanda needed to repopulate. That meant she couldn't be on the contraceptive shots Wakandans used. She would already be weaned off of it to match the timing of their wedding.

He could get her pregnant right then and there.

Yani arched her back and wiggled her backside. She studied his face over her shoulder as she made love to him in the best way for him to admire her body. His dick seemed to get harder thinking about impregnating her before the wedding.

"Do that shit, Ma. Shake that ass."

Yani giggled and tossed her braids over her one side of her head and continued watching him watch her move.

"Look at all this ass…."

She reached back and lifted her ass cheeks for him, her light pink manicured nails looking lovely splayed out to tease him by digging into the ripeness of that bubble. He smacked her butt hard. They'd been fucking for three hours after the troubling news broadcast. He gripped the sheets admiring the dimpling in her backside. If she grew bigger back there during a new pregnancy, she would probably get stretch marks. Titties would get bigger too. He remembered what they looked like filled with milk and he rubbed his large hands all across both ass cheeks, sinking his fingers into the weight.

Sweat dripped down her body and pooled around the indentations on her lower back. She wound her waist teasing the tip of his dick before sliding back down, clapping her own cheeks for him. The woman knew how to keep him satisfied. He gripped her waist and kept her bounce steady. His balls ached to release. He already knew she was fatigued but kept going because she missed him so much and wanted to show off for him longer.

"Such a good girl, Yani. You took good care of this dick. I can't wait to put some more babies in this pussy."

His loose talk brought a glance back at him. Her pussy squeezed his dick with his baby talk. He laughed.

"You heard me girl. Might get you pregnant right now if you keep playing with me like this…shit. Get down for me…just like that. Arch that back. Yeah baby, givin' me that right triangle action…yeah, there it go…head all the way down…big ass up…"

N'Jadaka wistfully stared at Yani in the doggy position, her head to the side so he could watch her face while he smashed. He held onto her waist and pushed in. They had to hurry or else there'd be a pounding on the door with three sets of feet jumping up and down to get their attention.

CLAP. CLAP. CLAP.

Loud. So loud.

Perspiration dropped down from his face onto her spine. His kimoyo beads lit up bright yellow. Okoye was notifying him of incoming reports from Wakanda. He had an hour before the general came to him.

He groaned once Yani hit that spot on his dick with her pussy that felt like lips and tongue suction. The queen had skills that were mindblowing. She started cumming before he did so he rode her wave of pleasure, encouraging her to squirt all over him and fuck up the covers even more with all their fluids on the blanket. He pulled out and palmed her ass, holding the tip of his dick close to her entrance where he shot ribbons of heat all over her labia. Sitting back on his haunches, he admired the way her tight pink opening throbbed and glistened with his cum covering it. She moaned softly at his gentle fingering of the pretty mess he made.

He rubbed her booty and then helped her get under the covers. Kissing her forehead he wasn't surprised to see her drift away quickly from exhaustion. She knew more than anyone it would be some time before they could be like that again until their wedding night. Once back in Wakanda there would be a whirlwind of duties and ceremonial events for their betrothal march.

His dick finally went limp.

He showered and changed into a saffron yellow lounging tunic and slacks. Kora arrived on time to get the children up and ready for breakfast with the rest of the family. He kissed them goodbye and welcomed Okoye and Ayo into the suite.

"Sit," he said.

He poured himself fresh orange juice and nibbled at some breakfast pastries his personal chef sent down from the half cruiser floating invisibly above the hotel roof. Getting comfortable in a side chair, he watched the two Doras on the couch.

Okoye tapped her beads and ten pictures of African men floated above her wrist. She flicked the images above the hotel coffee table and N'Jadaka peered at each one with stern eyes. Each man came from various nations on the continent in service of genocide and predatory exploitation. Okoye tapped each image as she spoke.

"Angola, Congo, Rwanda, Uganda, Sudan, Nigeria, Central African Republic, South Sudan, Somalia, and Ethiopia. Each man neutralized as requested," Okoye said.

She gave him time to inspect the stats on each man's file report before swiping them away and bringing up targets in Eastern and Western Europe.

"Ukraine. Russia. England. France. Germany. Spain. Turkey. Italy. Norway. Sweden," Okoye said.

She went through all twelve countries in South America and ended with combined targets in the U.S. and Canada.

"Any blowback yet? Suspicions?"

Ayo spoke up.

"None kumkani. Each target was studied for months before our War Dogs acted. If there were pre-existing medical conditions, we exacerbated the problem. Others were set up with accidents or placed in precarious positions through threats of exposure. Several committed self-harm when faced with public humiliation," Ayo said.

The women led him through detailed intelligence. Yani eventually woke up and padded past a narrow hall in a long ivory robe to shower and dress. Okoye and Ayo didn't notice her.

"Kumkani, there is one more target," Okoye said.

She tapped her beads and Agent Everett Ross's image popped up along with his ex-wife, C.I.A. Director Valentina Fontaine.

N'Jadaka tapped his fingers on the arms of the chair.

"Since Nick Fury has been gone, Ross is our only reliable plant. I can't take any chances trying to turn anyone around from the inside. None of them can be trusted. Not even the Black ones," he said.

"We are on standby to neutralize them as soon as you give us word," Okoye said.

"I want Ross dead, but not until I've used him up. As long as he thinks he's cool with us, I'll string him along. We can use him to get intel on Fontaine. She's making waves in the intelligence community and they're still somewhat close from what we've gathered so far."

"He wants to meet with you before you leave," Okoye said.

"Nah. I have no desire to talk with him. Just tell him I'm busy with my nuptials and will be unavailable for a month. I'm honeymooning with Yani in Umbono Cove on the houseboat. I don't want to be bothered with anything. Ramonda will oversee everything in my absence. Understood?"

They nodded.

A knock at the entrance door brought them all into guarded attention. Ayo answered. N'Jadaka spotted an Onyx Squad captain standing next to Mpilo.

"Kumkani, sorry to disturb your meeting. I have a private message from the President of the United States," Mpilo said.

N'Jadaka waved the young man over to him. Mpilo handed him a thick beige envelope with the Presidential seal on it. He read the short message inside.

"The President would like a private meeting with me too before we leave," N'Jadaka said.

"Your schedule is under tight security. We would need adequate time to set up additional protective measures inside the White House," Okoye said.

"They don't want to meet at the White House."

"Where then?"

"Camp David."

"The American Department of Defense already has additional surveillance on us since our arrival in this country. Nothing we can't handle if they try something there," Ayo said.

N'Jadaka thrummed his fingers again on the armchair.

"They've set the meeting a day after Yani's television interview."

"Will you go?" Yani interjected from behind them.

Everyone lowered their heads to Yani. She stepped into the living room area dressed in a long cozy pocket dress with vivid colors that reminded him of Black Creek in Wakanda, the place where his parents were entombed. Her hair was elaborately wrapped in a matching headwrap. She took a seat at the small dinette table by the window where their morning meal was set up. Pouring herself fruit juice, she sipped and stared at him. N'Jadaka tossed the invitation on the coffee table.

"I don't want to be bothered," he said.

"I think you should go. At least see what he wants. You won't come here again for awhile and it's time that he gets to see you in an informal place. Maybe you'll catch him off guard without all the eyes here in D.C.," Yani said.

He considered it.

