#it should be a crime punishable by law to do something like that to him

[infant-no-finances]

bbno$ - I Remember

[theostrophywife]

baby, won't you be my girl?

pairing: theodore nott x reader. song inspiration: only girl by stephen sanchez. author’s note: theodore nott, the man that you are. please enjoy my favorite flirty yummy slytherin boy 🐍 part two: stop the world i wanna get off with you.

Theodore Nott was not the jealous type. 

Jealousy required emotions, which Theo found so terribly unrefined. He was a Slytherin, for Salazar’s sake. Not some hotheaded Gryffindor incapable of keeping his anger in check. But as he glared daggers at the back of some pathetic little beater who was currently flirting with you across the common room, Theo couldn’t help but feel downright murderous. 

The worst part was that he could’ve prevented all of this. If he had just manned the fuck up, Theo would’ve been the one pressed close against you, whispering his signature suggestive comments in your ear and making you smile. 

But Theo—absolute tosser that he was—didn’t realize his blunder until it was too late. 

Earlier that week, the two of you had been studying in his room. Well, you were studying. Theo, on the other hand, was smoking enough pot to sedate a hippogriff. He inhaled deeply, watching with a slight smirk on his face as you frowned into your Charms textbook. You were laying on your stomach at the edge of his bed with notes strewn all around you. The combination of your slightly unbuttoned white blouse, dangerously short black pleated skirt, and green and silver high knee socks affected him more than the drugs he was currently inhaling. 

There was something incredibly sexy about a beautiful woman laying in his bed and completely ignoring him in favor of a dusty old tome. Or maybe it was just you. To be fair, Theo found everything about you quite sexy. Even your infamous lectures regarding his drug habits, which you were due to give him in three…two…one….

You huffed indignantly, the action ruffling the feathers on your quill. “I will never understand why you voluntarily choose to put that rubbish into your body.” 

Theo shrugged, blowing a puff of smoke towards the ceiling. “It’s relaxing.” 

“What could you possibly be stressed about, Teddy?” 

He smiled at the nickname. If anyone else called him that, Theo would’ve hexed the life out of them, but he liked the way it sounded when you said it. Especially when you were a little bit annoyed at him. 

“I’ve got a lot on my shoulders, love.” He took another drag and sighed dramatically. “Being rich and handsome is incredibly tiring work.” 

You snorted. “You’re an absolute twat, you know that?” 

Theo held the blunt between his slender fingers and plopped down next to you. “A rich and handsome twat.” 

“A rich, handsome, and dead twat if you don’t get that blunt away from my textbook.” Theo smiled sheepishly before putting out the cigarette on the ashtray by his bedside table. You rolled your eyes and tapped the end of your quill against his chest. “You should really quit. That shit’s terrible for your lungs.” 

Theo turned, cocking his head at you. His watercolor eyes bored into yours as a smirk curved against his lips. “What will you give me if I do?” 

“Theodore Aurelius Nott,” you chided. Despite the blush creeping into your cheeks, you managed to keep your voice steady as you glared at the perfectly coiffed prick. “Do not make me stab you with my quill.” 

He grinned. There was nothing Theo enjoyed more than making his best friend flustered. “I’ll take a light stabbing if it means that you’ll start paying attention to me again.” You laughed at his childish pout. “What are you studying so hard for anyways?” 

“We have a Charms exam on Friday and you know how brutal Flitwick is.”

“Scheduling an exam on the same day as a quidditch game should be a crime punishable by wizarding law.” Theo complained with a groan. “A game against Gryffindor, no less.” 

“Not everything revolves around quidditch, Theo.” 

“Try telling that to Malfoy,” he said with a sigh. “The bloody git’s been running the whole team ragged. For the past three weeks, Draco’s been forcing all of us to wake up before sunrise. I’m losing my precious beauty sleep, Y/N.” 

You pouted, pinching his cheeks. “Poor Teddy bear. How will you ever recover?” 

"Smartass," Theo said with a smirk.

"Top of the class, baby." You rolled over and winked at him. "I really am that witch."

"I think I'm rubbing off on you, love."

"In your dreams, Nott."

He chuckled. "Oh, I'm definitely rubbing off on you." Theo snatched the quill out of your hands. "Enough studying. I'd rather talk about how I'm going to crush those Gryffindor brutes, which I can only do with you cheering me on from the stands."

You took the quill back, tapping its feathery edge against Theo's nose. “You know that watching all that flying makes me nauseous. Plus, I can’t even enjoy myself because I’m too worried about you taking a bludger to the head.” 

“I promise not to let anything ruin my pretty face. I know how much you enjoy the view, after all,” Theo said with a wink. “If you promise to come.” 

“I don’t know, Teddy…”

He pouted, giving you his best puppy dog eyes. “Please, Y/N. I need my good luck charm. Plus, you look cute in my jersey.” 

“My eyes are closed half of the time from sheer terror,” you pointed out. Theo watched as you fiddled with the end of your quill. “Besides, wouldn’t it be weird to wear your jersey and cheer you on?” 

Theo’s brows furrowed. “Why would it be weird?” 

“Because,” you said matter-of-factly. “Those are things a girlfriend would normally do.” 

“Well, yes, traditionally. But you’re my best friend,” Theo explained. “It’s not like that between us.” 

The minute the words came out of his mouth, Theo knew it was the wrong thing to say. You stiffened beside him, your body language turning as tense as a bowstring. 

“Right,” you said in a tight tone. “It’s definitely not like that between us.” 

“No, that’s not what I meant. I just—I mean you’re not like the other guy’s girlfriends. We’ve known each other for ages. We just don’t see each other that way.” 

Theodore Nott, idiot extraordinaire. If looks could kill, he’d be at the bottom of the Black Lake waiting to become a delicious feast for the merpeople. 

“Of course not,” you said with humorless laughter. “We’re just friends. It would be mental for anyone to think that we’d ever be in a relationship, right?” 

There was a challenge behind those words. Despite the fact that his dorm was deep within the dungeons, Theo could hear a slight ringing in his ears, like the howl of the wind as he raced past on his Nimbus, heart beating against his chest as he prepared to hurl the quaffle with all his might. Only now his target wasn’t a goal hoop.

It was you. His best friend. The girl he had been head over heels in love with since the moment you pushed Adrian Pucey into a bush at Malfoy Manor for making fun of five year old Theo’s lisp. 

He should say something, anything, but for once in his life, Theodore Nott had no witty comeback in his arsenal. Stupid, pathetic coward that he was, all he could manage was a nod. 

“Right,” he licked his lips nervously. “Just friends.” 

The disappointment in your eyes felt like a punch to the gut. Worse than when he’d broken his arm in third year. Worse than when Mattheo dragged him into a brawl with those brawny Durmstrang guys in fourth year. He would have gladly taken another meaty Bulgarian fist to the face rather than face you right now.

Theo watched helplessly as you rolled off the bed and stuffed your studying materials into your leather satchel. “Wait, Y/N. Are you leaving? I thought you wanted to study?” 

You slipped your shoes on, averting his gaze. “I do, which is why I’m gonna head to the library. I’m more focused there, anyways.” 

Theo was still utterly confused as he scrambled after you. “Let me at least walk you to—”

“That’s really not necessary,” you said, cutting him off. “I’ll see you later, Theo.” 

Theo, did not, in fact, see you later. 

If avoiding him was a sport, you would’ve won the bloody Triwizard cup. The fact that you memorized his schedule for him since he couldn’t be trusted to actually remember to show up to class probably helped. Theo didn’t realize how accustomed he had grown to having you around until you weren’t there. 

When Enzo obliviously rebuffed a Hufflepuff’s attempt to flirt with him at breakfast, Theo turned to your usual spot beside him to nudge you only to find the space empty. When Potter & Co. prattled on about whatever martyr cause they’d picked up that week, Theo found himself searching for you across the Potions classroom to share an eyeroll, but caught a glimpse of your retrieving back instead. The last straw had been when Elizabeth Burke’s portrait refused to let him into his own dorms because Theo couldn’t remember the passcode. He never had to since you always came in together.

In other words, Theo was absolutely fucking miserable. Even the team’s win against Gryffindor failed to lift his spirits. He knew that it had only been a week, but he missed you so fucking much that it actually hurt. 

The sight of you walking into the common room filled him with instant relief. For about half a second. Until he saw that you weren’t alone. 

Then, Theo had reverted back to his sulky self, choosing a shady spot amidst the raging party to drown his sorrows with a bottle of firewhisky. He had gone through at least half of the Ogden’s while chain smoking like a Hungarian Horntail. 

“Oi, what’s got your wand in a twist?” Mattheo asked while snatching the cigarette out of Theo’s mouth. He took a deep inhale and blew a puff of smoke directly into Theo’s face. “Aren’t you supposed to be celebrating our victory? Why’d you look like someone pissed in your soup?” 

“Fuck off, Riddle,” Theo muttered in response as he took back his cigarette. The smoke made the room hazy, but not enough to block you from view. 

The beater—the fucking twat—leaned in to whisper into your ear. Whatever he said made you burst into laughter, which once again filled Theo with pure, unadulterated rage. 

“Someone’s in a mood,” Enzo remarked, plopping down on the sofa beside Theo. A circle of third years hovered at the edge of their group, but as usual, Berkshire remained utterly oblivious to their presence. Bloody hell, he was even worse than Theo. 

“I bet ten galleons that Nott bashes Murdock’s head in before the end of the night,” Draco said.

“Murdock, is it?” Theo grunted. “What do we know about the prick?”

Blaise rolled his eyes. “Absolutely nothing. He’s not even worth gossiping about,” he announced dismissively while sipping his drink. Imported French wine, probably. Zabini would never partake in something as common as beer. 

Mattheo’s lips curled in amusement. “Besides the fact that he’s making a move on Theo’s girl.” 

“She’s not my girl,” Theo said defensively. 

“Really?” Malfoy drawled, raising a pale blonde brow. “So you wouldn’t mind if I asked Y/N to dance?”

“Don’t even fucking think about it, Malfoy.” 

The Slytherin boys laughed. For them, the week had been amusing as all hell. They had never seen Theo this wound up before. A few days without Y/N and their usual sassy, sarcastic mate had turned into a complete basket case. 

Pansy sighed. “For Salazar’s sake, Theo. Either man the fuck up or stand down. Y/N deserves to have a good night, too. Who she has it with is entirely up to you.” 

Pansy Parkinson was a pain in the arse, but she was also right. 

With that, Theo put his cigarette out on the ashtray and stood from his place on the sofa. It only took three strides for Theo to get to you. Four for you to startle as he casually put his arm around your shoulders. 

“There you are,” he whispered into your ear. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

You froze in place as Theo pulled you close. The scent of expensive cologne and cigarette smoke enveloped you, drawing you in like a moth to a flame. 

Under normal circumstances, you would’ve flown straight into the fire that was Theodore Nott, but tonight you were in no mood to get burned. You’ve already endured enough pain and humiliation from your last conversation. 

Just friends kept replaying over and over in your head like a broken record. You felt like an absolute pillock. For years, it felt like the two of you had been teetering towards…something. All that shameless flirting, the lingering touches, the late night conversations. You had been stupid enough to believe in the possibility that Theo felt for you what you felt for him. 

But maybe it was all in your imagination. 

“Theo,” you said, slinking out of his reach. Hurt flashed in his eyes as you faced him. “Congrats on the win. Christoph said it was a good game.” 

“It would’ve been better if you were in the stands,” Theo said softly. 

“I was busy.” 

“Yeah, I can see that,” he eyed Christoph with disdain. “Listen, can we go somewhere and talk? I haven’t seen you all week.” 

You crossed your arms. “We just got here.” 

Theo was not well pleased by your use of ‘we’ as if you and Murdock were suddenly now a thing. He barely spared the sodding prick a glance. You couldn’t actually be attracted to this prat, could you? He was all wrong for you. Murdock had a stocky beater build and short blonde cropped hair. You hated beefy guys and you were definitely not a fan of blondes. Case in point: Draco.

No, you liked tall sarcastic brunettes with messy hair and a slight nicotine addiction. 

You liked him. 

So Theo stayed put, meeting your gaze with equal intensity. There was no way in hell he was backing down. 

For good measure, he pouted slightly and fixed his eyes on you. “Please, Y/N.” 

He saw the exact moment when your resolve broke. Your expression softened and your shoulders relaxed, slumping in defeat. You sighed before turning over to Murdock. “Do you mind giving us a moment?” 

Christoph nodded. “I’ll fetch us some more drinks.” 

Theo watched him walk away, or rather, he glared at his back until Murdock was out of sight. 

“Really, Y/N?” Theo asked incredulously. “You're slumming it with that benchwarmer?” 

You wheeled towards him, eyes blazing with fire. Oh, he was truly in for it now. “First of all, I’m not ‘slumming it’ with anyone and even if I were, it’s none of your bloody business. Second of all, Christoph is actually a really nice guy.” 

