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simply-ivanka · 13 days

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Why Trump’s Conviction Can’t Stand

It rests on an intent to violate a state law that is pre-empted by the Federal Election Campaign Act.

By David B. Rivkin Jr. and Elizabeth Price Foley Wall Street Journal

Donald Trump runs no risk of going to prison in the middle of his campaign, thanks to Judge Juan Merchan’s decision Friday to postpone sentencing until Nov. 26. The delay gives his lawyers more time to prepare an appeal. Fortunately for Mr. Trump, his trial was overwhelmingly flawed, and a well-constructed appeal would ensure its ultimate reversal.

A central problem for the prosecution and Judge Merchan lies in Article VI of the U.S. Constitution, which makes federal law the “supreme law of the land.” That pre-empts state law when it conflicts with federal law, including by asserting jurisdiction over areas in which the federal government has exclusive authority.

Mr. Trump’s conviction violates this principle because it hinges on alleged violations of state election law governing campaign spending and contributions. The Federal Election Campaign Act pre-empts these laws as applied to federal campaigns. If it didn’t, there would be chaos. Partisan state and local prosecutors could interfere in federal elections by entangling candidates in litigation, devouring precious time and resources.

That hasn’t happened except in the Trump case, because the Justice Department has always guarded its exclusive jurisdiction even when states have pushed back, as has happened in recent decades over immigration enforcement.

The normal approach would have been for the Justice Department to inform District Attorney Alvin Bragg, who was contemplating charges against Mr. Trump, of the FECA pre-emption issue. If Mr. Bragg didn’t follow the department’s guidance, it would have intervened at the start of the case to have it dismissed. Instead the department allowed a state prosecutor to interfere with the electoral prospects of the chief political rival of President Biden, the attorney general’s boss.

Mr. Trump was indicted under New York’s law prohibiting falsification of business records, which is a felony only if the accused intended “to commit another crime” via the false record. Judge Merchan instructed the jury that the other crime was Section 17-152 of New York election law, which makes it a misdemeanor to “conspire to promote or prevent the election of any person to a public office by unlawful means.” Prosecutors alleged that Mr. Trump violated this law by conspiring with his lawyer, Michael Cohen, and Trump-related businesses to “promote” his presidential election by coding hush-money payments as “legal expenses” when they should have been disclosed publicly as campaign expenses or contributions—matters that are governed by FECA.

FECA declares that its provisions “supersede and preempt any provision of state law with respect to election to Federal office.” The 1974 congressional conference committee report accompanying enactment of FECA’s pre-emption language states: “It is clear that the Federal law occupies the field with respect to reporting and disclosure of political contributions and expenditures by Federal candidates.” Federal Election Commission regulations likewise declare that FECA “supersedes State law” concerning the “disclosure of receipts and expenditures by Federal candidates” and “limitation on contributions and expenditures regarding Federal candidates.”

The New York State Board of Elections agreed in a 2018 formal opinion that issues relating to disclosure of federal campaign contributions and expenditures are pre-empted because “Congress expressly articulated ‘field preemption’ of federal law over state law in this area” to avoid federal candidates’ “facing a patchwork of state and local filing requirements.”

In using New York’s election law to brand Mr. Trump a felon based on his actions with respect to a federal election, Mr. Bragg subverts FECA’s goal of providing predictable, uniform national rules regarding disclosure of federal campaign contributions and expenses, including penalties for noncompliance. Congress made its goals of uniformity and predictability clear not only in FECA’s sweeping pre-emption language but also in its grant of exclusive enforcement authority to the FEC for civil penalties and the Justice Department for criminal penalties. Both the FEC and Justice Department conducted yearslong investigations to ascertain whether Mr. Trump’s hush-money payments violated FECA, and both declined to seek any penalties.

Prior to Mr. Trump’s New York prosecution, it would have been unthinkable for a local or state prosecutor to prosecute a federal candidate predicated on whether or how his campaign reported—or failed to report—contributions or expenditures. In 2019 the FEC investigated whether Hillary Clinton’s 2016 presidential campaign failed to disclose millions in contributions from an outside political action committee. The agency deadlocked, and no penalties were imposed. In 2022 the FEC levied $113,000 in civil penalties against Mrs. Clinton’s campaign for violating FECA because it improperly coded as “legal services,” rather than campaign expenditures, money paid to Christopher Steele for production of the “dossier” that fueled the Russia-collusion hoax. In neither instance did any state or local prosecutor indict Mrs. Clinton under state election law based on failure to disclose these contributions or expenditures properly. If New York’s Trump precedent stands, Mrs. Clinton could still be vulnerable to prosecution, depending on various states’ statutes of limitation and the Justice Department’s potential involvement.