"Leave us," he said.

Mpilo, the Doras , and the Onyx Squad guard removed themselves from the suite. He joined Yani at the table and they fixed themselves plates of food and ate together.

"You really want me to go?" he asked.

Yani stuffed a small Wakandan red berry pastry in her mouth.

"I think President Matthew Ellis needs to see the man that frightens him so much. Think of it as a flex if you want," Yani said.

N'Jadaka grinned.

"And people out here think you're just some sweet faced beauty on my arm," he said. "That means I won't be able to travel back home with you and the kids."

She shrugged and sipped on more juice brought from their new homeland.

"It just means I get to miss you again and we can have another reunion in our bedroom back in Birnin Zana."

He widened his legs and patted his thigh. Yani left her seat and sat on his lap. He rubbed on her booty again and rested his head on her breasts.

"I want to be on a houseboat with you…naked. Making long slow love under the moon and stars."

"We will do that soon enough."

"A whole month, you and me…partially alone."

"Don't remind me. Riki has already complained that they don't get to join us until two weeks into our honeymoon."

"Man, two weeks off with just you and me. Yeah, you definitely getting pregnant Yani."

She slapped his arm.

"Stop putting that out in the universe. We said we'd wait two more years before trying…and trying is the operative word, sir. I'm not taking the man-made contraceptive shots as tradition dictates, but I am taking precautions."

She held up the bluish drink she sipped on.

"This was given to me by Umama. Two glasses a day and it inhibits any eggs from fertilizing. You can shoot up the club and I won't be penalized for forsaking tradition…technically."

"Alright then…practice getting pregnant is good enough for me."

"Aren't three children enough for you already for the time being?"

"Nah. I'm making a whole new tribe with you."

"Easy for you to say, I'm the one who has to carry your big babies."

"I'll be right by your side spoiling you every step of the way. You make pretty babies, Yani, and my family's genes are strong. They all gonna look like me."

He kissed her neck and let his full lips linger there.

"Tell me you love me, Yani."

She cupped his chin and raised it.

"I love you."

"Say it again."

He nuzzled against her breasts and she stroked his lengthy locs.

"I love you. I love you. I love you," she said above his head.

Closing his eyes, N'Jadaka listened to Yani's heartbeat and rested in her bosom of peace.

Chapter 2 HERE.

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[localsimpissleepy]

for ship bingo heehee..... cygson...... asking on anon as if it isn't very possible to guess who I am

Jee, i wonder which mutual this is lol-

Listen, if their enemies to lovers, i'm gonna ship them (also, red and blue dynamic hello-)

This ship could either turn into “i can fix him” or “i can make him worse”, either way, if it's angsty, i'm gonna ship them either way-

This is giving just two guys hating each other's guts and started fighting, and then start making out 1 minute later-

They also seem like uncle/father figures to Jack (Crimson probably gives Jack like decent advice, while Cygnus is like “You're having guy problems? Idk try kill him or something, that's how i got Crimson”)

Side note: idk why but i thought of this clip when i saw this ship for the first time (probably an interaction between Night Swan & Cygnus):

https://youtube.com/shorts/LdoiBdNeCbM?si=cbC-hB3Paxk_rg1P

[kk095]

Christine’s Malpractice Case

Every year, there are thousands of medical malpractice cases reported in the United States. Ranging from surgical or procedural errors, to misdiagnosis, to anesthesia errors, and many other possible factors not listed. We all have a certain level of trust in medical professionals because of their many years of training and education. However, these professionals are people too, and are prone to making mistakes from time to time. Unfortunately when medical professionals make a mistake, it can have major consequences for their patient- leading to further injury, disability, or even death. Sadly, one such case took place at our hospital recently.

The patient was Christine Rossi. She was 47 years old and stood at only 5 feet tall, but her big personality made up for her lack of height. She had a pleasantly plump figure, beautiful brown eyes, shoulder length brown hair, was olive skinned since she was of Italian descent, and always had a fresh mani+pedi. She looked good for her age since she never had kids, and she was never married- but definitely married to her career as a medical malpractice attorney.

Christine’s case began when she was brought into our emergency department one evening straight from her office. She was wheeled into trauma 1 sitting up on the gurney, stripped down to just her bra and underwear. She was wearing an oxygen mask, had EKG electrodes all over her chest, and had IVs going in both arms. “hi, I’m Dr Lindsay. Can you tell me what’s wrong?” Dr Lindsay, the ER attending from that evening asked Christine in a calm, inviting tone. Christine was gasping for air and had one hand on her chest. Her eyes were absolutely bugging out at times, and she was visibly uncomfortable. “my chest…” Christine utters to Lindsay. “your chest hurts? How long has it been hurting you?” Dr Lindsay asks in response. “since yesterday… but it got worse- a lot worse just now…” Christine tells Dr Lindsay.

On the heart monitors, Dr Lindsay saw that Christine was tachycardic, hypotensive, and had an abnormal EKG. The EKG showed unifocal PVCs with ST elevation. The doctor ordered some blood tests: a CBC, BMP, tox screen, and a stat cardiac enzyme test. An echocardiogram and chest x ray were also ordered while the blood was being drawn for the labs.

While the blood samples were sent off to the lab, the chest x ray was performed first. The only thing that was abnormal was some swelling and irritation in both lungs. This can be caused in part by Christine’s rapid, labored breathing, but it can also be associated with blood clots in the lungs, heart attacks, or fluid buildup in the lungs (for example, from pneumonia, covid, and sometimes severe bronchitis). The chest x ray definitely provided some good information, but it didn’t give Dr Lindsay the whole picture, so an echocardiogram was ordered. The echo showed right ventricular hypertrophy. Basically, the right side of her heart was enlarged and working much harder than it should. With the stat cardiac enzyme lab still pending, a dose of nitro was given for chest pain, and cardiology was called for consultation.

The two members of our cardio team to arrive were Dr Rachel, one of our cardiothoracic surgeons, and her cardio resident Dr Sarah. “hey guys, I appreciate you coming down. I think she’s having an acute STEMI and needs the cath lab, just waiting on the cardiac enzyme test to come back to confirm. What do you think?” Dr Lindsay says to the 2 cardio doctors. Dr Sarah looks at Dr Rachel, waiting for her to do the talking. “don’t look at me! What do you think of Dr Lindsay’s assessment?” Dr Rachel told Sarah, trying to get her resident to take some initiative. “I um… I agree.” The resident replies hesitantly. “why do you agree? Go on!” Dr Rachel tells Sarah. “well… um… the EKG shows ST elevation. And uh…. The patient has angina pectoris and shortness of breath.” The resident replies, nervously, and without confidence.

Nurse Nancy walks into the room with a few pieces of paper. “labs are back.” She says, handing the papers to Dr Lindsay. “Cardiac enzymes are high. This is definitely a STEMI.” Dr Lindsay says thinking out loud. “ok, let’s get her to the cath lab. We need to start a central line and get a stent in her.” Dr Rachel called out to the rest of the ER team. “what… what’s going on?” a nervous Christine asked, still breathing heavily. “you’re having a heart attack and we have to put a stent in, ok?’” Dr Lindsay tells the nervous lawyer. “a heart attack?!” Christine asks in response, surprised at what she’s heard. “am I going to die?!” Christine continued. “you’re in great hands! We’ve seen plenty of heart attacks like this. We’re going to place a stent, keep you here for a day or two, and you should be good to go.” Dr Lindsay replies with relative confidence, oblivious to the fact of what was to come. “Can you call my mom? I’m scared…” Christine asks Lindsay, still short of breath, visibly in pain from the crushing pressure she felt in her chest. “of course! We’ll have one of the nurses reach out to her, ok?” Lindsay replies, reassuring.