Theo scoffed. “Yeah, because you’re suddenly into really nice guys now.” 

“Well maybe I got tired of hanging around pricks.” 

Ouch. That one definitely hurt. Even if it was well deserved. 

“Is that why you’ve been avoiding me all week?” Theo asked, stepping closer. “You’ve been busy with Murdock?” 

Merlin’s beard, Theo was ridiculously tall. He towered a good foot over you, cornering you against the wall. His eyes were stormy and dark like a predator watching its prey. 

“Careful, Theo,” you warned, meeting his gaze. “You almost sound jealous.” 

The tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife. Neither one of you were backing down from this little standoff. Theo braced himself against the wall, his face inches away from yours. 

“What if I am?” He challenged, his eyes dipping to your mouth. “What if I told you that it’s taking every ounce of self control I have not to rip Murdock to shreds?” 

A shiver skittered down your spine. Theo wasn’t a violent person. Sure, he’d been in a fight or two, but that was mostly Mattheo’s doing. Your best friend wasn’t the aggressive type, so to hear him threaten Christoph took you by surprise. 

“You have no reason to be jealous, Theo.” You countered. “After all, we’re just friends.” 

“No, we’re not,” he said. “We’ve never been just friends, Y/N.” 

“Then why did you—”

“Because I’m an idiot and a coward,” Theo said with a sigh. “Because I had a beautiful girl in my bed and I had no idea how to tell her that I’ve been in love with her since I was five.” 

All the anger and hurt you’ve been carrying around for the past week instantly dissolved. A little smile tugged at the corner of your mouth. “You’re in love with me?” 

“I thought that much was obvious, love.” 

“Hmm,” you hummed in response. “Theodore Nott, infamous playboy and shameless flirt, is in love with me. What an interesting development.” 

Theo groaned. “Now is not the time to be a smartass, Y/N.” 

“I think it’s the perfect time—” 

You didn’t get the chance to finish your sentence. Suddenly, Theo’s lips were on yours. He tasted like peppermint and whiskey, and he kissed you like his life depended on it. You sighed into his mouth, melting against his touch as he cupped the side of your cheek. This was definitely not a just friends kiss. It was a butterfly inducing, head in the clouds, sweep you off your feet kind of kiss. 

Theo's hands snaked around your waist as your fingers found purchase in his shaggy brown hair. He pulled you flush against him like he couldn't get enough. Merlin's pants, Theo really knew how to kiss. His lips were soft against yours, but there was a roughness in his actions that told you that his restraint was hanging on by a thread.

Like he'd been waiting for this for far too long.

You knew the feeling all too well.

"Darling, if you keep kissing me like that then this party will receive a show they didn't ask for."

You stuck your tongue out at him. "You started it."

"Shall I end it too, love?"

"You're an absolute twat, Theodore Nott." You rolled your eyes, kissing the tip of his nose affectionately. “A rich, handsome twat that I'm in love with."

Somewhere across the room, the hoots and hollers of your friends ignited a deafening cheer. Mattheo and Enzo clapped Theo on the back. Blaise raised his glass in approval. Draco smirked and exchanged galleons with Pansy. You didn’t even want to know what that was about.

“Fucking finally,” Mattheo remarked. “Notty boy here has been impossible to deal with this entire week. I never noticed how much of a wanker he can be when you aren’t there to balance him out, Y/N.” 

You chuckled. “It couldn’t have been that bad.” 

Enzo grimaced. “You weren’t on the receiving end of his quaffles,” he said, eyeing Theo. “He nearly took my head off.” 

That only made you laugh more. “Teddy bear wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“No, it’s true. Nott went absolutely mental.” Draco confirmed, draping an arm around your shoulder. “I’ve never seen him play like that. He wiped the floor with those pathetic Gryffindors. You should ignore him more often, Y/N." 

Pansy wrinkled her nose. “Please don’t. Looking at his miserable face put me off my meals for an entire week. I couldn’t even bear to eat any of my special Belgian chocolates. I missed out on Belgian chocolates, Y/N!” 

“You lot are overexaggerating,” Theo said, pulling you in by the waist. “I wasn’t that bad.” 

“Please, you were an absolute mess without Y/N,” Blaise added. 

“More like an absolute wanker,” Mattheo supplied. 

“An absolute supreme mega wanker,” Draco agreed. “Even by my standards.”

“It was pretty brutal,” said Enzo. 

Theo glared at all of them before taking your hand. “Let’s go, Y/N. I’d rather not stand around and get insulted all night.” 

“Sure thing. But I should probably tell Christoph that I’m…indisposed.” 

Mattheo grinned mischievously. “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about Murdock.” 

You narrowed your eyes at him. “What did you do, Riddle?” 

“I didn’t do anything,” he said innocently. “The boys and I just let him know that he should set his sights elsewhere.” 

“We also might have implied that we’d turn him into a horned bullfrog if he ever hit on you again,” Enzo said with a smile.

“The audacity he even had approaching you is frankly insulting,” Malfoy remarked. “Everyone knows you’re off limits.” He smirked. “Unfortunately.” 

Theo fell right into Draco’s bait. “Don’t hit on my girl, Malfoy.” 

Blaise raised an amused brow. “Oh, she’s your girl now, is she?

“Of course she is,” Theo said. He linked his fingers with yours and flashed those pretty eyes at you. The perfect mixture of blue and green, just like the ocean during a storm. “If she’ll have me.” 

You smiled, wide and bright. “Come on, Teddy. Your girl wants to dance.” 

[ms-demeanor]

i’m curious what your opinion is on the finer points of the case mentioned in the JSTOR post you reblogged earlier. the two sources in the post say that JSTOR didn’t press charges against him and had already settled with him by the time he killed himself. from what i read on wikipedia, the concern seems to be that JSTOR complied with a subpoena, which i don’t believe they have a choice to ignore? if anything it seems like the us government had reason to want him dead for wikileaks and public court records reasons, so they took a terms of use violation and blew it up into a dozen federal crimes.

is there more context i should be aware of? i have no particular affection or malice for JSTOR but the sources i found don’t exactly implicate the database or its employees in murder.

That's from page 175 of this document. This line: "The activity noted is outright theft and may merit a call with university counsel, and even the local police, to ensure not only that the activity has stopped but that - e.g. the visiting scholar who left - isn't leaving with a hard drive containing our database" is where I think the culpability starts.

If someone is downloading 1000s of articles (what seems like reasonable threshold for us to take action), what's wrong with us - or the university in collaboration with us - alerting the cyber-crimes division of law enforcement and initiating an investigation, having cop search dorm room and try to retrieve any hard drive that contains our content, etc. Our content is extraordinarily valuable and hard to replicate by the sweat of one's brow, but can be duplicated by savvy hackers and who knows what they want to do with the content?

Page 379: "Does the university contact law enforcement? Would they be willing to do so in this instance?

From page 1296:

I think the important thing to note here is that JSTOR had worked with MIT and had plans in place to prevent future similar downloads, but remained focused on identifying the person responsible for the downloads and ensuring that their data was deleted.

"I might just be irked because I am up dealing with this person on a Sunday night, but I am starting to feel like they need to get a hold of this situation right away or we need to offer to send them some help (read FBI).

And there it is. Page 3093 of the document.

JSTOR can hem and haw about it all they want, but you can't un-call the cops.

MIT was working with JSTOR on preventing future incidents of pirating, but JSTOR repeatedly said that they weren't going to let it go, that it was unacceptable to drop the issue, that they were going to continue to pursue the pirate.

You can scroll through the document and see the JSTOR tech department and abuse team talking about Swartz as a script kiddie, and a hacker. You can see someone talking about how this was real theft - making the comparison to stealing books even while admitting that piracy doesn't close others out of access.

You can see the thread starts with a joke about punching someone in the face for hacking their system, and includes the tech team ominously considering whether they should threaten the MIT librarians with the FBI.

There's something really important to note here which I don't think that people who aren't PRETTY DEEP into hackery shit aren't aware of: US law enforcement is absolutely rabidly feral about prosecuting hackers. People may be more aware of this now because of Chelsea Manning and Edward Snowden (and perhaps a bit on tumblr because of maia arson crimew), but people who work in tech and who are in infosec - like the people joking about calling the FBI in these emails - would be aware of the bonkers disproportionate punishments faced by hackers. And knowing that, they kept pushing and pushing and pushing for identification of the hacker. They kept digging with MIT, they kept saying that simply preventing future incidents wasn't enough.

Early in the exchange someone from JSTOR asked "what's wrong with us - or the university in collaboration with us - alerting the cyber-crimes division of law enforcement and initiating an investigation, having cop search dorm room and try to retrieve any hard drive that contains our content, etc." and the answer is what happened to Aaron Swartz.

It is absolute bullshit for JSTOR to say "we arrived at a solution privately and didn't want to press charges" after law enforcement has gotten involved with a hacking case, especially one where they're talking about "real theft" and are attempting to quantify and emphasize the amount that was "stolen" from them.

The *public* may believe that private individuals or institutions are the ones who "press charges" but that's simply not the case. It's prosecutors who decide whether or not to go ahead with charges; they do it based on what cases they think they can win and what their office's perspective is on the crime. When you hear about people choosing to press charges it simply means that they decided to tell the prosecutor they wanted the case to go forward. It's up to the prosecutor whether or not that happens.

And the tech team at JSTOR had to know that law enforcement wasn't just going to wag a finger at an academic hacker.

There's a parallel here that happens sometimes when people have their identities stolen by their parents. If you mom takes out a credit card in your name, that's identity theft. That's fraud. That's illegal. If you reach the age of 25 and realize that your credit is ruined because your mom has been defaulting on cards in your name, you've got two choices to fix that: one is to accept the debt and pay it off and build up credit, and the other is to report the identity theft - which will end up with your mom in prison for a decade or so. Ruin your own personal finances, or your mom goes to jail for ruining your finances. So if you find out that your mom stole your identity you can't just call the cops to pressure her into transferring the debt to her name or something. That's not an option. The cops are not a threat to wave over people, they are not a way to get people to fall in line or act right. They aren't someone you can send to a college student's dorm room to retrieve a hard drive and have the matter drop.

When you call the cops on someone you are sending the full force of the law after them, and the full force of the law falls really heavily on hackers, and how heavy that blow can be is something that the JSTOR team must have been aware of when they were making snide comments about calling the FBI because they were frustrated with the noncommittal responses they were getting from librarians.

Ultimately it was the carceral state that killed Aaron Swartz, but they would not have been involved if JSTOR didn't think that what he did constituted theft.

Taking an *EVEN LARGER* step back from that, the idea that information can be owned and locked behind a paywall is what killed Aaron Swartz, someone who fought for information to be free.

Like. JSTOR is a licensing company. At the end of the day, cute social media posts and all, they're the same as the RIAA and ASCAB. They exist to extract a fee from people attempting to access information.

Aaron Swartz and all that he stood for are an existential threat to their core function.

Are JSTOR's hands as dirty as the federal prosecutors? Absolutely not. But they operate on a model that puts them in opposition to open information activists and it ended up with a hammer falling on Aaron Swartz that they dropped.

[robertreich]

How Trump is Following Hitler's Playbook

You’ve heard Trump’s promise:

TRUMP: I’m going to be a dictator for one day.

History shows there are no ���one-day” dictatorships. When democracies fall, they typically fall completely.

In a previous video, I laid out the defining traits of fascism and how MAGA Republicans embody them. But how could Trump — or someone like him — actually turn America into a fascist state? Here’s how in five steps.

Step 1: Use threats of violence to gain power

Hitler and Mussolini relied on their vigilante militias to intimidate voters and local officials. We watched Trump try to do the same in 2020.

TRUMP: Proud Boys, stand back and stand by.

Republican election officials testified to the threats they faced when they refused Trump’s demands to falsify the election results.

RAFFENSPERGER: My email, my cell phone was doxxed.

RUSTY BOWERS: They have had video panel trucks with videos of me proclaiming me to be a pedophile.

GABRIEL STERLING: A 20-something tech in Gwinnett County today has death threats and a noose put out saying he should be hung for treason.

If the next election is close, threats to voters and election officials could be enough to sabotage it.

Step 2: Consolidate power

After taking office, a would-be fascist must turn every arm of government into a tool of the party. One of Hitler’s first steps was to take over the civil service, purging it of non-Nazis.

In October of 2020, Trump issued his own executive order that would have enabled him to fire tens of thousands of civil servants and replace them with MAGA loyalists. He never got to act on it, but he’s now promising to apply it to the entire civil service.

That’s become the centerpiece of something called Project 2025, a presidential agenda assembled by MAGA Republicans, that would, as the AP put it, “dismantle the US government and replace it with Trump’s vision.”

Step 3: Establish a police state

Hitler used the imaginary threat of “the poison of foreign races” to justify taking control of the military and police, placing both under his top general, and granting law-enforcement powers to his civilian militias.

Now Trump is using the same language to claim he needs similar powers to deal with immigrants.