Mr. Bragg’s prosecution of Mr. Trump is plagued by many reversible legal errors, of which the failure to accord pre-emptive force to FECA is the strongest grounds for its reversal on appeal. The prosecutor’s interference in the 2024 presidential election process has created legal and political problems. The Justice Department’s failure to intervene before the trial is a dereliction of duty.

The department aggressively prosecuted Mr. Cohen based on the same hush-money payments, so it was well aware that New York’s prosecution invaded its exclusive FECA jurisdiction. This is another stark example of the Biden administration’s incompetence—or, worse, the distortion of justice through a partisan lens. It is left to the appellate courts, and ultimately the Supreme Court, to clean up the mess Mr. Bragg and the Justice Department have made.

Mr. Rivkin served at the Justice Department and the White House Counsel’s Office during the Reagan and George H.W. Bush Administrations. Ms. Foley is a professor of constitutional law at Florida International University College of Law. Both practice appellate and constitutional law in Washington.

#trump #trump 2024 #president trump #ivanka #repost #america first #americans first #america #democrats #donald trump

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casper-spills · 2 months

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| Tarot Cards: Places they represent |

✩░▒▓▆▅▃▂▁𝟑𝟎𝟎 𝐅𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥!▁▂▃▅▆▓▒░✩

Hey guys! Welcome back to another post ♡

We reached 300 followers! And I'm gonna do a special for you guys because I seriously am so grateful for all of your support. My blog has been growing so fast and I literally never expected to be where I am today. Thank you! ♡

This post will be a little different to my usual stuff. I was thinking I might start a series like this where I give some tips on how to read your tarot! I'll also include the sources I use at the end in case you wanted to check those out too.