Over the following few minutes, Christine is taken up to the cardiac catheterization lab. She’s laid flat on the table and her bra is removed, allowing her large, D cup breasts to spill out. “alright Christine, our resident Dr Sarah will place the line and the stent. We’ll be getting started shortly.” Dr Rachel tells the nervous attorney. “the resident? I don’t want her to practice on me…” Christine protests, having a gut feeling against having the resident perform the catheterization and stent placement. “don’t worry ma’am, me and Dr Lindsay have done these plenty of times. Sarah will have plenty of adult supervision!” Dr Rachel tells Christine, attempting to add a little comedic relief to the urgent situation. Christine still had a bad feeling about it, but ultimately agreed to let Sarah perform the procedure.

The upper right portion of Christine’s chest was splashed with betadine to sterilize the area. The resident identifies the superior midpoint of the clavicle, and moves down a few centimeters. This is the location of the subclavian vein, so it’s important that the correct location be identified in the early stages of the procedure. Next, a local anesthetic is injected into Christine’s chest to numb the skin and some of the underlying tissues. She winced in pain, feeling a pinch and a burn from the injection. It normally takes 45-60 seconds for the local anesthetic to numb the area effectively, so in the meantime, an ultrasound was set up. This is to further confirm the location of the subclavian vein, and to follow the catheter’s path once placed. Next, a hollow needle was advanced through the skin. Christine could feel the pressure of the needle being inserted, but no pain. The resident Sarah advanced the needle slowly into the beautiful attorney’s chest, looking at the ultrasound monitor. Eventually, the needle was in the correct depth and blood was aspirated. The needle was held in place for a moment while the blunt guide wire was maneuvered through the needle and into the subclavian vein. While inserting the guide wire, Sarah pulled it out and inserted it again quickly, unnoticed by Rachel or Lindsay. However, everything seemed fine at the time. But in that moment, unbeknownst to everyone, Sarah introduced an air bubble into the central line, which would now become a ticking time bomb.

Eventually, the guide wire and catheter were sent to the correct location, and the occluded coronary artery was identified. A small stent was navigated into the central line and carefully and methodically navigated to the correct location. Once the stent was in place, it was placed and opened, restoring blood flow to the previously blocked artery. After confirming the placement of the stent via ultrasound and x ray, the guide wire was removed and a port was left in the initial site to leave the central line open for the duration of Christine’s hospital stay.

After the procedure was completed, Christine was brought back to an exam room in the ER to wait until a bed opened up in the recovery area. “how’re you feeling?” Dr Lindsay asked. “I definitely notice a difference. Thank you…” Christine replied, no longer breathing heavily, and seemed a lot more calm than earlier. “look who’s here!” nurse Nancy says excited, bringing Christine’s 70 year old mother Marie into the room. Marie hurries over to the bed as fast as her 70 year old body can, and gives her daughter a hug and a kiss. “How are you doing sweetie? They said you had a heart attack!” the concerned mother asks. “I’m doing a lot better mom! Thanks for coming.” She replies, with a smile on her face. “we’ll leave you two alone. It’s been quite a day, right?” Dr Lindsay said, exiting the room with nurse Nancy.

Approximately 2 hours go by. “something’s wrong! Come in, quick!” 70 year old Marie shouts to the ER team while scurrying out of the exam room, visibly worried. Dr Lindsay, nurse Heather, and nurse Nancy head into the room. The heart monitors are chirping loudly, showing that Christine is severely hypotensive and tachycardic. Christine’s eyes are shut, but she’s groaning. “christine? What’s wrong?” Dr Lindsay asks, doing a gentle sternal rub, to which Christine doesn’t respond. “she passed out and won’t wake up! What happened?!” Marie asks in a panicked tone. “We’re gonna get to the bottom of this, ok?” Dr Lindsay replied. Heather shined a pen light into Christine’s eyes and both pupils were fixed and dilated. “Pupils blown Linds” Heather tells Lindsay, shaking her head. “lets get her intubated! Get cardio back down here NOW!” Lindsay shouts, wondering what the hell just happened. “christine? Can you squeeze my hand?” Lindsay asks, receiving no response. Marie was holding her daughter’s other hand and talking to her while chaos ensued. “get me a 7.0 ET tube!” Lindsay shouted.

The ET tube was being navigated carefully into the woman’s airway by Lindsay. “no pulse, starting compressions!” Heather called out. “damn it!” Lindsay said frustrated, finishing her rapid sequence intubation. Heather delivered deep, violent chest compressions on Christine while her 70 year old mother continued to hold her hand and stroke her hair. “she’s in PEA. Push epi and atropine. And where the hell’s cardio?!” Dr Lindsay shouted again, frustrated. While Lindsay ambu bagged and lead the code, Heather continued delivering CPR. Christine’s chest caved in, and her belly jiggled outwards. Her breasts shook and trembled from the residual force of the compressions being received.

Dr Rachel and Sarah enter the room and are shocked, seeing their seemingly stable patient having her chest pumped violently. “what happened?!” Rachel asked, stunned. “I figured you two might try to figure that out for us. Any ideas?” Lindsay replied sternly. “what do you mean? She was fine a little while ago!” Rachel replied. “sarah even did a good job on her first stent placement and central line.” Rachel continued. “wait! This was the first time she ever operated on someone?!” Marie shouted, overhearing what was said. “ma’am… believe me, she is absolutely qualified. And every procedure has its risks.” Rachel replied, jumping to Sarah’s immediate defense. “did she kill my baby girl?!” Marie asked, becoming teary eyed. “Ma’am, why don’t we bring you to a private waiting room while the doctors work.” Nurse Nancy suggested, trying to gently direct the 70 year old woman out of the room. “no no no, I’m not going anywhere! That’s my daughter!” Marie shouted, tears running down her face, still holding her daughter’s hand as her chest was being absolutely pummeled.

The heartbreaking scene was interrupted by Dr Lindsay announcing that v-fib was on the monitors. “alright, charge the paddles to 200.” Lindsay called out. Nancy gently made Marie back away from the table because of the impending shock. The paddles were pressed up against Marie’s bare chest, the ambu bag was temporarily detached, and the shock was delivered. Marie’s body flopped on the table while a KA-THUNK was heard in the room. “still no change, charge to 250.” Lindsay called out, shaking her head a bit. After a cycle of compressions, the next shock was delivered. The electricity ran through the 47 year old’s limp, lifeless body, causing her to twitch sharply in response. “no pulse, let’s hit her again at 300.” Lindsay responded, looking at the monitors. “please… save my baby! That’s my little girl!” Marie begged the team while living every parent’s worst nightmare. “paddles charged.” Heather called out. The defibs were placed back onto Christine’s chest, and shock #3 was promptly delivered. Christine’s feet kicked up above the table and slammed back down half a second later, showing off the deep, soft, silky, prominent wrinkles throughout the soles of her size 7 feet. “still nothing doc.” Heather said, having 2 fingers placed on Christine’s neck for a carotid pulse. The paddles were recharged, and in a moment’s notice, Christine was shocked at 360j. Her body reacted more violently to the stronger shock, with her eyes opening up halfway, staring blankly up above. “PEA, resuming compressions.” Dr Lindsay said, taking over CPR for Heather.