Trump plans to deploy troops within the U.S. to conduct immigration raids and round up what he estimates to be 18 million people who would be placed in mass-detention camps while their fate is decided.

And even though crime is actually down across the nation, Trump is citing an imaginary crime wave to justify sending troops into blue cities and states against the will of governors and mayors.

Trump insiders say he plans to invoke the Insurrection Act to have the military crush civilian protests. We saw a glimpse of that in 2020, when Trump deployed the National Guard against peaceful protesters outside the White House.

And with promises to pardon January 6 criminals and stop prosecutions of right-wing domestic terrorists, Trump would empower groups like the Proud Boys to act as MAGA enforcers.

Step 4: Jail the opposition

In classic dictatorial fashion, Trump is now openly threatening to prosecute his opponents.

TRUMP: if I happen to be president and I see somebody who’s doing well and beating me very badly, I say, ‘Go down and indict them.’ They’d be out of business.

And he’s looking to remake the Justice Department into a tool for his personal vendettas.

TRUMP: As we completely overhaul the federal Department of Justice and FBI, we will also launch sweeping civil rights investigations into Marxist local district attorneys.

In the model of Hitler and Mussolini, Trump describes his opponents as subhuman.

TRUMP: …the radical left thugs that live like vermin within the confines of our country…

Step 5: Undermine the free press

As Hitler well understood, a fascist needs to control the flow of information. Trump has been attacking the press for years.

And he’s threatening to punish news outlets whose coverage he dislikes.

He has helped to reduce trust in the media to such a historic low that his supporters now view him as their most trusted source of information.

Within a democracy, we may often have leaders we don’t like. But we have the power to change them — at the ballot box and through public pressure. Once fascism takes hold, those freedoms are gone and can’t easily be won back.

We must recognize the threat of fascism when it appears, and do everything in our power to stop it.

[stickandthorn]

The way Terry Pratchett handled police in the Discworld continues to be one of the many, many things I love about his works. I certainly don’t have time to describe all the details of why he wrote such good policing, but I think the best summation of it is the arc that Sam Vimes had in many of the books.

I haven’t read all the watch books, but in the ones I have, there’s often a similar plot structure. We meet a truly detestable criminal Vimes is chasing down (think the Deep Downers in Thud, or Carcer in Night Watch). They show themselves to be truly awful people who do awful things, and they’re also just plain jackasses. They’re characters you hate to read about, the grind the audience’s gears. They also grind Sam Vimes’s gears. 

Throughout the story, they commit more and more crimes. Horrible crimes, like torturing and killing innocent people, or practicing violent religious extremism. They do things that personally target our protagonist, like go after his wife and son, or relentlessly taunt him and try to kill him and his past self. They consistently do bad things, and even as Vimes is chasing them, they do more bad things. You want them to be punished.  Finally, at the climax, we get some sort of final confrontation between the villain(s) and Vimes. In a different book, Vimes might kill the people who sent people to hurt his infant son, or tortured and killed innocent people, and the audience would probably cheer. In fact, Vimes wants to kill them. 

But he doesn’t. Every time, he suppresses the urge to enact his own justice, and he doesn’t kill them. He arrests them. Because, as he says many times, if you’ll do something for a good reason, you’ll do it for a bad. Even when there’s every excuse as to why this particular villain doesn’t deserve to live, he just arrests them. It’s not his job to decide how they should be punished for their crimes.

I think this is a masterful takedown of police brutality and Punisher style characters. Vimes isn’t a perfect person, it’s not that he could never dream of killing the bad guy. He can, and he does, often. But he never follows through, he understands why he can’t do that, so no matter how tempting it is, he doesn’t.

Because in this story, the hard boiled cynical cop truly believes in following the law. The message is always that law enforcement killing a criminal is never ok, even if they’re undeniably guilty of something truly dreadful. Hell, police brutality is personified as a millennia old demonic quasi-deity possessing Vimes, one that’s never been beaten before, but he beats it and doesn’t give in. I think that’s a really unique message in cop stories, and another reason as to why Pratchett was such a good author. 

[bedoballoons]

A/n: The livestream has got me on my knees for Wriothesley, like oh my gosh this man is so fine!! So uh...hehe heres a little something I thought of while watching...

─⊰⁠⊹ฺ✿𝔾𝕖𝕟𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕟 ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕔𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕟𝕤⊰⁠⊹ฺ✿─

{༻~Grrr~༺}

Nsfw! MDNI! Top Wriothesley! Bottom Afab reader, but GN pronouns! Handcuffs, fingering, punishment, rough sex, no protection, a bit of degradation and threats! Reader is a prisoner! This is written before his release so may be a little ooc!

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

𑁍༄Wriothesley:

You moaned loudly as Wriothesley slid his large digits inbetween your pretty little light pink folds, pumping them in and out of you at a speed that left you unable to think straight, your wrists stinging as you struggled against the metal confines of the cuffs that kept you trapped against the bedframe. Your wet heat dripping off his fingers and onto the dingy bedsheets you'd been forced to use, the sounds of him spreading you so forcefully like a melody in his lust crazy mind. He just wanted you so bad, the large tent in his pants throbbing with need to the point he could barely keep himself from shoving his full length into you right then, he wanted to make sure you never broke the law again...

"Mnnn~ Wriothesley!" You gasped, watching as he released his member from its fabric confines, his impatience getting the better of him, "Shush, did I tell you you could talk inmate? Cause I sure as hell don't remember telling you." His voice was authoritative, threatening in a way that had you shaking your head in fear and left your pussy throbbing for attention. He could help but smirk in delight at the sight of you, his dick sinking so deep into your heat that you could see stars and he didn't give you even a moment to adjust, his pace absolutely unforgiving.

"Mmhgghn!" You screamed, his thrusts slamming your body against the mattress as he fucked you silly, your brain turned to nothing but mush, tears welling up in your glazed over eyes and your hands holding onto the cuffs for dear life. Wriothesley was enjoying himself immensely, your tight gummy walls clamping around his length in a way that had him growling with greed, "Filthy criminal...so wet for me when all I'm doing is punishing you for your crimes, honestly what a dirty whore."

You couldn't even say a word back, only loud moans and breathless gasps able to escape your lips, your mouth hung open with ecstasy that burned in your core, 'Nghhh-mnnn! Ahahhh!" His rough hands grabbed your hips harshly, leaving bruises as his cock slammed into you with such force that you came on site, your body shaking and quivering around him. He chuckled as he ruined you further, going until his hot white cum filled you to the brim...

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚He so grrrrrr*⁠.⁠✧

(Should I make a version where he's a bottom? 0w0 )

[morbific-or-felicific]

-PÂRO Featuring Wriothesley

Meaning: The feeling that no matter what you do is always somehow wrong—that any attempt to make your way comfortably through the world will only end up crossing some invisible taboo

Word Count: 1.7k~

Description: After accidentally breaking a few laws while at lunch with your boyfriend, he has to ‘punish’ you for your crimes

Edited by: @pretty-princess-peach @tortellini-bandit

You paced around Wriothesley’s office, trying to stay calm. Today hadn’t gone even remotely as you had intended. You were supposed to be having a completely normal lunch with your boyfriend. Unfortunately, however, you had somehow managed to end up in the fortress of meropide… well, in Wriothesley’s office, anyway.

You really hadn’t meant to do anything wrong, but despite that, you had still broken several laws while on your date. Although, it really wasn’t your fault that your fork had caused one of the carrots in your salad to shoot onto the ground, resulting in you getting a littering charge, and how could they blame you for bumping into the table and causing your boyfriend's drink to spill in your lap, which was apparently contact with alcohol while underage (Seriously? You were 20!).

And were they really allowed to call it “evading arrest” when you refused to go with Wriothesley to the fortress?

Despite your refusal, Wriothesley had taken you (read: carried you over his shoulder) to his office in the fortress, and he left you there while he talked to the chief justice about your punishment. Now you were stuck waiting for your boyfriend to return and tell you if you would have to go to jail or not.

Finally, you heard the metal doors creak open after heavy steps came up the staircase. Your boyfriend walked behind his desk and sat down, rubbing his eyes.

“So?”

“‘So?’”

“Do I have to go to jail…?”

“Oh, that.” He smiled gently. “No, but… you do need some kind of punishment. Neuvilette said that community service might be a good idea, but he didn’t give a definitive punishment.”

“But I didn’t do anything wrong!”

He sighed, shaking his head.

“You still broke laws, but it is up to me to determine your punishment, since this wasn’t an official trial.”

You stood there for a moment, waiting for him to say more.

“So, what will you decide…?”

He leaned back in his chair and raised his eyebrows at you.

“What do you think you deserve?”

You thought for a second. Should you just say something like community service or just a small fine? Or would he think that’s not enough? You contemplated what you should say, but before you got a chance to say anything, Wriothesley spoke.

“I think you deserve to be handcuffed and punished for being a bad girl. What do you think, princess?”

You blushed. Was he really going to punish you like that…? For this? There’s no way this was a legal recourse. You weren’t going to complain if that’s how things worked out, but you were still confused.

“Is that legal?”

He let out a light laugh.

“Do you really care?”

You smiled at him.

“I guess not.”

Wriothesley smiled back at you, but there was something in his eyes that made you nervous. He had punished you before, and you knew that you were right to be concerned, but it still disquieted you.

“Strip.”

You did as he asked. You slipped out of your dress and took off your underwear.

“Come here. Now.”

Wriothesley slid his chair back as you walked over to stand in front of your boyfriend. He looked you up and down, drawing his eyes over your beautiful body. He stood up and grabbed his handcuffs from his belt before sliding them onto your wrists.

“Get on your knees.”

Wriothesley sat back down in his chair with his legs open so you could settle between them. He took off his belt and undid his pants before pulling out his cock.

“Suck.”

You felt the urge to disobey him bubble up inside of you. You smiled up at him and simply stated, “No.”

He returned your smile once again.

“‘No?’”

His voice holds a menacing lilt.

“No.”

He sighed.

“Five, four, three.” You felt a sense of unease in your stomach, and you began to question your resolve. It was hard to be firm in your brattiness when he used that voice. “Two, one, zero.”

He didn’t say another word as he roughly grabbed your hair in one hand and forcibly opened your mouth with the other. He pushed his cock into your mouth and brought you down until you reached the base. You spluttered and gagged as you tried to get used to his cock in your throat, your jaw already hurting from how thick the Duke was.

He pulled you up and down his cock, letting out deep groans as he did so. You wiggled around, trying to slip out of your handcuffs, but you were completely at Wriothesley’s mercy.

After a minute or two of your boyfriend fucking your throat, you had a bright idea. You could use your teeth! Seconds after you slid your teeth against his cock, he was pulling you off and leaning down to look you in the eye, still gripping your hair tightly.

The look in his eyes sent a chill down your spine. You had made a big mistake.

“Do that again and see what happens, princess.”

You felt your resistance dissipate after those words. You were already being punished, and you didn’t want to make it worse.

“I’m sorry, your grace.”

Wriothesley smiled softly at your submission. You relaxed your body and opened your mouth. He pushed his cock back down your throat, keeping a firm grip on your hair, far preferring to set the pace himself rather than have you do it. This was a punishment, after all. You did your best to breathe through your nose and relax your throat as your boyfriend used your mouth like a toy.

Your throat felt so perfect around Wriothesley’s cock. He was finally about to cum, but before he did, he pulled out of your mouth so he could cum on your face, rather than down your throat. Bad girls don’t get his cum.

You instinctively closed your eyes and stuck out your tongue before his cum landed on your face. You licked up what landed near your mouth, but with your hands stuck behind your back, you were forced to leave the rest.

Wriothesley took a moment to breathe before standing up and dragging you up with him. He turned you so that you were facing away from him, and he pushed you down on his desk. He stood back, admiring your bent body before grabbing his belt where he left it on his desk. He folded his belt and stood back slightly before bringing it down hard on your ass.

You fought the urge to stay silent and began to count the strikes, just like his grace had taught you. One, two, three, four, five.

“Six!”

You braced yourself for another hit, but it never came. You felt his hand gently run over the marks he had made, and you couldn’t help but wince at the discomfort. Wriothesley removed his hand from your ass and ran a finger up your slit.

“You’re so wet. Do you want me to fuck you?”

“Yes! Please.”

A choked scream escaped your lips when another hit came from your boyfriend’s belt.

“Please, what?”

“Please, your grace!”

“Better.”

You felt the tip of Wriothesley’s cock at your entrance and almost protested at the lack of prep, but before you could, he was pushing inside of you. Tears were forming in your eyes from how much his cock was stretching you out. Fuck, he’s thick.

He bottomed out inside of you, pausing to let you somewhat adjust to his size. How sweet of him.

When he could no longer restrain himself, he started fucking you hard and deep. You felt like you had ascended to heaven after enduring hell. He filled you up so perfectly, turning your mind blank and holding your hips in a bruising grip as he worked towards his end.