Anyway, here is a list of places that the cards represent ♡

Sincerely,

Cassy the friendly ghost ♡

✦Masterlist ✦Paid Readings ✦Support me through Kofi

𓆩♡𓆪 𝙎𝙐𝙈𝙈𝙀𝙍 𝘿𝙄𝙎𝘾𝙊𝙐𝙉𝙏 50% 𝙊𝙁𝙁 !! 𓆩♡𓆪

Ends on September 22nd

| KO-FI SHOP |

| MAJOR ARCANA |

1. Magician - Kitchen, labatory, shows, music, magic, performances

2. High Priestess - Secret place, secret society, library, somewhere quiet, reading rooms, theatre, halls

3. Empress - Old/stately homes, old school building, old hospital building, boutique, beauty parlor, restaurants

4. Emperor - Royal palace, business establishments, schools, univerisity

5. Heirophant - Church, univeristy, temple, place of worship, corporate building

6. Lovers - Sweet shop, date locations, love hotel, honeymoon places

7. Chariot - Car ralley, racing fixtures, garages, horse racing, highway

8. Strength - Zoo, petting zoos, gym, fitness studios

9. Hermit - Cave, retreat centres, hill walking

10. Wheel - Ferris wheels, london eye, casino, lottery tickets, shops selling wheels

11. Justice - Court, arbitration offices, counselling institution, police department

12. Hanged Man - Bungee jumping, sky diving, thrilling activities

13. Death - Church yard, funeral parlor, butcher, cemetary

14. Temperance - Cocktail bar, queues, waiting rooms, chemist dispensary

15. Devil - Adult shops, clubs, casinos, brothel, strip clubs

16. Tower - Chop shops, tall buildings, skyscrapers, stormy areas, fire

17. Star - Water, ocean, river, stargazing

18. Moon - Nighttime, stargazing, movie, stage, theatre

19. Sun - Birth centre, midwifery unti, hospital, holidays, tanning booths, abroad

20. Judgement - Rehabilitation centres, church, treament centres, spa

21. World - Airport, flying, dance studios

| MINOR ARCANA |

☁︎ 𝒔𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅𝒔 ☁︎

Ace - Editor's room, skyscrapers, office, library, radio tower

Two - Statue of liberty, new york, seashore

Three - Hospital, rainy place, cloudy areas

Four - Bedroom, quiet places, funeral parlor

Five - Debate club, near water, themepark, competitive environments

Six - Boats, river, cruisers

Seven - Archery, secret location, casino, bomb shelter

Eight - Prison, therapy

Nine - Psychiatric hospital, confessional

Ten - Surgery room, accupuncture clinic, dentists

Page - Fraternity, rowdy places, sports arena

Knight - Windy places, windmills

Queen - Fenced off places, great walls, boundaries, spikes fences

King - Lawyers office

🕯 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒔 🕯

Ace - Workshop, construction site

Two - Balcony, overseas, historical travel, boat

Three - Seaside, boat travel

Four - Fastfood, cafe, outdoors, wedding, celebration

Five - Sport centre, pool game

Six - Market, downtown, show, event, someone/something noticable

Seven - Competitive/violent environment

Eight - Road trip, highway

Nine - Competitive environment, barrier, wall, bouncer, high security

Ten - Workplace, labour, sweatshop

Page - Disco, dance, party

Knight - Hot and dry place, bonfire, abroad, holiday

Queen - Social events

King - Active place, fast moving environments

꒦꒷ 𝒄𝒖𝒑𝒔 ꒷꒦

Ace - Lake, pond, birdbath, birds

Two - Luxury, home, common dating places

Three - Bar, pub, party

Four - Under a tree, graveyard

Five - A place of regret, place of bad memories, hospital, flooded areas, bridge, after party cleanup, alone in a bar

Six - Flourists, schoolyard, playground, nostalgic places

Seven - Highup places, views, drug suppliers, spots where people do drugs, drug shops

Eight - Bookstore, library, cave, quiet

Nine - Bar, party, pub, dinner, home

Ten - Family gatherings, park, outdoor, bbq party

Page - Aquariums, fish tanks, sea parks

Knight - Picnics, peaceful/romantic areas

Queen - Bathtub with cancles, home, skinny dipping, swimming

King - Beach, lake

˗ˏˋ 𝒑𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒄𝒍𝒆𝒔 ˎˊ˗

Ace - Dispensary, bank, currency exchange centre

Two - Circus, arcade, carnival

Three - Fashion show runway, art gallery, boutique, museum

Four - Uncle scrooge's home, gold reserves, saferoom, secret hideout, vault

Five - The streets, people living in powerty, homeless spots,

Six - Pawn shops, currency exchange shops, trade stores

Seven - Nursery, orchard

Eight - workshop, construction site

Nine - Gardens, green parks

Ten - Market

Page - Field, farm, family business

Knight - Workplace, chores, school

Queen - Home, nursery room

King - Bank manager's office

♥Thank you for your support!♥

Dividers by @cafekitsune, @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

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injuryandaccidentlawyers · 1 year

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Who gets protection under the New York Labor Laws?

Construction sites are dangerous as there is always a risk of a worker or a laborer getting injured, getting landed in the hospital, or even dying. It is, for this reason, there is a law that protects the right of workers on construction sites. The owners and contractors are obliged by law to adopt safety measures on the construction sites, including operational areas and the passageways. In case a firefighter or a police officer responding to a job at a construction site is injured, a person is entitled to compensation if the contractor is found to have shown discrepancy or negligence. It is always best to hire a construction accident lawyer in New York City to claim compensation amount.

What is the compensation amount that requires recovery?

Compensations are available to those injured on the construction site. Workers injured have the right to file for a claim if the injuries happened within the scope of the job. However, other individuals like pedestrians and passersby could suffer injuries as well. Whatever the case, a plaintiff in a personal injury lawsuit can secure compensation for the following:

● Medical expenditure

● Loss in income

● Damage to property

● Pain and Suffering

● Punitive Suffering

Compensation amounts give some relief from the impact of a construction accident, but injured workers should know about the options they have to take legal action. You can call Godosky & Gentile, one of the leading law firms, to file a claim for compensation if you have suffered due to an accident and are now facing severe consequences, and that too without your fault.

#Accident Attorney Construction New York #Construction Injury Lawyers in Nyc #Ny Construction Accident Law Firm #Construction Accident Law Firm Ny #Construction Law Firm Nyc

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mybworlds · 5 months

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Chapter 1: Your perfect life

Pairing: joel miller x f!reader (no use of Y/N) | Rating: 18+ Minors DNI | W.C.: 2.6k

Summary: Your life sounds perfect: you live with a perfect man, you live in your dream house, you do the job you love, you don't miss anything, except love and passion.