More meds were pushed while CPR went on. However, it took another 6 minutes to produce another shockable rhythm. Nonetheless, when v-fib appeared on the monitors again, the paddles were recharged to 360 joules, and Christine was shocked again. Marie’s lifeless body twitched abruptly in reaction to the shock while her eyes remained open, staring blankly at the ceiling above. After another cycle of chest compressions, the next shock was delivered, causing Christine’s toes to curl, once again showing off the deep, soft wrinkles in the soles of her feet. But unfortunately at that point, the code started to become more redundant: CPR, shock, meds, repeat.

It was now 24 minutes into the code and Christine was still in v-fib. Her complexion was a ghastly pale color, her skin was ice cold to the touch, and there was a huge bruise on the center of her chest from all the CPR she’d received. At that point it was Dr Rachel doing CPR while Lindsay still ran the code. Lindsay looked around the room, eventually making eye contact with Rachel. Lindsay shook her head at Rachel, knowing Christine wasn’t coming back. Dr Rachel backed off, and nurse Heather detached the ambu bag. “what’s going on? Why are you stopping?” Marie asked the team, still holding her daughter’s hand. “I’m so sorry ma’am…” Dr Lindsay said, before Marie interrupted, “no no no! Shock her again! Keep pounding her chest! There’s gotta be SOMETHING you can do, right?!” Dr Lindsay paused for a moment, then said “I’m so sorry ma’am. We did everything we could. Your daughter’s heart won’t restart, and her brain has been deprived of oxygen for so long.” Marie started to cry at the point, practically crumbling to the floor. “time of death, 8:45pm.” Dr Lindsay said, peeling her gloves off. “no no no!” Marie wept. Nurse Nancy scurried over to try and console the woman while Heather began basic postmortem care.

The monitors were switched off, the EKG electrodes were disconnected, and the ambu bag was detached. A toe tag was filled out and placed on the big toe of Christine’s left foot, dangling in front of her beautiful, wrinkly soles. Her body was covered up, but Heather lowered the blanket down to Christine’s shoulders so Marie could have as much time as she needed to grieve her daughter’s tragic passing.

Since the exact cause of Christine’s death was unknown, an autopsy was ordered. The results of said autopsy concluded that Christine died from an air embolism that traveled to her brain. Essentially, air was introduced in the central line by Sarah, and it eventually traveled to the brain and got stuck in the smaller, more delicate vessels there. With these findings in mind, Marie was able to sue the hospital for Malpractice and received a hefty settlement payment. It was an absolute tragedy that Marie witnessed the death of her own daughter, and it was also a bit ironic that a medical malpractice attorney died from medical malpractice.

[lookatmysillies]

Aoki Character Inspo Chart (Sona Season)

Made Aoki, my pathetic S10/Sona Season boy's character inspiration chart! Explanations for each character under the chart.

Moi: Self-explanatory, as a sona he inherited several traits from me! Which traits? Wouldn't you like to know, weather boy

Yoshiki, The Summer Hikaru Died: I've explained this before when I introduced Aoki, but Yoshiki is his main character inspiration. His relationship with Kay is very Yoshiki-Hikaru adjacent. Once Kay comes back as an android, Aoki doesn't want to recognize something is wrong with his childhood best friend for a long time, but after a while, he can't avoid the truth of it anymore. Still, he loves Kay no matter what, even if the Kay he knows now isn't really - well, the Kay he knew. Yoshiki's withdrawn and secretive demeanor also applies to Aoki.

Minato, Cherry Bitch Club: Ok listen man it's not what it looks like just hear me out okay hear me out. The crux of the conflict implied in CBC is driven by Minato's severe insecurities. He's desperate to be seen as someone worthy of attention by others, especially by his friends, and is a people pleaser to the extreme, all traits which Aoki shares. He's basically the "side character who everyone loves just enough to miss, but not enough to save" by definition, and he puts himself in the position of a side character by attaching himself to others and melting into the background of their stories. Plus, Minato's design is really cool and it gave me ideas of what I wanted Aoki's design to be.

Adam Stanheight, Saw 2004: You know I had to do it eventually. Adam struggles with anger issues and self-isolation, though at heart he's a kind person who wants the best for others, even strangers. His story is out of his hands and is entirely dictated by the actions of others; he lacks autonomy. Aoki shares those aforementioned traits and story points. Plus, he's a loser twink. There's that

Yun-Woo, Bittersweet Sentence (Studio Investigrave): Though we don't know much about Yun-Woo, I thought of him immediately for inspirations! He's very paranoid and anxious 24/7, which is exactly what Aoki devolves into over the course of his time in the 10th graduating class of Anakt Garden. Their designs also share some similarities, particularly when Aoki has his glasses on (yes, he has glasses!)

Kim Dokja, Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint: The fluctuations between different personas with different people, the self-deprecation, the utter devotion and affectionate nature, it’s all extremely Aoki. KDJ feeling he’s only a spectator to life and not an active participant is particularly relevant to Aoki’s story.

Tagging @rockwgooglyeyes for the Kay mentions

[x22817]

Lots of changes are happening! My endocrinologist switched me from prednisolone, which is a fast acting, readily available cortisol to prednisone, which is much slower acting and more long term. It's taken a few days to adjust to the change, but I think it's much better. I have more energy, and it's helped with the brain fog! The fludro is staying at the level it's at for now, so we can see how the prednisone helps. My heart rates, blood pressure, and salt cravings have gotten significantly better since starting. My heart rates and blood pressure still aren't where they should be, especially just sitting down, but we're making progress!

My thyroid levels haven't been checked since my first crisis hit, and my new endo is great, so we are running a full thyroid panel. My last endo wouldn't check anything other than my TSH and T4 free even when my goiter grew. A comprehensive metabolic panel and CBC and differential have also been ordered to see where I have changed thanks to the prednisone. Take all my blood!

Now that I have been cleared by my endocrinologist and cardiologist, Bean and I will be getting back outside every chance we get! I'm so stoked to get back to having fun on a (hopefully somewhat) regular basis!

We went for our first "working walk" in a long time this morning. This basically means I brought treats with me and made her work for them. By "work for them," I mean treating for all the good things she already does. Everything is better with treats! Lately, we just head out the door and do whatever we want (especially since I've been sick). I'm a horrible person, I know.

We practiced our heel, positions, and recall focusing on having fun. I want to work on a better heel on both sides. I also want to get into the scent training stuff I have been mustering over for a minute. We've touched on it (pun intended) here and there but haven't been consistent with it. Agility will have to wait for a little longer, unfortunately. I am not allowed to put out anything more than minimal effort.

This was the only picture I got of her in her down stay with her not blinking or squinting like a grumpy old lady

[allbeendonebefore]

hiya, would you have any book or podcast recommendations for a brief overview of Roman/Classical history? not looking to get into the academia side of things, just wondering if there's a go-to Coles' notes with more of a critical rather than reverential eye!

Hi there!