“You’re fucking perfect, taking me so good.”

He couldn’t help but let out a deep moan at the feeling of you tightening around him.

“Feels so good! Thank you, your grace!”

A breathy laugh escaped his lips, and he began fucking you faster, needing you more. You were so perfect for him, taking your punishment without protest, and then taking his cock. Was it really necessary to tell you that you hadn’t actually broken any laws, and that he had used your ignorance of Fontaine’s complicated legal system to orchestrate a night of fun for the two of you? He did have to have a meeting with Neuvilette, so it wasn’t a complete lie, but still.

You were losing yourself slowly to the overwhelming pleasure and could barely form words at this point. You tried to tell Wriothesley that you wanted to be closer to him but all that came out was gibberish. The only thing that he was able to make out was “closer”, and fuck, he wanted to be closer to you too.

He wrapped a hand around the front of your throat and pulled you up until you could feel the fabric and the cold clasps of his vest against your bare back. His lips found your neck, and he kissed up towards your lips until, eventually, you were kissing. His lips moved against yours passionately as he continued to fuck you.

“I’m gonna cum! Please, need to so bad!”

Wriothesley smiled at how good you were being, even asking permission to cum.

“Go ahead, princess.”

You let yourself be consumed by the pleasure and tip over the edge. You saw stars as Wriothesley fucked you through your orgasm. As you came down from your high, Wriothesley continued his harsh rhythm, and you could do nothing but whine from the overstimulation. He always lasted longer than you, and you were almost always overstimulated by the time he was finished.

Finally, you felt his rhythm begin to falter, and finally, you felt him fill you up with his cum. The two of you stayed connected, placing gentle kisses on each other's lips as you wound down from the experience.

“How are you feeling?”

“Tired.”

You just wanted to lay down in bed and sleep after such an intense experience. If it weren’t for Wriothesley’s arms around you, you were certain that you would be laying flat on his desk.

“Let’s go home.”

The Duke undid your handcuffs and placed them back on his belt before doing up his own pants and helping you get dressed. Then, he scooped you up and began to carry you home.

Tag List: @lilia-sspouse @but-a-peach @stannazuna @izzalovesdilfs @lordbugs @randomlycockroach @licensedsimp @leena-shi @cesimaaa @welpthisisfine @dainself-when-playable @fic-rebloga @bubblyxdolly @wanderin-stories @iwysbellez @k4ze3e @kenmabfasf @vvyeislazzy @nerdiel-has-no-braincells @hopeless-smvt @bloomingheartz @crazydreamcat @kazumiku @str4wb3rizz @kyon-cherri @ravereina @ashrodisiac

morbific-or-felicific.

[denim-devil]

Rage | Robber!Frank Castle x Male!R

Summary - The burley “punisher” known for his menacing presence and crimes happened to stumble by your home…

A/N - A simple thought that became something more then it should of, although this has been sat in my drafts for weeks now, I just decided to leave it open, maybe a PT 2 if yall are interested idk…

The night was young.

You sigh, scribbling down notes, anything that came to mind to help with the current case “Murdock and Nelson” was handling.

A series of break-in’s littered the papers of Hell’s kitchen, the bastard had managed to wriggle himself from the grips of the N.Y.P.D, stalking the shadows of the night for his next victim.

Flopping back into your chair, the cushions helped relieve the strain between your shoulder blades from standing a while, bending over the desk that currently wasn’t visible, messy crumbled up balls of paper and yellow documents detailing the certain aspects fitting the onslaught of crime covering the varnished service.

The cool breeze of the city left you shivering and alone reminding you that the law firm you happened to call home for past couple of months was your intake of madness and the decent into a spiralling well of secludedness, you hadn’t had the time to truly enjoy the character Hell’s Kitchen was and will remain.

Once clasping the window shut, you stand, rubbing at your eyes, the tiredness that stuck to them like honey grew thick yet withstand-able, it was if the city was listening, creeping and sauntering, figuring you out, a loud clunk echo’s through your apartment, ringing from wall to wall.

You had guessed it was the stormy weather outside but curiosity killed the cat…didn’t it?

“Fuck-“

Ushering out profanities was your way of coping, taking course of a few steps, gradually making your way to the wooden frame of the door consoling the running thoughts swirling around in your fuzzy brain, you still before turning the bitter-cold handle.

It wasn’t a shock, it almost felt real, more then anything you had witnessed over the past coming months, there he stood, a tall burley man, broad shoulders and toned physique, dressed in all black and a ski mask to cover his identity.

Silence fell over the room but his confidence stood proud, his muscular arms falling to his side underneath the dim light the outside street lamps provided.

“I don’t want any trouble sir-“

You tremble at the thought of becoming his next victim, although he hadn’t killed, the offer still loomed over you like his figure. It wasn’t immediate but you had guessed something within him flicked like a light switch, he placed the bag he managed to fill with stolen goods, your goods, on the floor with the same clunk from before, moving himself closer until he began to invade your space.

“What…do-“

With the incapacity to speak, you stumble back into the wall, his brown hazel’s staring deeply, trying to figure you out. He huffed before licking at his dry lips, closing in on you like an animal with it’s prey, trapping you from a potential exit.

At first he huffed and puffed like the big bad wolf, eyes twitching and lips still, as intimidating as he was, curiosity did infact kill the cat. You waited, keeping your eyes trained on his own, watching for anything.

“You’re a little to curious for your own good”

His voice was low and growly like the worn-down roads of New York City, a shiver ran down the edge of your spine, tingly yet comforting, almost riveting. Although you had no plan of escape nor defense, you melt into the wall keeping you up right, he eyed you up, almost checking to see if you fit the checkbox he had granted himself.

“Are you saying…I gotta be careful from now on?”

You question, hands glued by your sides whilst his block you against the structure of the room. This wasn’t how you expected it to go nor is it how you expected him to be, in ways he seemed softer, almost sweet like your favourite candy dissolving on the tip of your tongue.

He nods confidently, quicker then you would have liked. You can’t help the shakes the ran through your body like a tumble dryer and clothes, eager to figure out what it was that he so desired from you but also to terrified to even speak another word.

“There’s a bad guy out there, he could hurt you, y’know?”

Was it a threat? Or was he simply taking his time? His voice had managed to make you calmer, although being the aggressor, you couldn’t help but reach out, placing a hand on his hard chest, trying anything to communicate.

“Please- please I don’t want this, I-“

Worrisome pleas seemed to do nothing as he stood, still blocking you. The glint in his eyes had changed from dangerous to lustrous within seconds as if he wasn’t here to steal anything but your innocence.

“Don’t you think you could learn a lesson or two?”

A warm hand cups the base of your throat, tightening until your breathing was short-circuited, restricting each intake until you faced him, watching as he tugged a smile onto his plump lips.

Pressing forward, you allow your hand to drop from his chest, his overwhelming presence shifting until his warm breath began to fan against the shell of your ear.

“Never disturb a man whilst he’s at work…”

He presses more firmly with his hand this time making you gasp, choking on the air that seemed to be invading the small space in your lungs. He chuckles before pulling away, essentially playing with his meat, doing everything and anything in his power to make you dumb and nonchalant.

“I- please”

Your ache prolonged, blossoming as you grew harder, he was tall, practically looming over you, closing in and eventually overshadowing you from the light, his burly body blocking you in. A single hand of his cup at one your cheeks, his thumb trailing against your bottom lip in attempts to quieten you.

“God your sweet ain’t ya…”

His mouth was vulgar, his smile stretching as you accept the thumb into your mouth, tongue rolling against the thick digit. Frank could feel himself twitch, it was unusual for his nightly escapades to go like this, it was uncommon for someone to be so inviting, non the less he was entirely enticed by the whole ordeal.

You groan once he pushes deeper, jabbing the palette of your throat causing you gag, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. He couldn’t deny how pretty you were like this which pushed him to pull his now slick digit back with a pop.

Frank doesn’t fight the urge to dip his head low enough to connect your lips, locking you within a searing kiss, one that left you both hungry for more. His tongue, long and wet, rolled smoothly against your own, the material of his disguise rubbing against your upper lip and the tip of your nose, giving enough friction to calm the storm.

It’s chaste and sweet much like he was trying to seduce you which had worked a little to well considering how dumb and weak you had gotten from one touch, one look.

Pulling away with a quick press of his lips, he looks hungrily downward, lips slightly red and lick from the sloppy snog. Still leaning one muscular arm against the wall just to the right above your head, he leans further into you, pressing all of his weight against your front.

That’s when you had felt it, thick and plump underneath his black cargo’s, he settled against your own slowly growing bulge, the continuous roll of his hips relieving the ache as you sigh, practically falling into his chest.

“Just one touch and yer’ dumb for me, for it, come on, show me what i’m missin’ sweetheart”

His hands wrap around your waist once he pulls away, just enough to softly throw you onto the sheets of your bed, his talented hands make quick work of your night shorts and boxers, his eagerness prevailing once they fall into a pool on the carpet.

You hiss when the cold air hits your now oversensitive tip which dripped copious amounts of pre, Frank noticed with a deep chuckle, strong hands pushing up your legs with no resistance as he settles on his knees, hot breath fanning against the back of your thighs.

He takes note of your pale pink hole, salivating at the thought of finally planting his face between the two pert globes you had offered up.

“There he is- fuck look at that”

He wouldn’t ever admit just how hard you had got him, you we’re pretty, a little to pretty, maybe ditzy and a little stupid for letting someone as dangerous as him touch you in ways that had you clutching at the sheets.

“Sir- I can’t, need you-“

Is all you could mutter passed pressed lips, it had been so long, to long since the last time you had gotten intimate with someone, this one took the cake, it was all kinds of strange, only taking note of features shown, the way his eyes had changed to a dark shade of lust, how his lips softly pressed dirty chaste kisses to the skin of your under thighs…why was this happening, you were suppose to help catch the bastard, not fall into bed with him.

“Say that again- wanna hear yer’ beg”

Each kiss led lower until he settled just above your hole, pressing two rough, sloppy kisses to the puckered skin surrounding it, he wanted to hear just how eager you were to finally have him, to finally allow him to dissect you like a butterfly, clip the wings and make you his own.

“Please- I need you, anything-“

He tuts before chuckling one more, the huff of hot breath settling over the coolness of your hole, without any thought, you sink back into the sheets before reaching for the top of his head, with a surge of confidence, you smush his face between your cheeks as he spreads them, feeling him smirk against you was everything, but the long lap, from balls, taint to hole was much more.

He had witnessed the case file you had on him, guessed you were some sort of lawyer working for murdock, it just fuelled his fire, his urge to take control, make you forget, make you understand that he is the man you should fear, but the man you should come running to, it had his dick jump with joy, you were easy but he liked that.

He lapped and lathed at your hole dirtily like some pornstar, eager to uncover the very thing he craved. You could feel the once more slobber roll down from his tongue to your balls, dripping onto the carpet below, shivering in his hold, you begin to push back, wiggling against his face as he noses at your wet clutch.

The tips of two fingers were present, pushing into you alongside his tongue like butter, no resistance, just pure admiration and pleasure, allowing the stranger to ruin your hole, lavish licks and darts of his tongue had you quivering around the intrusion, his fingers smashing in and outwards, scissoring them apart to prepare you for the oncoming assault.

“So easy, just wanna be used? Yer’ that hungry for me? yer’ been stalking me for months and here I am…using yer’ like a damn whore…what would Murdock and Co. think of yer’ spread out and whining for the biggest criminal in Hell’s Kitchen?”

You whimpered at the thought, almost driving you over the edge. He was vulgar and dirty with his words and his tone, deep and low, almost making you dizzy along side the third digit slipping inside, burying themselves to the knuckle making your cock jump.

He smirks against your hole before giving it a few final laps. He pulls them away, standing to glare down at your fucked out features.

“Somethin’ tells me yer’ like the sound of that hmm?”

You watch attentively as his fingers work to unclasp his belt, whipping it off. He unfastens the button, watching as his cargo’s pool around his ankles before kicking them off along with his boxers.

His cock slaps up into his abdomen with a sharp thud. You glare at it, taking it in, judging it harshly. He was big, big enough to leave an impression, he was girthy and long, thick from base to tip, his head an angry shade of red, his balls resting heavily between his thighs, the light shedding of hair framing the beauty.

“Don’t think yer’ gettin’ outta this boy, yer’ gonna take it like the pretty little thing yer’ are”

Peeling off his long sleeved t-shirt, you glaze amongst the muscles that bulged, his physique was godly, heavenly, everything that had your body spreading automatically to give him the space to slot between your legs, kneeling on the edge of the bed.

“Fuck- you look-“

Your words were slight encouragement to Frank as he dipped, still the Ski-mask stayed, secreting his identy, you could still kiss him, sloppy and rough. Whining into the kiss notified Frank of your eagerness, so much so, without warning he pressed the spongy head of his cock against your rim, practically asking for permission.