Warnings: no use of Y/N, use of you, reader is a photographer, reader has no physical descriptions except hair (no type or color) long enough to hold on to, unspecified age gap, Joel and reader are two cheaters, for a while. Smut, use of pet names, dirty talk, masturbation, unprotected PiV but the first time, creampies, comeplay, oral (both f and m recieving), exhibitionism, size kink, personal use of an unspecified sex toy. No outbreak here. Let me know if I missed anything!

Before to leave, this is a prologue of the main character and her situation, hope you like it...

Masterlist

follow @mybworlds and turn on notifications to get notified when I post new fics

Thx for the dividers @saradika-graphics

The alarm clock rings and you open your eyes, smiling, "Good morning," you mumble, stretching an arm toward your shoulders, but the cold sheets behind you make you realize that Patrick has been up for a while already. You turn belly-up to the ceiling and think about your next photoshoot and smile. You love your job. You are a photographer and yours is not just a job, it has been a passion since you were a little girl.

You get out of bed and stretch with a whimper, barefoot you walk to the bathroom whose light automatically turns on, you get into your beautiful shower with glass doors and blue and light blue tiles, you shower and then you get out, you wrap yourself in a soft blue towel matching the bathroom walls and then you dry your hair. You put some makeup and then smile at yourself in the mirror with a satisfied air. You choose light-colored jeans, a light-colored T-shirt and your beautiful sneakers as your outfit. You walk out of your bedroom, make your way down the small hallway and down the stairs happy to be living this new day.

"Babe," you call out to your Patrick, but Patrick does not answer, he's usually in his office and works in smart working, but today he is not there, you go to the kitchen and there you find your beloved pancakes and next to it a post-it with a red rose ′In the office, see you later, love you′ you smile "I love you so much too." you whisper sniffing the red rose and smiling with your eyes closed.

You are happy. Your life is perfect, you lack nothing. You have a magnificent multi-accessorised house equipped with a central home automation system, you have a garden with a swimming pool, even a small spa corner. You have a wonderful man like Patrick, he is a lawyer who looks after the interests of small local construction companies and mostly works from home apart from when he has to attend some meetings with contractors; you love him very much, you met him when you were only sixteen and it was love at first sight, you then got engaged when you turned eighteen, you took different paths, but you always supported and loved each other, you never accused each other of anything either of being too absent or too present with each other. Last but not least, you have a job you love, you are a photographer, a good photographer judging by the many positive comments you have on your site and the dozens of requests you have every day, you also had a major contract for a fashion house two years ago and since then the requests have increased, of course you haven't had major contracts like you did then, but things are going well.

You have breakfast, get your house keys, then put on your sunglasses and go out. You could take the car, but today you really want to take a walk and enjoy the sun kissing the streets of New York, you'll take some public transportation and walk around a bit, it's good for you.

You smile, you're happy-- you repeat it to yourself until you convince yourself about it for today, too.

Your smile flickers and disappears when you get on the second bus; no, you are not happy. Patrick is sweet, he is perfect, you respect him and he respects you, but can you consider it love? By now your intimate moments are reduced to once, maximum twice a month and he always comes, you on the other hand pretend, you don't want to hurt his feelings. You masturbate all the time in the hope of mitigating this oppressive feeling of yours, to fill that emptiness you feel more and more deafening. Your home is beautiful, it is a wonderful shell that cradles and pampers you for your every need, but is that enough?

But your life is perfect, it's perfect like this, you don't need to look around or look for anything else to be happy, you tell yourself.

You get to your stop and get off, next to your photo store a cafe has opened a few months ago that makes fantastic donuts, and that morning you don't give up to sweeten your thoughts and soothe your nerves. You walk in and inside there is just the bartender Jake, a young man in his mid-twenties or thirties at most, and in the far corner a gruff-looking man who was hunched over reading maybe something or maybe he's answering an email, you have no idea. The man in the corner looks up, as you suddenly lower your gaze caught out, "Um…" you turn to Jake "good morning, a latte and a Blueberry Donut," you resume keeping your eyes downcast and barely breathing, you don't even know why you're acting this way, you've met dozens of people and exchanged hundreds of glances and now you're acting like a dumb little girl newbie.