I don't really listen to podcasts and the only one I've really heard is History of Rome by Mike Duncan. It was complete by 2013 but you can still find it on spotify etc. I listened to it and jumped around a lot between events when studying for exams and I also played episodes for my dad while he was driving when we were watching HBO Rome together.

I also recently listened to a two part series on Thucydides that CBC Radio's Ideas produced, not sure if this is accessible outside of Canada or not: part one is from 2011 and is about Thucydides as the first journalist/war correspondent and what set him apart from other early historians, part two is from 2020 and revisits pieces of that podcast in order to talk more about Thucydides' experience with the great plague of Athens. It's not exactly the sort of general overview of history you're seeking, but I bring it up because its something that is immediately relevant to the world today and thus easy to get into without context (particularly because reading Thucydides is a pain)

you've caught me Not-At-Home-With-My-Books which means I can't look over my shoulder and peruse my own shelf, alas. Apart from textbooks though, I'm not sure what I have for somewhat entry level books that I have even actually read and can vouch for. I really like my Classics 110 textbook but I can't remember the title/authors for the life of me. If you come ask me again in February when I'm for sure back home, I'll be able to tell you that, at least!

If you are interested in the how-we-know-this historiography side and writings from people in antiquity themselves, I'd also recommend seeing what's out there about specific ancient historians for periods or places you might be particularly interested in. For instance, you might look for books on Herodotus, Thucydides, Pausanias etc. for Greek history, or Livy, Tacitus, or even Suetonius (who is a hell of a gossip) for Roman, and so on. There might be some good annotated versions out there that have nice introductions with maps and context, etc.

If you're thrifting or browsing bookstores, generally I would avoid pop history books that focus on shock value ("eww i can't believe how depraved those romans were!") or, as you say, anything too reverential ("i cannot believe how downhill civilization has gone since the parthenon!"). The tricky thing about classics is that many if not most authors with a background in the scholarship will specialize in either literature or archaeology and not both, so you might want to look for authors and co-authors who talk about a little of each.

Thanks for asking, I'm sorry that I'm a bit less than helpful at the moment since I haven't formally been studying classics for a few years and I'm out of town away from my own collection where I keep my brain.

And of course as always, if anyone reading this has particular recommendations, please do say so in the notes! :)

[dchan87]

This past week, the world witnessed the worst slaughter of Jews since the Holocaust. Hundreds of attendees at a music festival were murdered in cold blood. Families hiding in their homes were burned alive. Jewish mothers and fathers were, in an eerie echo of the 1940s, imploring their children to stay quiet lest their would-be murderers should detect their whereabouts. More than 100 people remain in the clutches of a terrorist organization that announced its genocidal intentions in its founding charter. Many people, of all faiths and convictions, have recognized the enormity of these crimes. Numerous world leaders denounced the terrorist attacks in clear language. Private citizens shared their grief on social media. Millions mourned. But despite the outpouring of support, there has also been a large contingent of people and organizations who stayed uncharacteristically silent – or went so far as to celebrate the carnage. Even as Prime Minister Justin Trudeau and British Prime Minister Rishi Sunak found clear words about Hamas, the CBC and the BBC have steadfastly refused to call the Hamas fighters who killed more than 1,300 people by the name rightfully reserved for those who deliberately target innocent civilians for political ends: terrorists. Meanwhile, many schools and universities, non-profit organizations and corporations that have over the past years gotten into the business of condemning and commemorating all kinds of tragedies, both small and large, fell uncharacteristically silent.

Some of the most famous universities in the world – including both American institutions such as Princeton, Yale and Stanford and Canadian ones like the University of Toronto – neglected to release statements, or only did so after they came under intense pressure on social media. At Harvard University, it took an outraged thread on X (formerly Twitter) by Larry Summers, a former president of the institution, to prompt his successor into belated action.

Worse still were the people and organizations who actively celebrated the pogroms. Multiple chapters of the Democratic Socialists of America, an influential organization that counts famous members of Congress among its ranks, encouraged their followers to attend rallies that glorified Hamas’s terror as a righteous form of resistance. As its San Francisco chapter wrote on X, the “weekend’s events” should be seen as part and parcel of Palestinians’ “right to resist.” The Chicago chapter of the Black Lives Matter movement even glorified the paragliders who murdered scores of people at a rave in southern Israel in an invitation to yet another solidarity rally, pairing a now-deleted image of a paraglider with the caption: “I stand with Palestine.”

Meanwhile, academics from leading universities were busy defending these terrorist attacks as a form of anti-colonial struggle. “Postcolonial, anticolonial, and decolonial are not just words you heard in your EDI workshop,” a professor in the school of social work at McMaster University wrote on X. “Settlers are not civilians,” a professor at Yale maintained.

All of this raises a simple question: How could such a notable portion of the left side with genocidaire terrorists? Why have key institutions proven so reluctant to denounce one of the worst terrorist attacks in living memory? What, to them, renders the victims of these attacks so much less worthy of solidarity than those of the many other atrocities they have full-throatedly condemned?

The ideological roots of the great obfuscation

In recent days, people have offered many possible explanations for this selective silence. Some focus on outright antisemitism. Others emphasize that an understandable concern over the immoral actions that Israeli governments have taken in the past have blinded many activists to the suffering of innocent Israeli civilians. Others still point out that institutional leaders want to avoid eliciting angry reactions from activists, preferring to stay silent on a sensitive issue out of simple fear for their jobs.

Each of these explanations contains a grain of truth. Though this can be hard to recognize for the kinds of people who like to read a quality newspaper as they enjoy their morning coffee, some people in the world are genuinely consumed by one of the world’s most ancient hatreds.

Others are indeed hyperfocused on everything that Israel has done wrong, a stand that is easier to understand in the case of Palestinians whose ancestors have been displaced than it is in the case of leftist activists, who have for many decades found the missteps of the one state that happens to be Jewish worthy of much greater condemnation than similar, or greater, missteps perpetrated by any other.

Finally, it is indeed true that many university presidents, non-profit leaders and corporate chief executives have, among the institutional meltdowns of the past years, come to believe that they must avoid controversy at all costs if they are to keep drawing their generous paychecks.

But the double-standard that has in past days become so obvious on parts of the left also has a more profound source, one that is ideological rather than practical or atavistic. Over the past decades, a new set of ideas about the role that identity does – and should – play in the world have transformed the very nature of what it means to be on the left, displacing an older set of universalist aspirations in the process.

This novel ideology, which I call the “identity synthesis,” insists that we must see the whole world through the prism of identity categories such as race. It maintains that the key to understanding any political conflict is to conceive of it in terms of the power relations between different identity groups. It analyzes the nature of those power relations through a simplistic schema that, based on the North American experience, pits so-called whites against so-called “people of colour.” Finally, it imposes that schema – in a fashion that might, in the fashionable academic jargon of the day, ironically be called “neo-colonial” – on complex conflicts in faraway lands.

The trouble with structural racism

Many advocates of the identity synthesis rightly point out that an account of racism which focuses purely on individual beliefs or motivations runs the danger of concealing important forms of injustice. Even if everyone has the best of intentions, the aftereffects of historical injustices can ensure that many immigrant students attend underfunded public schools or that many members of ethnic minorities suffer disadvantages in the housing market. It therefore makes sense, they argue, to add a new concept to our vocabulary: structural racism.