Breaking the kiss had you back to reality, but it was to late, you mumbled a sharp “yes” allowing him to enter, pushing into your sloppy, slick hole with resistance. You both moan in unison as Frank pushes the air out of your lungs, pushing each inch inward until he sheathed himself fully, now resting against you.

“Atta boy, all the way in with no complanin’, yer’ such a pretty boy ain’t yer’, taking me in all the way like a professional-“

You flutter against him as his arms throw your legs up, pushing them against your stomach giving him enough space to settle just above you, his lips kissing at your jaw, nibbling on the skin as he pulls out, pushing back in slowly to allow you to adjust.

How were you going to explain the current set of events to the law firm and two of the closest men to you, Matthew Murdock and Foggy Nelson, the intimacy of your thoughts only lead you to believe that this would put you at risk…of wanting more.

[flowerandblood]

The Crime and Punishment (2)

[ modern! lawyer • Aemond x female ]

[ warnings: sex content, age gap, smut, angst, domination kink, sexual tension ]

[ description: Aemond becomes a co-owner of one of the largest law firms in the area. He is invited to cooperate by one of the best lawyers he knows. While working in the evenings on further matters at his house, he meets his daughter, much younger than him, whose behavior gives him sleepless nights. Anon Request: Age gap, domination, lots of sexual tension and guilt. ]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next parts: Masterlist

______

A few days had passed since he touched her for the first time. They both tried to pretend that nothing had happened. They did not look at each other and did not speak to each other. There was tension between them as they were left alone in the room. It felt like some kind of competition.

Her father often asked her for help in the law firm. Mostly when it comes to documentation. Of course, they had everything electronically stored, but they also had to have copies of the files in separate folders and binders in case something happened.

Aemond hated messy paperwork. She'd seen him scolding his assistant many times for not being able to arrange them properly and for putting them all over the place.

As far as she knew, the girl also studied law and did an apprenticeship with him. But she didn't seem to be able to handle the pressure and demands he placed on her.

"Leave it. Go home now. I'll take care of it." She said to her once, putting her backpack on a chair.

It was hot despite the air conditioning. For this reason she decided to wear a dress with small flowers, pretty and girly, with a triangle neckline. The girl looked at her gratefully.

"Thank you. I owe you lunch." She sputtered tiredly, putting down the pages she had been sorting. She packed her things from her desk and left.

She went to work, standing at the table where all the documentation from the previous month was spread out. From a drawer she took a piece of divider and a marker.

She knew what he liked.

Each client was to have their own binder. Inside, each case was to be separated by a red sheet with its number, date and table of contents - so you could see where one began and the other ended.

They had to be accurately described. The case was to be divided into parts: the evidences, the opinions of the experts, their discussions recorded by ear, the testimonies of the witnesses, the testimony of the client himself, the evidences of the prosecutor's office.

This order had to be followed, no other. Each part should be arranged logically, fragments of the statements of the same witnesses were to be arranged one after the other, so as not to look for them further. If there were any small notes or footnotes among the papers, they had to be stapled to the relevant document they concerned with a stapler.

She arranged everything with care. She put the sheets of paper into piles, and then put everything as one part into a binder. She flinched when she heard his voice behind her.

"What are you doing?" He asked coldly, standing in the doorway. She wondered how long he had been watching her silently.

She went back to her work, pretending she wasn't impressed by the sight of him in a tight, thin black turtleneck hugging his chest. She wondered how it was possible that he wasn't too hot inside.

"I'm putting together your documentation." She said softly as she stapled the two sheets together.

"Where is Hannah?" He asked indifferently, walking over to the table where she stood, roughly leafing through one of the binders that she had just set aside.

"I sent her home because she was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Should I call her?" She asked as she tucked pieces of paper into a plastic sleeve. A momentary silence answered her.

"No." He said finally, without commenting further, sitting down at his desk. She knew it was a sign that she was doing her job well and he couldn't find anything to complain about.

She decided that she would work standing up since she led such a sedentary lifestyle. She allowed him to look at her long, shapely legs without restriction. She wondered if he was just thinking about how soft her skin felt when he touched her.

She heard him start typing on his laptop. He was probably replying to a client. She glanced at her watch - it was seven o'clock in the evening. She wondered when he rested.

She had heard that he had dumped his long-time partner, Alys, precisely because she wanted him to give up his career and start a family with her. In six years of relationship he hadn't even proposed to her, and her biological clock was ticking.

Turns out they have other priorities in life.

She guessed he wasn't a sexual ascetic, but she knew he hadn't had a long-term relationship with anyone since then. She wasn't going to be his adventure. One of the smiling journalists or clerks that he could fuck once in the back room. She wanted him to die of despair because of her.

A knock on the open door snapped her out of her thoughts. Daemon, a close friend of her father's for many years, stood there. He was a well-known forensic pathologist, helping them with their cases and determining the possible course of events. He often came to visit them and helped her father when her mother left them and he struggled with depression, unable to get out of bed.

"Would you like a quick snack before the restaurant downstairs closes?" He asked lightly, smiling out of the corner of his mouth.

She thought that he always looked very good. His slicked-back hair, gallant smile, unbuttoned jacket, casually buttoned shirt. He was a very handsome man, and she thought it was great that he'd asked her that in front of Aemond. She smiled broadly.

"Of course." She said lightly and glanced at Aemond who was glaring at her from his laptop. "Do you mind? I promise I'll finish it today. I have the keys to the office." She said calmly.

He looked away, starting typing again on his laptop. His lips were pressed into a thin line.

"No."

***

She and Daemon sat at one of the tables. It was practically empty around them because all the offices, except theirs, were already closed. Daemon ordered a drink, she took tea and a piece of chocolate cake. He stared at her for a moment in concentration.

"How are you?" He asked finally, taking a sip of his drink. She looked at him from under her long lashes and smiled slightly.

"All right." She answered briefly, taking a piece of cake on a small fork into her mouth. Daemon looked at her expectantly.

"You still don't speak to her?" He asked finally. She looked at him with furrowed brows.

"No, Dad." She said maliciously, giving him a warning look. He laughed at her words and shook his head.

"You're going to have to do it eventually." He grunted as he took a sip from his glass. She sighed heavily, looking away.

"My dad told you to talk to me?" She asked tired. She hated bringing it up again. It was a closed chapter for her. Daemon stared at her silently.

"He worries about you." He finally said, looking at her with a raised eyebrow.

There was something rakish and youthful about him, a certain arrogance and energy that always impressed her. She couldn't be mad at him. She smiled pityingly.

"I know. But I don't think I have to explain anything. Not even to you." She said, as she popped a piece of cake into her mouth and ate deliberately, keeping her eyes on him. He looked at her thoughtfully. He didn't speak for a moment.

"You know that if you need to talk, you can always count on me." He said finally. She smiled warmly at him.

"I know."

***

After a few minutes they got up and said goodbye. He was already on his way home and she was climbing the stairs up to their office. On the way she met her father, who was running downstairs in a hurry.

"There's a new witness in the case. I need to question him. Can you get yourself an Uber home?" He asked, grabbing her by the shoulders. She shivered with excitement at the thought of being alone with Aemond in the office.

"Yes, don't worry." She said lightly. He nodded and ran downstairs.

She walked slowly down the corridor thinking hard about what she should do. She decided that the best option was to let him look at her. She knew that just being alone with each other would make the tension unbearable for them. She decided that there was no reason to exaggerate and to show him anything more than she herself wanted.

She entered the code and heard a confirmation beep that the password was correct. She went inside and walked through the glass walls to the only room with a light on.

She saw with surprise that he got hot after all, and he was left in just a tight black T-shirt, a nice little watch with a black strap on his wrist. He was leaning over the papers on the table she had been dealing with.

He gave her a quick glance, eyeing her up and down, as if to see if she really had eaten something or if she was doing something else with Daemon. Deciding to pretend not to see it, she stood next to him, getting to work without saying a word.

He sorted the sheets and documents as he saw fit, handing them to her and telling her the client's name and case number. She wrote it down, working with complete concentration, her small hands slipping the pages into plastic sleeves and placing them in the correct order into binders.

She smelled the intense scent of his cologne water and felt with amusement that her nipples hardened slightly, her insides clenched, hot and moist. She thought it was ridiculous how much he affected her.

She glanced thoughtfully at his large hands, lines of veins showing through their skin. He had slender fingers. She remembered how nice their touch felt on her skin, and a pleasant shiver ran through her. She turned her head as she went back to work. She closed several ready-made binders and walked over to the regiment, clearing space and putting them in their proper place.

She heard him move and stand behind her. Her movements slowed in tension, wondering what he would do. She felt him place one of the files on the shelf above her head, placing it on top of the others. She could feel his breath and the warmth of his body. Her heart was pounding like crazy.

Slowly she slid the last of the binders into place, her hand trembling slightly. She felt that he hadn't moved away, his hand still searching for something just above her. She knew he was pretending.

She placed her hands on the shelf in front of her, not moving. She felt that he wanted her to turn to face him, to show with her eyes how much she wanted him. She decided she wouldn't give him the satisfaction and waited for him to pull away.

A strong, aggressive shudder went through her, as she felt his fingertips brushing against the side of her thigh. He guided them as he had done then, up and down, lifting her dress slightly, so that once in a while he could see the fabric of her panties. She swallowed hard, feeling her own wetness between her thighs.

Her fingers tightened on the shelf in front of her and she leaned forward slightly, her buttocks landing on his pants right behind her. They both sucked in a sharp breath as her butt pressed against the bulge hidden under his fly. His hand tightened around her buttock as she began to rub innocently up and down against him, feeling the pleasure of him throbbing under her.

"Stop." He whispered softly. She wondered if he was trying to convince himself or her.

"Just do it." She said softly, squeezing her eyes shut. She felt him freeze, his breath caught in his throat.

They were panting softly, rubbing against each other slowly and intensely, she could feel him completely hard now. His thumb pushed the material of her panties aside, exposing her wet, fleshy structure to him, all hot and throbbing. He ran his thumb over her entry, lapping it in her fluids, his breath quivering slightly.

"Are you sure?" He asked quietly, unsure of himself. She had never heard him talk to anyone like that before. It turned her on even more. All she wanted was for him to fuck her.

"Yes." She whispered softly, her lips quivering slightly, her face pressing against the bookcase in front of her.

She began to breathe faster when she heard the sudden sound of the belt from his pants being unfastened and his fly being unzipped. She felt him pull her panties down to her knees.

She couldn't suppress a soft moan of delight as she felt his huge, throbbing manhood begin to rub against her, sticky with her wetness. He held her buttocks, parting her in front of him, his cock literally slithering over her dripping entrance.

"Are you so wet for Daemon too?" He asked low and mean, his voice quivering slightly, his fingers tightening on her skin. She smiled to herself, breathing deeply through her mouth, unable to bear the tension between her thighs. His jealousy was like a honey to her ears.

"Are you trying to accuse me of something, Your Honor?" She asked lightly, wetting her lips with her saliva, her fingers tightening on the shelf in front of her.

She gasped as she felt him grab her by the throat and pull her higher, until his mouth was at her ear. She was surprised that she liked it. He wasn't violent, but he was determined. He didn't want to give her control.

"Yes. I think you like an older man to fuck you well." He hissed softly into her ear, her lips parting slightly.

"So what are you waiting for?" She asked quietly. Silence answered her, his body froze for a moment.

She moaned loudly, suddenly feeling him deep inside her. Her lips parted in shock as he filled her so much that he barely fit. He must have been just as surprised, because a helpless, short moan escaped his lips. She wondered if she would be able to get more of such wonderful sounds out of him.

His cock began to move inside her, and they both gasped loudly, unable to contain themselves or pretend they weren't enjoying it. He slid in and out of her in an intense, hard rhythm, his throbbing cock rubbing against the soft, moist, sensitive skin inside her.

His balls hit her ass with a wet slap each time he thrust into her again. She couldn't help but moan loudly every time he rubbed against the spot inside her that her fingers always sought when she touched herself. Hearing this, he began to fuck her there on purpose, making her pant in pleasure.

"So close already?" He asked ironically, speeding up, his thighs wet with her juices hitting her with a loud, sticky slap, her fleshy, hot walls pressing desperately around him.

They both breathed heavily, feeling they wouldn't last long. She swallowed hard in humiliation at hearing his words. She couldn't help it, no one had ever fucked her so wonderfully before. Her nipples were painfully hard, her insides swollen and bloodshot with excitement.

"Yes." She mumbled softly, her hips responding greedily to his every thrust as he pumped his cock deep into her, pushing her tight walls to breaking point.

"Do you take pills?" He whispered quickly, panting harder and harder, accelerating, as they both fucked greedily, the shameless, wet sound of their bodies hitting each other reverberating across the room.

"Yes, please, come inside me, please, please, please!" She moaned loudly and sobbed as she felt his fingers on her clit, massaging it in intense, circular motions. Her lips parted in a soundless moan, her body arched in pleasure as she felt a powerful, wonderful orgasm surge through her body, knocking her unconscious for a moment.

She heard him groan loudly as he felt her walls pressing down on him greedily. He couldn't take it any longer, he thrusted in her one last time and just came inside her, semen flowing out of him in waves.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" He was panting low, furious with himself, and at the same time delighted with the pleasure that he was experiencing right now. His nose and forehead brushed her hair, inhaling her scent. They both moved for a moment, unable to stop. Silence fell between them, broken only by their heavy, labored breathing.

"I'm sorry." He finally whispered, his voice trembling slightly as if he was terrified of what he had just done. She slid her hand off the shelf and placed it on his hand, still holding her hip. She stroked him gently and reassuringly, his face still buried in her hair.

"Don't be. Let's get back to work."

______

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @avgdusterfan @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @random-ocity @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost

Others: @fan-goddess @itsabby15 @fangirlninja67 @the-common-cowgirl

If you want to be tagged, leave a comment below. ♥

[banamine-bananime]

my concept of donut is like, he should be on a 1960s white america boyscouts poster but like, goofy about it. do you get what i mean.

like to me donut was basically cooked up in a lab to be a parody of the Good Ol’ Boy Back When Boys Were Real Boys who played outside all day with friends smacking each other with sticks playing space cowboys and aliens, rubbing dirt in all his cuts and knowing big boys repress all their emotions except Boisterousness, always says his yes maams and yes sirs and never questions authority (but also, y’know, boys will be boys so of course they’re up to Mischief when unsupervised, a bit of chaotic and violent rule-breaking fun is all fine and good as long as they’re respectful to authority and just accept their punishment with an “awwww, man! Shucks!” in the end).

a parody because it plays up how someone genuinely like that probably must be pretty stupid/oblivious/gullible to be so pliable to authority and follow dumb norms of “what is a nice polite young man supposed to act like” without any thought into “wait, what makes this something it’s important or nice to do? are there perhaps other things i could focus on doing that would actually be more important or nice to do? do i actually get or care what being nice and doing good is, or do i just like doing whatever i want without having to think about Ethics and then having a very easy set of rules of How To Be Nice to follow”.

and also a parody because he also is like, extremely gay, and he literally just does what he wants and acts how he wants and it’s simultaneously ^that whole Good Ol’ Boy thing and the most flamboyant stereotypically gay mannerisms and hobbies you’ve seen in your life. and he just fully lacks the interest in doing any reflection that would lead him to conclude anyone might see these as rather contradictory or subverting expectations. he’s exposed both to norms of good behaviour coming from conservative places and from progressive places and doesn’t really think about these perhaps being conflicting ethos, he just grabs this random patchwork of “hey this is something someone told me yayyyy :)”. he can enthusiastically follow the letter of many laws rooted in heteronormativity and toxic masculinity and also the letter of laws coming from Progressive Ideals but he fully does not give a shit to consider whether there might be a bigger spirit to any of those laws. dumbitchitis got him immune to internalized homophobia (no he isn’t actually. but he is quite certain that just Not Thinking About It means any negative emotions don’t exist. this is a foundational truth to donut’s understanding of the universe)

what i’m saying is donut should simultaneously give the impression of walking straight off a cheery WWI Join The Troops poster or 1960s boy scouts ad, but also of being absolutely A Pansy of the same era, but also of being the kind of modern queer who says “be gay do crime” not because they’ve given two seconds of thought to prison abolition but because they find doing crime really fun

[coltermorning]

The Outlaw’s Way (RDR2 Fanfic, Arthur Morgan x F!Reader, 18+)

Summary: You catch a notorious outlaw in the act of robbing the general store late one night. To keep you quiet, he punishes you for it.

Author’s Notes: Look at me finally learning how to write something shorter than ten thousand words :)

Tags: Arthur Morgan x reader, smut, low honor Arthur Morgan, rough sex, semi-public sex

AO3 Link

~

The Outlaw’s Way

Word count: 2323

“Easy, girl.”

The irony of the way Arthur Morgan purred those words was laughable. But you were far from laughing.

His hand was clamped around your throat, holding you against the wall. You would be terrified, should have been, if you weren’t so busy being aroused by his lowly, rough handling. Far from any kind of easy, no matter how much he said otherwise.

“Open your mouth.”

You did as he said, and his thumb found the edge of your lip, running across it. You watched his eyes, the only thing you could see of his face behind that black bandana. They studied your mouth like it was a complicated score, another job to run and get away with.

He stuck his thumb in your mouth, making you close your lips around it out of instinct. You saw the slightest narrowing of his eyes—a satisfied smile behind that mask.

“So good for me,” he said lowly. “You gonna keep quiet? Or do I have to keep this pretty mouth filled?”

You couldn’t answer, too busy with his finger, too worried by his hand around your throat. He was making shallow movements in and out, just enough for you to move your tongue against him.

He took his thumb away, closing in on you. “Answer me.”

You felt his thigh press against your legs, separating them until his knee hit the wall at your back.

You held in a moan when the friction of his leg scraped against your arousal. “I…”

His free hand found your backside, pitched you forward until you were fully straddling his leg. All the while, those deep, piercing eyes never left yours.

“Use your words.” He tightened his grip on your throat instead of loosening it.

“I won’t tell,” you breathed.

“Won’t you?”

Never. Not if this was what it got you. He had been robbing the general store at your back when you found him, catching him in the act. The store owner was long since retired for the night, leaving you the sole witness to the crime. And not only was it an actionable offense, but he was also one of the more famous outlaws in the state. His bounty posters were all over town. Arthur Morgan, head enforcer to the Van der Linde Gang. His picture didn’t do him justice. But it wasn’t his masculine features that were attracting your attention.

He kept your head pinned back, leaning in even closer. “What if you’re lying? Then what’ll I do with you?”

He gripped your hip hard, hard enough to bruise, and started guiding you back and forth on his leg. You let out a breathy moan.

“I won’t tell,” you repeated, the words mewled.

“I don’t trust that for a second. Maybe I’ll fill you up, give you a reminder any time you think of going to the law about what you saw.”

You moaned. You wanted that so badly you were willing to sacrifice any moral you’d ever had.

“Yeah, you’d like that would you?”

You couldn’t hold his intense gaze. Your eyes fluttered shut, all thought on moving against his muscled thigh, the heat building within you.

He finally let go of your throat. You stopped grinding against him when you heard him undoing his gun belt, looking down to watch.

“Uh uh. You keep moving until I tell you to stop.”

You obeyed but watched all the same. He unbuckled the belt, and it fell to the ground with a heavy thunk, his weapons sprawling in the dirt. You ground against his thigh a little harder when his hands worked his pants buttons apart. Were you really about to do this? Let an outlaw ravage you in the wide open? When he pulled himself out, stroking his cock as he clamped his hand around your throat once more, you had your answer.

“You want me to fill that little cunt, darlin’?”

Lord above, what a crude way to speak to a woman. But you were aroused even more by it.

You hesitated, overwhelmed by the feeling his leg was giving you and the sight of his hand around his impressive length.

His grip tightened around your throat. “Answer me, sweetheart. I don’t like asking twice.”

“Yes, I do,” you breathed.

His lazy laughter rent the night. It drew your attention. You suddenly wanted to see his face, wanted to know if he was as handsome under that mask as the rest of him was.

Before you could go to remove it, he released your throat and stooped, gathering up your skirts. His hand slipped under them, and he had your undergarments pulled down before you could so much as blink. One of his fingers ran against your slick, and your eyes fluttered shut as you released a breath, leaning into the feeling.

He gave a satisfied hum. “All ready for me, ain’tcha? Naughty little thing, wanting me to take you so bad.”

You didn’t respond. Couldn’t. It didn’t matter anyway—he was too impatient to wait for an answer. He hitched the front of your skirts up and boxed you in against the wall, his hips lining up with yours. You felt his cock slide against the inside of your thigh.

“Tell me again why I’m having to do this to you.”

It took all your will to focus. To think. Especially as those eyes bored into yours. “Because I need to be reminded to…to keep quiet.”

You expected a quip in return, but instead he rammed his length into you in one harsh stroke. The beginning of a cry of pleasure spilled from your lips before he slapped his hand over your mouth, muffling it.

“Quiet, girl. Don’t want no one knowing what we’re doing out here.”

He retreated, the pull of his cock against your walls sinfully good. Even better was when he slammed back in, greedy and rough.

He laughed in that smug way again when you moaned into his hand. “There.” The way he drug that word out had you dripping with want.

He started to take you against the wall, your lower back pressing into the wood harshly with each thrust. His hand moved slowly down your face until it found your throat again, forcing your chin back with his need. He began to fuck you hard and fast, the sound of him slamming into you filling the night.

He gave a low grunt at a particularly hard thrust. So did you, but you used the distraction and took his mask between your fingers, pulling it up just enough to see the rest of his face. God above, was he handsome. Your heavy-lidded eyes flicked up to see him staring you down. Hungry.

He brought his hand away from your throat and pressed it against your clit as he continued to fuck you deep. You lost it.

“Please,” you moaned as you gripped his arms, needing relief and needing to get out from under that finger all at once. He had trapped you against the wall. You had nowhere to go, nothing to do but take it.

“No use begging,” he grumbled. “You won’t get no mercy from me.”

You threw your head back, trying your best to stifle your moans. Those cursed words. Why did you covet them so?

His thumb started a wild pace against you, and your orgasm came roaring awake like you had never known true pleasure before. Your moans changed pitch, shooting as high as your need did.

“Want to feel that little cunt go tight,” he growled. It was the last straw. Your body obeyed him like it spoke his language.

You let go of all your restraint and pride, letting this man have every piece of you. Your orgasm hit you like a wall, and you were holding onto the edges of a scream as he continued his abuse of you. What pitiful noises you did manage caught the outlaw’s attention. Your upper back hit the wall hard as he changed his angle. And it was worse, so much worse—he wouldn’t let your pleasure down.

“Please,” you begged, desperate this time. You moved any way you could to get away from his abuse, but he only laughed. Went deeper. Ravaged you with his finger even faster.

“Take it,” he demanded, and there was no part of you that wanted to disobey him. Even though your body was protesting, even though it had never taken such treatment, you relented.

“I-” You gasped a breath. Another orgasm rolled through you like fire, this one so intense your legs started shaking.

“There,” he said low. You could hear the smugness in the word.

You were so high you couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe for a moment. His finger finally drew away, but still he pushed into you.

His hands came around your backside and lifted you, making you straddle his waist when he pushed you back against the wall. You were chest to chest now, and he used all his strength to thrust upward. Hard. You let out such a loud whine that he shushed you.

“What’d I say?”

“To be- oh god. To be quiet.”

“I need to make myself more clear?”

“No,” you breathed, your head falling back and plunking against the wood.

“Good girl.” His voice had a new edge to it—a desperate one. He was close to his own release.

Your breathing mingled with his, and he went impossibly harder, your body never knowing such pleasure.

He let out a panting breath then said, voice faltering, “Gonna fill you up.”

You moaned again, trying your best to keep it quiet.

“You want that?” he taunted. “Want my spend dripping out of you?” You shut your eyes tight, those words stirring your desire again. He was relentless. And got off on those dirty words of his almost as much as you did.

“Yes.” It was a breath of a word. An idiotic word. But you couldn’t resist it.

He chuckled, the rumble of it through his chest so masculine and proud. “Knew you would.” And like he had been holding back before, he gripped your hips and dug into you, his cock pushing so deep you were crying out again. He didn’t seem to care this time, buried under his desire.

His grip became so tight on your skin you writhed to get away. He was pulling another orgasm from you against your will, hitting that sweet spot within you over and over again.

When it surmounted, when you fell apart and he began to, you let his name slip past your lips. He groaned at the sound. You came hard, and he slammed into you one last time, doing the very same. Spilling inside of you, just like he said. It made your high inexplicably better. You basked in it, knowing nothing but the feeling of pleasure for a few blissful moments. Then he was pulling out of you, letting your legs down. You wanted to whine at the loss, wanted him to do it all over again. You couldn’t think that for long as you realized, with burning shame, you were having a hard time standing. Your legs shook beneath you, barely holding you up.

The outlaw laughed lowly, dangerously, when he saw. “I make your knees go all weak darlin’?” You met his eye, and he closed in on you. For a heartbeat you thought he would try to kiss you through his mask, but you realized too late his hands were dropping low. He brushed his fingers along the inside of your thigh, to his spend that had indeed dripped down your legs. If your knees hadn’t already been shivering, they would have started to at the touch. Especially as he held your gaze, gathering up his spend and tucking it back into your soaked core. His fingers dragged against you, filled you with his come, served their purpose. Your knees gave.

He caught you, laughing lowly as he did, and his cursed fingers finally let you be. “You remember that the next time you think of going to the law,” he said in your ear.

You didn’t respond. Numb with pleasure.

He went on. “If I find out you did, I’ll come do it again. And another time after that, just to be sure it takes.” You squeezed your legs together at the very idea of him doing this again.