As the Cambridge Dictionary explains with reference to the closely related concept of systemic racism, it consists of “laws, rules, or official policies in a society that result in and support a continued unfair advantage to some people and unfair or harmful treatment of others based on race.”

By pointing out that some forms of racism are “structural” in this way, we are better able to capture – and hopefully remedy – circumstances in which members of some racial groups suffer significant disadvantages for reasons other than individual bias.

This is plausible insofar as it goes. To understand contemporary Canada, it is indeed helpful to add the notion of structural racism to our conceptual toolbox. But in recentyears, many advocates of the identity synthesis have gone one step further: They have begun to claim that this more recent concept of structural racism should altogether supplant the older concept of individual racism.

Rather than acknowledging that there are two different forms of racism, each of which deserves careful attention and needs to be combatted, parts of the left have come to conceptualize racism in an exclusively structural form. “Racism,” one online guide puts the growing consensus, “is different from racial prejudice, hatred, or discrimination” because it must involve “one group having the power to carry out systematic discrimination through the institutional policies and practices of the society and by shaping the cultural beliefs and values that support those racist policies and practices.”

In its most radical form, this claim entails that it is impossible for a member of a historically marginalized group to be racist toward a member of a historically dominant group. Because racism does not have anything to do with individual beliefs or attributes, and members of groups that are comparatively powerless are incapable of carrying out “systematic discrimination” against members of groups that are comparatively powerful, even the vilest forms of hatred need not count as racist. As an article inViceput it, “It is literally impossible to be racist to a white person.”

The result has, again and again, been a form of selective blindness when members of minority groups have expressed bigoted attitudes toward supposedly more privileged groups, including those that are themselves minorities. When Tamika Mallory, one of the founders of the Women’s March, was criticized for calling Louis Farrakhan, a homophobe, misogynist and proud antisemite, the “greatest of all time,” she defended herself by telling The New York Times that “white Jews, as white people, uphold white supremacy.”

This inability to recognize the importance of the more traditional conception of racism makes it impossible to name what is happening when members of one minority group are the victims of hate crimes committed by members of another minority group that is now considered to suffer from greater disadvantages. In December, 2019, for example, two terrorists killed a police detective and then murdered three people at a kosher grocery store in Jersey City, close to New York. They had a long trail of posting antisemitic content on social media; one assailant belonged to a congregation of Black Hebrew Israelites that holds overtly antisemitic beliefs. But because the assailants were Black, and the victims perceived as white, many news outlets failed to categorize the shooting as antisemitic, or to treat it as a hate crime, for an astoundingly long period of time.

The trouble with white privilege

The idea that all racism is structural is deeply damaging because it makes it hard for institutions to open their eyes to forms of discrimination toward members of groups that are supposedly dominant. In practice, it is made even worse by the fact that many people on the left have now embraced a very simplistic notion of who is dominant and who is marginalized – one that imposes American conceptions of race on situations in which they distort rather than illuminate underlying realities.

In North America, the most salient racial divide – though by no means the only one – has for centuries been that between white people and Black people. In assessing which group is supposedly privileged in a foreign conflict, many Americans therefore think it is enough to figure out who is “white” and who is a “person of colour.” This makes it impossible for them to understand conflicts in which the relevant political cleavage does not neatly pit whites against Blacks (or, more broadly, “whites” against “people of colour”).

Whoopi Goldberg, for example, has repeatedly insisted that the Holocaust was “not about race.” Since, from an American point of view, both Jewish and non-Jewish Germans are white, she found it impossible to get her head around an ideology that centres around racial distinctions between them. “You could not tell a Jew on a street,” she wrongly claimed. “You could find me. You couldn’t find them.”

In the case of Israel, this has led most observers to assume that there is a clear division in racial roles between Israelis and Palestinians: In their mind, Israelis are white, Palestinians “people of colour.” And since white people have historically held power over non-white people, this reinforces the impression that it is impossible for Israelis to be victims of racial hatred.

But this perspective once again turns out to be so simplistic as to verge on the delusional. Ms. Goldberg was wrong to believe that Nazis were unable to spot Jews; though some Jews did manage to survive by passing themselves off as “Aryan,” many Nazis were highly effective at spotting people whom they suspected of being Jewish.

More importantly, the assumption that most of the victims of last Saturday’s terrorist attacks were “white” Jews with roots in Europe is simply wrong. It’s not just that there are Black Israeli Jews whose ancestors immigrated from Ethiopia, or that Hamas’s victims included migrant workers from Thailand and Nepal; it’s also that Israel as a whole is now home to more Mizrahi Jews, who hail from the Middle East, than Ashkenazi Jews, whose ancestors long lived in Europe.

I will leave it up to others to speculate on whether the visual differences between Jewish and non-Jewish Germans are more or less stark than those between Arabs and Mizrahi Jews. But the prominence of Mizrahi Jews also betrays yet another way in which attempts to fit the Israel-Palestine conflict into a simplistic conceptual scheme go badly wrong.

The trouble with decolonialism

The actual demographic composition of the country makes claims that Israeli civilians should be seen as settlers who are fair game for terrorist attacks doubly cynical. They are cynical because no political cause, however righteous, justifies the deliberate targeting of babies and grandmothers – neither on the Israeli nor on the Palestinian side. And they are also cynical because the great majority of Mizrahi Jews have, since the end of the Second World War, been violently displaced from the Middle Eastern countries in which their ancestors had lived for hundreds of years, with no country other than the world’s only Jewish state willing to offer them safe harbour.

Postcolonial apologists for terrorist organizations such as Hamas and Hezbollah love to invoke Frantz Fanon’s glorification of violence. The problem is not just that their tendentious reading of his work overlooks the ways in which violence can be morally corrosive and politically destructive; it’s also that the implied analogy between the so-called pied noirs (white settlers in Algeria who could safely return to the French metropolis if they chose to do so) and Mizrahi Jews (who would be neither welcome nor safe if they were to return to Iran or Iraq, to Morocco or Algeria) is so misleading as to be perverse.

And yet, this misleading analogy governs how many on the left ascribe the role of victim and perpetrator, explaining why dozens of student groups at Harvard could claim that Israel is somehow “entirely responsible” for Hamas’s decision to murder more than 1,300 people. At a deeper level, they even help to explain how some of the world’s most prominent left-wing academics can contrive to perceive a deeply authoritarian and overtly theocratic regime that is explicitly hostile to sexual minorities as a progressive movement.

For people like the feminist theorist Judith Butler, what determines whether a movement should count as left-wing or right-wing is based on whether it claims to be fighting on behalf of those they believe to be marginalized. Since Hamas is an organization of underprivileged “people of colour” fighting against “privileged” “white” Jews, it must be seen as part of a global struggle against oppression. Even though its program – which incidentally includes the violentsuppression of sexual minorities within the Gaza Strip – is reminiscent of some of the world’s most brutal far-right regimes, Mx. Butlerconsiders it “very important” to classify both Hamas and Hezbollah as “social movements that are progressive, that are on the Left, that are part of a global Left.”

It’s time for a reckoning with bad ideas on the left

Over the past few days, some observers have started to recognize how badly parts of the left have gone astray. Many leftist academics were genuinely horrified to see their friends and colleagues celebrate the murder of babies. There has been widespread outrage at the decision of influential movements such as Black Lives Matter to idolize terrorists. Shri Thanedar, a U.S. congressman, has publicly renounced his membership in the DSA.