“And if I dont?” you whispered, voice hoarse.

“Then I’ll do it anyway.” You let a groan escape you, and he laughed as he settled you on your legs a little better, stepping back and tucking himself back in his pants. “Look at you, all used up.”

“Stop speaking like that,” you begged.

He just chuckled, low and deep, as he went to refasten his gun belt. “I’ll stop when you learn your lesson about snooping around on a man.”

You wanted to say it had been an accident, that you hadn’t intended to see him robbing the store blind. But you were also much too receptive to any lesson he was willing to give you to say otherwise.

When he was all put back together, his hands falling on his gun belt in an unfairly attractive way, he stepped forward. He towered over you as that gaze of his pierced your very soul. “Be here when I get back. And keep that pretty mouth shut. Understood?”

You nodded, hoping—entirely irrationally—that he would return sometime soon.

“Use your words,” he taunted, his eyes crinkling in that hidden smile.

“I understand. I’ll be good.”

He snickered as he turned, whistling for his horse. He took one last look at you, a sudden hardness overtaking his gaze. “You better be.” Your knees gave another involuntary shiver. And just like that, he made for his horse and mounted, riding away. No more than a phantom sent to torture you and gone just as soon.

[starlight-bread-blog]

Katara made it very clear that she never ever wants to see Yon Rah again and most of the Zutara fandom supports that decision of hers.

So I guess the possible downside of Katara choosing to marry Zuko means sharing Zuko's burden of reforming and rehabilitating depraved war criminals like Yon Rha and all those who are even worse than him.

Then there's this whole thing with Aaron Ehasz imagining Zuko being Azula's Iroh and she reforms in that way along with my and a few other's ideas of Aang showing her how open and master her own chakras. Speaking of Iroh, does anyone remember his ruthless and brutal 600-day siege anymore? There's no way he'd avoid dropping bodies that whole time.

Looks like Katara will ironically be taking Aang's advice about forgiveness after all but I don't think it'll be necessary for Katara to look for Yon Rah again and say so.

What do you think?

Tw: War crimes, genocide and nazism.

Disclaimer: I don't know what actually happened post canon. I tried to look on internet forums and it seems as the topic wasn't addressed in the comics. For this answer, I'm going under this assumption.

Sorry for not getting to this sooner, life got busy and I didn't want to give some half assed answer to such a delicate topic. There's a lot to comment on so I'll break this down step by step.

"Katara choosing to marry Zuko means sharing Zuko's burden of reforming and rehabilitating depraved war criminals"...

The fire nation commited atrocious war crimes, leaving them with with many war criminals. War crimes are more than punishable. If it were real life, neither Katara or Zuko would have to reform and rehabilitate any of them.

An example of this would be the Nuremberg trials after WW2. Even recently, in 2022, Irmgard Furchner (an 98 year old women) faced a trial for being a secretary of a concentration camp (to put it lightly, she was very much a murderer). No one is getting away with their actions.

I read the relevant section from a Red Cross's document titled "Analysis of the punishments applicable to international crimes (war crimes, crimes against humanity and genocide) in domestic law and practice". (The section being "States’ obligations under IHL to prosecute and punish international crimes").

I found something interesting. (ID in alt text).

*Grave breaches are more serious, vile violations of humananitarian law. Everything above applies to "genocide and crimes against humanity".

If Katara were in a position of power in the Fire Nation, not only would she not have to reform anyone, she also might get to help with the trials for them.

"Then there's this whole thing with Aaron Ehasz imagining Zuko being Azula's Iroh"

I don't know about his plans for Aang's other ideas, so I can't comment on them. What I did find was a short thread of his. And after reading it, I maintain that – like most ideas – his vision can work with sensitive execution.

Azula was still very much a 14 year old victim of grooming when the series took place. Her brother can help her through her redemption under one condition – the desire to be better should come from her.

He shouldn't sit through any mistreatment whatsoever. He'll guide her through a path he already went through, but she has to walk with him. Azula needs to be safe for Zuko. Only then, redemption would be possible.

"does anyone remember [Iroh's] ruthless and brutal 600-day siege anymore?"

The difference between Iroh and Yon Rah is what they're up to now. In the present Yon Rah is just some guy living with his mother. Meanwhile Iroh took back Ba Sing Se from Fire Nation colonizers.

Yon Rah isn't out here fixing his mistakes, he just got off scot-free. On the other hand, Iroh is a changed man and took action to correct his past on the same scale.

At the end of the day redemtion isn't Aang's idea. It's one of the major themes of Atla. It wants to show that people can change and grow. So it does. Zuko changes, Mai changes, Ty Lee changes, and Iroh is their future.

He tried to conquer Ba Sing Se, and now he took it back from conquerors. He was the worst of them all, and now he's unrecognizable. He's warm, wise and sweet. There's a meaning to it.

That doesn't mean that war criminals in the current day, scums who made no affort, will get away with their crimes. That doesn't mean Katara would have to go through the mental torture of reforming her colonizers.

That is it! I hope I didn't come off as aggressive, I didn't mean to. Thank you for the ask, sorry for taking me forever to write this, and have a lovely day!

[unhappytimeleaper]

I don’t know how to feel about this. I just couldn’t stop thinking about watching the rain and reflecting on Neuvillette. Also, who knows what might change as he is officially released. This is just an idea that was eating my soul. 

Also, requests are open. I don’t really need to close them, but I am still slow with writing since I work full-time. I am hoping to branch off a little more from just Enstars requests, and ,I’ve taken a lot more of an active interest in writing for Jojo specifically, but anything works.

Neuvillette; Unedited. Gender Neutral Reader. 

Warnings: very vague for the most part but talk of isolation, mental and physical abuse, and manipulation. It’s still Yandere.

Word Count: 2,300+

This blog is 17+ please have your age in your bio or tagged; any ageless blog and below the age asked for will be blocked at the end of the week.

plitter-platter, plitter-platter, plitter-platter—

The rain had been pouring for some time now, longer than usual. What could have set him off for so long was still unknown. The drumming of the rain against the window, your head pressed more into it and away from the armrest of the chair, almost as if hoping by sheer luck you’d phase through the glass and be set free. The sound of the rain, once so peaceful, has grown to become nauseating. Ringing in the depths of your ears and into your soul, plaguing as a reminder of the life you now had. When there is nothing to shut it out, it only digs in more into the predicament you’ve been chained to. No more are the cozy aspects of the rain curled up in a family home with food, cooking, and music as the rain danced across the roof or the time with friends running through the storm in attempts to find shelter, laughs filling the air—just you and the room. 

Well, the room could be your fault. You weren’t physically chained there— not anymore, but the walls of the home, as big as they were, only served to mock you. Too big of a cage, a labyrinth that could only make the looming fear of loneliness bury itself between your ribs and bloom across your heart. The shadows of people known not to interact with you but their whispers tickling in your ears. Sounds of them adding about their personal lives and families, trips, gossip across Fontaine… all while your days had become mostly kept in silence. No, you’d rather stay in here… just one room that you could build into an escape paradise from the weighing ache the rest brought you—filled with books, a window [that you had spent countless hours fighting with], plush chairs, and per your request some plants. You managed to get your argument across to him on allowing for such necessities; although he liked to remind you what he had given, he could just as much take away. Though you knew his bleeding heart for you, that under it all, he craved the love he one day believed you’d give him. Punishments were honest; you knew that much had been burned into your brain, but it was rare that little things would be a trigger for him to take account less you become too much of a “brat.” Ugh, how easy it was to scoff at that term— treating you like a child having a tantrum compared to the reality of a human stuck in the grasp of the inhuman judge himself. 

Sometimes, you wondered what was better; he often was gone. Working, fulfilling a role you had to bite your tongue to denounce him from. If someone couldn’t understand humans, couldn’t understand what drove them to petty crimes and the struggles so many befall, why should he be allowed to make the calls? Judge-free, unbiased… no, that isn’t the way to handle it; you knew the pain of it all weighed down on him, which was something enough [better than doing so without remorse] but didn’t alter the unfair nature of the law. Not when, through it all, you ended up here, a product for his love rather than a participant. But him being gone didn’t change the aching; with the limited interactions, it was only through him the loneliness had a moment to dull. Even if you hated to admit it, you were only human— only able to crave someone to share time with to break the deafening silence of the home. Of the rain. It scared you. To know if he was around more, around enough that your fight to be free would extinguished. You’d lose yourself, complacent in a life you never asked for. If he was home more, would you lose yourself faster, lose the motivation to escape, and become just another wheel in the cog of fate? Or would you have more time to whittle down his defenses and create more openings for means of escape? The thought could only make your heart beat faster, drumming along to the rain, though was it out of fear or excitement? It was hard to tell.

plitter-platter, plitter-platter, plitter-platter—

Breathe fogged up a patch of the window, the cooling glass chilling the chunk of the forehead that was placed against it. The feeling was uncomfortable, both in angle and blooming chills from the material, but not enough to want to move. The rain was still falling, though slowly dying down. He’d be home soon, creeping into the room looking for you just like every night. Days spent on loop, blending more and more into each other. He didn’t mind crying in front of you, often the tears adorning your shoulder or back as he held you close, but he seemed to try to keep the outside world— well outside. He knew it upset you, that it’d turn into some argument, and he’d need to find a reason to punish you for breaking the rules. You often had to bite your tongue, wanting to tell him this is why inhuman creatures shouldn’t have human partners. The gap in communication, feelings and needs was too much. It was killing both of you. You could feel it as he wept, the soft rain showers of him just not understanding, not being able to communicate effectively the motions of his heart. 

Two drops lined up just centimeters from your face. The mark of a race, the starting line. It was a time that once was so innocent when you were a kid choosing a random drop and narrating it in your head as you waited for the storm to pass so you could go out and play. ‘Woe is me’ could only be how you thought of it now. Him and you set up for the race— the starting line and… go. 

Rolling down the frame and collecting other droplets, their trails jumping and altering in their paths as gravity dragged them down. One pulled into the lead, always him. He was always one step ahead, one smarter and more intuned. Like a kid with their hand in the cookie jar, he always found your new escape attempt and could see through your flowery words of deception. In that sense, you had to admit his role fits him well, but only left the bitter remains of the stems in your mouth when he locked you back up with a ‘you’ll be let out when you learn not to lie.’ It must be something tied to him on a fundamental level, a sense. Or perhaps it was just age, something you could never achieve. You couldn’t count how many times you watched the droplets race, hoping that maybe just once you could be one step ahead, one…

No. Even if you did, where would you go? The melusine were everywhere, and getting out within reach of the court would be a life sentence of punishment. Perhaps solace somewhere in the underground community, but someone likely would sell you out to better favor their outcome. You could break for the border; it’d be brutal and dangerous, a bounty on your head faster than you could imagine. Would other regions even be safe from a runaway? Maybe some other small communities… would become looking for you? Would you have to always stay alert for the rest of your life? Would you have to live alone, fending only for yourself? You’d lose yourself just as much in a life like that, but maybe it was the price of freedom. The price of not playing a role, soul withering away trying to maintain the rules and ideals of something you could never understand. When did your thought become so sorrowful, the fight you once had? A flame extinguished by the rain left only as sparks fumbling to stay lit. Look away, it wasn’t over yet. There had to be good out there, people who could understand, you’d take you in. Life would never be easy again, but it wasn’t over. Not yet. 

Lifting your head from the window was always weirdly comforting, the movement restored to your neck and it stretching back into place. The coolness of the glass no longer flushed against your skin, allowing the heat of the room to melt away the temperature. Rest your mind, reset your body. He never minded the long game, maybe as time for him felt infinite. But rushing would only cause holes in a plan you couldn’t keep affording to lose. The storm would pass, and you’d find a way to relight that flame. You couldn’t let him win, and you couldn’t let this system win. 

plat, plat, plat…

“My love,” he spoke. He— Neuvillette, was home. The rain had stopped, only some residue drops highlighting the storm moments before. He stood in the doorway, hand holding the frame as his voice reverberated across the silent room. He always waited for you to notice him before entering. Permission didn’t matter, but in a sense, it tended to bring some comfort to know where the dragon lurked. It only took a brief flash of eye contact for him to take it as clearance into entering the room, legs quickly carrying him to your seat. 

Neuvillette stood in front of you, pristine and put together; his eyes sharply focused on you, and his neutral expression made him seem more intimating than you knew he was. You had been here long enough as well to see the faint but dried crust of where his tears had pooled down his cheeks from moments just before. It didn’t change the power radiating off him, seeping into the room and over you like a blanket to remind you he was in charge here. Curiosity burned in your stomach, leaping up your throat, wanting you to ask what could have caused him to cry so much.