This is a good start. In a free country, anyone must be free to express their support of extremist organizations, however vile. But mainstream institutions should stop uncritically embracing organizations that openly glorify terrorists. And citizens should demand that moderate political parties, like the Democrats, cease to tolerate members of organizationsthat equivocate about the moral permissibility of mass murder.

Black lives matter, greatly. But it should, even before this week, have become clear that the recognition of this important fact is compatible with serious concerns about the organizations that now speak on behalf of the Black Lives Matter movement. Similarly, colonialism remains one of history’s greatest injustices. But it should, even before this week, have become clear that the recognition of this important fact is compatible with serious concerns about a postcolonial discourse that all too often glorifies violent resistance to anybody who, however simplistically, is judged to be a “settler.”

Many advocates of the identity synthesis are genuinely motivated by good intentions. But key parts of this ideology now provide cover for forms of racism and dehumanization of vulnerable groups that should be anathema to anybody who genuinely cares about the historical values of the left. It is time for the many reasonable people who have bit their tongue as these ideas took on enormous power in mainstream institutions – in Canada andin the United States – to raise their voice against them.

The suffering to come

Any humane outlook on the world must recognize that civilians never deserve to suffer due to the group into which they were born or because of actions committed by those who claim to speak on their behalf. For that reason, I feel as much empathy for the Palestinian children who will die in bombardments of Gaza as I do for the Jewish children who were killed in Hamas’s attack on Israel. Each civilian death is a tragedy on the same moral order.

But while every civilian victim is in equal measure undeserving of their tragic fate, moral philosophers have for centuries recognized a key distinction between forms of military action that may be legitimate and forms of terrorism that will always remain illegitimate. In the former, military action is directed against military targets; while some civilian deaths are foreseeable as a consequence of such attacks, soldiers undertake to minimize them insofar as possible. In the latter, political action is directed against civilian targets; the killing of innocents is the goal, not an unintended side effect, of the attack.

This is a war that Israel did not choose, and the country has every right to defend itself. But the next days and weeks will show to what extent the Israeli army stays within the bounds governing the legitimate conduct of such a war. As political leaders including Joe Biden have rightly pointed out, it is imperative that it honour these long-established rules. If it doesn’t, full-throated criticisms of the Israeli government are fully justified.

But we no longer have to speculate as to whether Hamas, the organization which started the current war with a long-planned surprise attack that killed more than 1,300 men and women, toddlers and grandmothers, Ashkenazim and Mizrahim, Jews and non-Jews, Israelis and Thais and Americans and Canadiansand Germans and Chinese, obeyed the most basic moral rules. For we already know that they deliberately slaughtered scores of innocents in one of the most brutal terrorist attacks in human history.

The left has the potential to speak powerfully to this moment. To do so, it needs to jettison the ideological jargon that has made so many supposed idealists fall for the ever-present temptation to contrive reasons why my friend’s suffering is outrageous while my enemy’s suffering is glorious. To retain our moral composure in the ugly days and weeks now on the horizon, we must recover a moral universalism that, even in the darkest hour, reminds us of our shared humanity – and unhesitatingly laments the murder of innocents, irrespective of the group to which they belong.

[qurolo]

I will post whatever, mainly my own art, occasionally random thoughts and story stuff, don’t follow for anything specific.

Will edit this regularly side blog for misc thoughts and reblogs

Brainrot will be here, cheers Hi, qurolo (pronounced queue-row-low, thank you) here. 17, he/him, CBC. Just your run of the mill artist and writer

[FR/EN]: ok

My other socials

DISCLAIMERS, unless the pairing has explicit lovehearts around them, or stated otherwise, it was not meant to be a ship post Sometimes I reblog from accounts that contain ships or support some things I don't generally support, but I am reblogging for the singular post itself, though I will keep that to my sideblog

I’m ok with messages, tags, and spam likes! Literally anything

Also please don’t repost my stuff especially without asking

What I’m working on and or will hopefully post:

(November 7, 2024)

Ygo stuff

School stuff

Three animatics- just take my wallet- rocket ships- lucids

MTP DTIYS

Save me, please

[nocturnalghoul]

ghoul blood and science talk?? my interest is piqued 👀

Okay so like I’ve talked about ghoul bloods before (a lot more coherently. If ghoul blood is interesting to you please go look at those lol) I think under “ghoul blood stuff” tag which I’ll slap on this too BUT: Welcome to Drunk Kait’s Science Corner now :) (there is some ghou blood lore in this after the rant don’t worry but also I got big mad about coag so >:( )

The coagulation cascade (pathway that happens in the body to make clotting and coagulation of blood happen) is fucking stupid! There’s two pathways that meet in the middle, which like okay physio is weird that’s okay, but one side starts with VII and the other with XII. The things got named in order of discovery, not in order of the cascade so it’s all out of order and everything is roman numerals (STUPUD). But also all the numbers also have a written name which are stupid. And the early things are usually referred to as their number and the later stuff by their name which is also stupid and I FUCKING HATE IT. Factor IV is literally just calcium like just SAY CALCIUM?! One of them is called Christmas Factor (why?????)

Anyways so I’ve decided that since ghoul blood is different anyways I’m REINVENTING the coag cascade for ghouls! I still have not finished formulating how Ghoul hematopoietic stuff works (working on it!) and how it relates to renal physiology (important in humans, could be fun in ghouls) but I have decided this: I’m remaking the coag cascade to make sense! This effects nothing and matters to nobody but makes me happy so that’s enough

Now it’s just the numbers for ghouls and they are going in order now! One side goes 6->7 and the other can go 1-2-3-4-5->7 and now they have met up at 7 and we can continue on from there. Factor 13 can stay though I like him :) he’s at both the beginning and end which feels cyclical yay

Okay ghoul blood thoughts!: instead of calcium taking part in the cascade it’s phosphorus (they are sort of buddies in an inverse relationship in serum chemistry so I like that they are using the opposite thing). Due to this a lot of common anti-coagulants don’t work on ghoul blood. In the infirmary they have special blood collection tubes just for the ghouls.

My original point that I was ranting about to friend before I got distracted by coagulation is that if elemental affinity has an affect on blood type like I’ve talked about before, then I feel that it should also effect what their hematology results like a cbc or manual diff. Fire ghouls are kind of anemic but that’s their normal so it’s fine. Quintessence ghouls have weird white cell morphologies; they tend to stain deeper and have weird nucleus shapes!!!

I also feel like Rain has hemophilia but haven’t decided which type

Im going to try my best to remember to come back to this tomorrow and make it make sense more but oh well for now :)

[writeonthrough]

Namy Nuggets (11/13)

A fanfic collection of Amy and Nathan scenes from CBC’s Heartland. (Catch up on the series here)

Nugget #11: Evening Plans

It's seven o'clock before Nathan finishes his work for the day. As he watches the cows take their rest at the end of the day, his mind debates between his evening plans. He imagines his dad, alone in their half-lit kitchen, trying to convince himself he still has the cooking skills he once did. His mind then drifts to Amy. He can't help wondering, imagining, how her evening is going. He wonders if most of her evenings are the same; a huge family dinner followed by putting Lyndy to bed—or how often her routine is spontaneous.

Before he can venture a guess, however, he finds himself galloping towards Heartland. Powder races across the open fields and Nathan enjoys the beautiful summer night—the Sun still up in the sky and the birds flying across the skyline. He swivels around birch trees and enters Heartland property, happily anticipating what he will find there.

He's not disappointed when he rides up to find Amy alone in the round pen. The rest of the place is deserted, which makes it simple for him to ride straight to her.

Amy turns at the sound of hoofbeats. "Hey!" The entirety of her face brightens when she sees him. "I didn't expect to see you tonight."

"Hey," He pulls Powder to a stop and watches her walk towards him. "I wasn't expecting to come over."

"Oh, well…" She climbs up the round pen fence and sits at the top to meet him at eye level. "It's good to see you," she says sweetly before leaning forward for a kiss. He smiles and meets her willingly, stretching his neck out to kiss her more fully.

He pulls back. "You too." He gestures to the horse in the ring. "Who's this guy?"

"Tory. New client horse. He arrived this afternoon, I'm just getting to know him."

"Huh," Nathan inspects the horse. "He looks pretty good. What's his story?"

"After a year as a good police horse, he's suddenly afraid of loud noises. They say no major incident happened. He was perfect on Friday and after a weekend in the field as usual, he came in all freaked out on Monday."

"Sounds like a puzzle," Nathan offers.

"That's one word for it," Amy smiles. "I'll figure it out eventually."

"I'm sure you will." Nathan smiles back. "Hey," he reaches for her arm. She reciprocates by taking his own arm gently stroking it with her hand. "Did you already put Lyndy to bed? Are you—"

"Amy!"

They release each other at the calling of her name. Amy turns on top fence rail to see Caleb running in her direction.

He walks up to the opposite side of the round pen and climbs the wood railing. "Hey. Why didn't you tell me about your concert tonight?"

Nathan does a double take at the idea of Amy performing a concert. His interest peaks and his longing to hear her sing reawakens.

"It's not my concert, and it's not a big deal, and," she gestures to his truck, "You said you had to leave tonight, so why would I—"

"Come on," Caleb tilts his head as if the answer were obvious. "You're an amazing singer and-"

"Okay…that's a bit of a stretch there, cowboy." Amy rolls her eyes and downplays her talent. Caleb, she thinks to herself, thinks I'm amazing at everything, so it doesn't mean much.

Caleb ignores her. "I love hearing you sing—"

"It's not just me, Caleb. Katie wants to try leading for a song—"

"Yeah, I heard her practicing. She sounds great."

"Caleb. Do not make a big deal out of this. I just want to go have some fun for an evening, blow off some steam."

Nathan notes the diametrical ways Amy and Caleb describe the same event. Caleb's high praise and excitement stand in stark contrast to Amy's quiet humility.

"Yeah," Caleb promises. "So do I."

Amy rubs her temple, unsure. "Caleb…"

"I can postpone my drive for a few hours." He quickly offers. "They said you guys are going on at 9?"

"Yeah." She pauses and then adds, "If you're coming, you're not driving back tonight. Ask Lou for a dude ranch key."

Caleb breaks into one of his wide, over-excited smiles. "Thank you!"

As he climbs down the fence, Nathan can't help but speak out. "Caleb, where is this thing?"

"No—" Amy tries interjecting.

"At the Blue Bull Bar, downtown," he says, jumping off the second railing pole and turning back towards the house.

With Caleb's back turned, Nathan returns to Amy's side, riding closer and resting an arm on her leg.

He tilts her head at her, teasing, "Anything you want to tell me?"

"Uh..." Amy decides to ignore Caleb's interruption and picks up where they left off. "I did actually put Lyndy to bed. But, as it turns out, I don't think I'm free to do anything with you tonight, so…"

"No, apparently, you have very amazing plans for tonight."

"No," she pulls her leg back from his hand. "Not amazing. Blow-off steam, low-stakes kind of plans."

"Hey," Nathan points to himself. "I like low-stakes kind of plans."

"Nathan," Amy's head drops. "Come on. My whole family's gonna be there—"

"It's a public place. I can hide in the crowd."

"You haven't heard me sing before…and I wasn't planning on like—I don't know—having you there tonight."

Nathan retreats. "Do you really not want me to come?"

"No, it's not that," Amy clarifies. "I don't want to worry about you being there."

"Because of your family?"

"No, because…" She can't find any new words to express her hidden vulnerability and secret desire to impress him. Her repeated words come out as a breathless whisper, inundated with meaning, "You haven't heard me sing before."

Nathan's breath catches at her confession. He nudges Power closer to the railing and he reaches out to her, his arms encircling her waist. As he leans in for a kiss, he notices that, even with her eyes closed, her face reveals all her hidden emotions. When their lips touch, he feels the love she's holding inside.

[webspinning]

Crimson, Cherry, Strawberry, Gore

Ikol, Alabastrine, Bananaberry, Mindwanderer

dont have to do all if you dont want :3

Crimson Ikol - Not much! Depends on how well he knows them, but I doubt it'd take a lot for him to kill an aquaintance or one of the councilers, which are most of the people he knows. One of his few friends, probably a bit more. Alabastrine - Pretty much the same as Ikol, but most of the people they know are their friends. They don't make a habit of knowing anyone they don't plan on keeping around on account of safety. They take paid kills but even for a lot of money, they wouldn't. Bananaberry - A lot. She's not very violent in general and doesn't like the thought of killing anyone, especially not people she knows. It'd be a threat against her family or her home to make her do it. Mindwanderer - She'd sooner kill herself, if not before then after. She doesn't like committing acts of violence at all, plus she'd be absolutely haunted by their thoughts and her own, and guilt after the act. I don't think she'd be able to do it, honestly. Cherry Ikol - He is actually a CBC, or character-based-character. He got created because I thought Loki was cool and literally no other reason, but he's developed into a lot more. A lot more. Alabastrine - I buyed them :) Bananaberry - I winned her :) Mindwanderer - I thought a piebald NightWing would be cool! Her backstory was originally somewhat different, but mostly the same other than her being part of the " new DoD ". Strawberry Ikol - A lot of him. His personality and habits are pretty based on me, mostly my more pessimistic side. It wasn't intentional at first but as he grew into a sona I added more of myself to him. Alabastrine - Their eventual not caring if they're a bad person, lmao. And probably some of their habits as well. They're a semi-sona :) kind of intentiona kind of not. Bananaberry - Habits !!!!!!! Lots of her habits are based on my own as well as her temper and reactions to many many things. I use her as a vent/comfort so I dumped myself into her as a way to cope, kind of. Mindwanderer - She's not very like me actually :) probably the socially anxious notes + tendency to accidentally upset people. Not intentional, I just happen to like writing those kinds of characters and she was originally for a story. And for a bonus, Alabastrine and Ikol are both pansexual like me <3 Gore Ikol - Canonically a warlord! Would be very happy to fight, and even in his younger or training days would very much be up for it. He's good at fighting, little as he gets to show it. Alabastrine - Would fight for her tribe and not for anyone else. Bananaberry - She wouldn't fight but she'd try to find some other way to help I think. Not battling itself,, but there are other things. Mindwanderer - Turn tail and run. Fast.