Gossip regarding the law wasn’t to be taken seriously, but the lack of outside world stimulation always makes the prospects more enticing. It burned in your mind to know what was happening outside of your cage, in the world below. Though asking would only come back to haunt you, the fights that led to punishments burned into your mind and skin even if the physical sides had healed. Not to mention the way he would take it if the words even managed not to set off a disagreement, that you cared. Neuvillette may be blind to human emotions and feelings, but he did have his own set— and that presented as caring for him on the most basic level of touch or tone only worked against you. Solidifying your partnership, your love in his mind. 

The silence was always more deafening when he stood before you; that even a breath would break the moment. His hand was delicate, though, floating to your head before wistfully tracing your hair and to your chin. It tickled, enough you wanted to flinch but knew better as he tilted your head to look into his eyes more. Pulling his hand from your face, he held it with his palm up. You knew what he was asking. Take his hand, but don’t look away. Unlike his graceful movements, you didn’t have as much time before his eyes would narrow, a sign of rejection in his eyes— he couldn’t take it. Unlike for humans, you could only assume there was something dormant, something innate that drove the ideas of jealousy, rejection, and the need to isolate on a biological level rather than mental. People could do just the same; you knew this for a fact, but the way he carried it out felt more visceral. Not doing so wasn’t an option; it freed him from his own judgment because nothing could defy the fact of biology. 

Your hand moved from instinct; at least, at this point, it was strange to think of how things now were ingrained in you. The movements of hands, replying to questions, from when it was time to sleep and wake up to where you walked through the day. That it just instantly would click, a passive thought or action. Not trained into you but a reflection of your life, how the passing days and routines with him had become a staple in your life. You had changed since then, proof that whatever was to come was inevitable—a mark of fate. 

Pulled to your feet, Neuvillette wrapped his arm around your torso, still ghostly with his touches. His face now resting on your hair as he breathed– in and out. The tension in his body released just slightly, but as if you were the answer to what had been weighing down on him. “My love,” he repeated, lips softly tickling the top of your head, “come on. Let’s have dinner.” 

The routine of your long day: Neuvillette returns from work to fetch you from your room to a meal before settling into bed together. He’d try to make a convo, and sometimes you’d reply. Other times, he’d focus on reading something, and you’d do the same or just turn your back, hoping he’d get the hint. There was no use in fighting it; the rules layered in stone. 

“Okay.” 

[bullet-prooflove]

Punishment: Filip 'Chibs' Telford x Reader

GIF IS NOT MINE

Tagging: @corruptedcoffin @anime-weeb-4-life @redpoodlern @ravencrow83 @kishie8 @nu1freakshow @@oureternalbond @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @jtelford @the-wandering-lunatic @darqchilddaydreamz @yourwinchesterbros @lexondeck @keyweegirlie @poppyrose33 @belovedbastardremus @trublu2u @thebaileybugle @legally-a-bastard

It’s been less than a day when Chibs finds you. He knows what can happen in the space of a few hours, the damage that can caused. It drives him, it makes him relentless, ruthless, merciless. The blood he’s shed in your name should frighten him, but it doesn’t because he would do anything to have you back in his arms and away from this part of his life. You were never meant to see the violence; you were never meant to endure it.

He sees similar inclinations from his brothers. The men whose affairs you have take care of, the ones whose secrets you have kept, the ones that you have fought for.

Out of them all it’s Tig that understands the recklessness of his actions. He tells him as much when he uses pliers to tear the teeth out of that IRA bastard’s mouth, it takes three before they get the information they need. Chibs would raze this town to the fucking ground if it meant keeping you safe and Tig would help salt the earth afterwards.

It’s bad. Worse than he could have imagined. He tries to keep his shit together but when he sees the mess they’ve made of your back, it feels like he’s been eviscerated. He can’t fucking breath past the taste of copper on his tongue. His gaze strays to the bullwhip, neatly bundled up on the empty crates that used to contain their AK 47s, your blood still encrusted on the thongs of the device.

It’s Tig that cuts you down, the rope fraying away from the wooden beam of the barn as Chibs cups your face in his hands, his thumbs ghosting over the mascara that’s trailed down your cheeks. You hiss through your teeth as the rope breaks and you fall into the shelter of his chest, the remnants of your silk blouse barely preserving your dignity.

It’s the cruelty of the punishment that jars Filip, and he knows it could have only have come from Galen. He thinks the other man who would have known exactly what he was doing when he inflicted each and every lash upon your fragile skin. He’s been witness to something like this before, back in Ireland when one of the Sons over there had been caught with one of the King’s underage daughters. He knows there’s an apprehension in the agony and sometimes that’s worse than the actual affliction.

He knows that this is a personalised message, and he knows it’s meant for him. This lashing it wasn’t meant to kill you. It’s like the scars on his face, you’re meant to bare the marks for the rest of your life, to look in the mirror and know that you’re only crime was loving a man who lived on the wrong side of the law.

He wants the cunt dead; he wants everyone who participated in your torture fucking dead. He wants to burn every single one of those fuckers alive and hear their screams echo into the night. You whimper and he cradles you to his chest, his cheek pressed against the top of your head as he whispers the tenderest words into your hair. Your fist grips the leather of his kutte, the strength of your grasp surprises him as he bows his head so that he can hear the words you whisper in his ear.

“Make him fucking bleed.”

Love Chibs? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[petitprincess1]

Warning: Hazbin Hotel Spoilers and mentions of SA

I dont know if you've noticed but there's been new drama on Twitter regarding one of Angel Dust scenes that depict him being SAd by Val and people got so mad over it saying it was incredibly disrespectfull, harming and insensitive to real SA victims.

While I agree maybe not everyone will enjoy that scene I dont think they should be surprised when it was announced that Hazbin was much darker than Helluva Boss considering its +18 calification and setting (also it makes sense when you consider Pride is inhabited by the worst of the worst and people got sent there as punishment for their misdeeds but get no regulation/sentence for their crimes and can continue their sinful acts while Hellborns were born there hence why they have a more grey morality-like Blitzø,Loona, Moxxie or Millie-and lower Rings actually have laws to ensure people's safety). The warnings are there for a reason, buddy.

Also people are talking about how bad it is to represent SA as what it is; something uncomfortable for SA victims and are comparing it with stuff that did it for laughs like Moral Orel in S1. Yes, SA is uncomfortable and ugly to watch but I think its important to have the representation as male SA victims (or just SA victims in general) get laughed at and blamed for something that wasn't their fault. And trauma isn't something pretty and people sometimes have not extremly good coping mechanisms to deal with it. It's raw,ugly and discomforting to watch but SA victims can relate to that and actually aive seen oeople saying that they had similar expierences to Angel and honestly it feels good to be seen.

Plus honestly this whe debacle kinda reminds me of how people victim blamed Stolas for also being a SA victim as confirmed in the Circus and went out of their way to villify him by implying that he must have done something to piss Stella off for her to rape him and concevie Via which is essentially the same as asking a girl or woman what they were wearing and blaming them for getting SAd. And also shame them for trying to cope with it however they can, like joking about it or glorifying it in attempts to make them feel not so shitty for what happened to them; like how they're doing with Viv for joking about her past trauma currently.

Idk it just feels like people, especially non SA victims, dont want SA victims to have visibility and go out of their way to say harmfull stuff like SA victims shouldn't be sexy or shouldn't have sex again in their lives which is more harmfull than good as youre basically shaming them into being unhappy with their bodies just for an unpleasant and undesireable expierence they had no say in it instead of healing. I get that its uncomfortable but it doesn't mean we wont to see Angel get better and be treated with the respect he deserves in future episodes.

I kinda find it funny they bring up Moral Orel, considering they did show rape victims in a more serious light in S3, which is what got the show canceled by Adult Swim. But yeah. I dont see what's wrong with showing how horrifying and terrible SA is. If it's because of his behavior, yeah...that's how he copes. Like, hypersexuality is a thing that victims of SA can go through.

Then again, I guess Antis know better than SA victims. I mean.........just look at 'em. /sarcasm

[dontmeantobepoliticalbut]

Trump immunity decision shows that conservative ‘originalism’ is a farce | The Hill

By Kimberly Wehle

In Trump v. United States, the Supreme Court’s far-right majority showed Americans once again that “textualism” and “originalism” are a ruse.

Writing for a 6-3 majority, Chief Justice Roberts announced that presidents have a presumption of absolute immunity from criminal prosecution for official acts. He identified a handful of obvious official acts that underpin Special Counsel Jack Smith’s four-count indictment of Donald Trump for his actions relating to the Jan. 6 Capitol riot, which must therefore now be excised from the case — while at the same time refusing to draw any lines for unofficial acts, instead punting that question to the lower courts for the justices to resolve in an inevitable appeal another day.

In her outraged dissent, Justice Sonia Sotomayor faulted the majority for morphing the presidency into a monarchy, precisely what the founding generation fought to reject. Justice Ketanji Brown Jackson penned her own dissenting opinion, pointing out that it’s not just the president whose powers are now too close to that of a king. It’s the power of the Supreme Court itself: “the risks (and power) the court has now assumed are intolerable, unwarranted, and plainly antithetical to bedrock constitutional norms,” she wrote.

Jackson is on to something — especially because the conservative justices purport to follow a constrained approach to the Constitution. Rather than reading new stuff into the document like progressive judges do, the right-wing justices consistently claim, they focus on the precise text of the document and the Framers’ original intent when it was ratified in 1788. That way, the theory goes, judges stay in their lanes and don’t take on power that isn’t rightly theirs.

Let us consider what the Constitution actually says about immunity.

Article II gives the president his job description, making him “commander in chief of the Army and Navy of the United States, and of the militia of the several states.” He can “make treaties” with the advice and consent of the Senate; appoint federal judges, executive branch officers and other officials; “take care that the laws are faithfully executed”; and pardon federal crimes. The Constitution is clear that he can be held accountable for violating the rule of law — he “shall be removed from office on impeachment for, and conviction of, treason, bribery, or high crimes and misdemeanors.”

There’s nothing whatsoever in the Constitution about immunity for presidents, unlike for members of Congress under the Speech and Debate Clause. In other words, the Framers knew how to afford immunity to federal officials when they wanted to. They didn’t give it to presidents.

A true textualist might be expected to leave things there and reject Trump’s claim of immunity from prosecution for official acts as president.

Under Article I, which sets forth Congress’s respective powers, the Constitution goes on to state that “the Party convicted” upon impeachment — which includes impeached presidents — “shall nevertheless be liable and subject to Indictment, Trial, Judgment and Punishment, according to Law.”

The Framers thus took pains to state in plain English that presidents, even after being impeached, can be indicted, tried, convicted and punished for committing crimes. Again, a true textualist might be expected to leave things there, and reject Trump’s claim of immunity from prosecution for official acts as president.

If that weren’t enough, a true conservative might then look to the Framers’ original intent for definitive guidance, which Jackson highlights in her dissent. Most American middle schoolers know that presidents aren’t kings, so this should be an easy one. Jackson quotes John Adams, one of the Founding Fathers and the second president of the United States, who enshrined in the Massachusetts Declaration of Rights (which became a model for adoption of the U.S. Constitution) the foundational notion of “a government of laws and not of men,” whereby “every act of government may be challenged by an appeal to law.”

But as Jackson rightly noted: “From this day forward, Presidents of tomorrow will be free to exercise the Commander-in-Chief powers, the foreign-affairs powers, and all the vast law enforcement powers enshrined in Article II however they please — including in ways that Congress has deemed criminal and that have potentially grave consequences for the rights and liberties of Americans.” The majority provides no textual or original authority for this sweeping new power for presidents.

Chief Justice John Roberts, to his credit, engages with the dissents’ critiques. He argues for a strict reading of the separation of powers, pointing out that Congress has no legislative authority to constrain the president’s core powers under Article II — including through the criminal laws. But Congress can constrain the powers of the other branches. The Constitution separates the power of the branches but also sets up checks and balances — no branch, in theory, is above the law, because there are built-in ways each branch is held accountable by the other two and, ultimately, the voters. The majority shattered that originalist concept today.

Roberts deems “unpersuasive” the argument that the Constitution is silent on presidential immunity, saying “there is no ‘separation of powers clause,’ either.” But that’s a flawed distinction — the separation of powers is the name that’s been attached to the fact that, in the text, the Framers specified three branches of government in lieu of an all-powerful king.

As for the dissenting justices’ point that the Impeachment Clause expressly references criminally indicting impeached presidents, Roberts bootstrapped his own ruling. To Roberts, the fact that the clause doesn’t say anything about whether presidents can be prosecuted for official conduct means that the Impeachment Clause answers little. But isn’t impeachment itself about conduct taken by presidents using their official powers?

Roberts’s argument is utterly circular, and tosses aside the conservatives’ purported adherence to the plain text and meaning of the Constitution. Roberts then accused the dissenting justices of “cherry-picking” statements from the Founders, concluding obtusely: “Given the Framers’ desire for an energetic and vigorous President,” their argument against prosecutorial immunity, Roberts wrote, “defies credulity.”

In this regard, Roberts seems to have plucked a page from Trump’s political playbook: charge the other side with exactly what you are doing.