"Here, consumption here as usual?" the young man asks you politely.

You shake your head, "No, thank you, I'm busy in the store," you reply, at that moment the man you had seen earlier in the corner flanks you, he is huge, massive, has thick dark curls, an irregular beard and a dark mustache, he is leaning with his forearms on the counter and at that moment he is the one looking at you, he smiles at you as if trying to make contact, you immediately look away staring down clearing your throat in embarrass.

Jake hands you the bag and makes you pay, then you leave without giving the charming stranger a glance. You almost run into your store as if to seek refuge within those four walls. Your heart is pounding in your chest, you feel as if you've gone crazy, but what's wrong with you? You've always been a proper young woman, and now you're acting like a crazy who runs away...

Someone knocks on your door, you turn around "W - who is it?" you ask.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," a voice tells you, "you forgot your cell phone on the counter at the bar."

Are you that far gone? That's great!

You open the door and you are confronted by the handsome mystery man, "Thank you." you reply, reaching out your hand as he hands you the cell phone in the palm of your hand "How did you know I was here?" you ask him doubtfully.

"I saw you fleeing here," he replies with a half-smile, "Everything okay? You seemed to be in a big hurry." he adds.

"Um…that is…I had to make a phone call," he nods "Luckily you found it, my mind is elsewhere since this morning!" you exclaim, smiling at the man with a low stare "Thank you."

"You're welcome!" he retorts "So, you own this beautiful place!" he exclaims again taking a step forward into the club, as you take one step back, he looks at you puzzled "Are you afraid of me?" he asks you.

"No," you reply, shaking your head.

"From the way you talk and the way you move, I'd say yes," he replies again "Take it easy, honey," he adds again.

Honey? How dare he?

"You and I don't know each other at all, sir!" you exclaim trying to regain control of the situation "Please, leave," you add backing away and touching with the back of your thighs the desk.

"It's okay, I'm sorry I scared you," retorts the man with his head down walking away.

You lean totally against the desk breathing deeply and realizing that you made a fool of yourself with that stranger, who knows what he must have thought of you!

The first customers and requests of the day distract you from your moment of commiseration. Luckly, you can easily forget for the moment the incident that happened. You think back about it in the evening, once you get back home, while waiting for Patrick and think that if you meet that guy again, you will have to apologize as you overreacted.

When Patrick comes home, he greets you with a big smile approaching you and taking you in his arms, you let yourself be cradled in his grip closing your eyes and thinking again that maybe with that stranger you had an overreaction since you were overthinking your relationship with your boyfriend. Patrick kisses you softly, he tastes of bourbon and sweetness, he makes you lie gently on the couch kissing your lips first, then your neck and chest still covered, you hear him moaning your name softly, while you try to restrain your thoughts, your doubts about you and him, you still want to not give up so, after all you and Patrick have been together for more than ten years, maybe it's just a little stress…

He, meanwhile, has already undressed himself and undressed you as well, without you even realizing it, he touches you between your legs, but you jerk in discomfort and pain, you are not even wet enough, you look at each other, you look at him almost with reproach, he instead has eyes full of lust, "I got it," he announces lowering his head between your legs and making them bend. Patrick has always been a disaster with oral sex, yes he makes you wet, but he's never known how to touch you in the right places in a way that makes you come, and tonight is no exception.

You are almost glad when he fills you, but not for the obvious reasons as much as for the fact that this way he will stop and embrace you and you can sleep.

It is horrible, you know that. He fills you repeatedly at an ever-increasing pace, you have yes little shivers of pleasure, but nothing that can be called really good or pleasurable, he comes a few moments later inside you. Thank God, you are on the pill to regularize your period!

You think back to when you as a young girl you would have loved to have a child by him, you remember that you wished he had blond hair like him and blue-eyed like him, but your own temper… today you think that if you had a child with Patrick, maybe you would have experienced it as a trap… that's a horrible thought too!

Patrick after intercourse, lays his head on your chest and asks "Did you like it?" and you textbook answer "Yeah, sure." then you feel him give you a kiss at your heart level and he relaxes completely, you can't sleep, you stare at the ceiling. You feel hot and a burning thought spreading inside you, is it true love?

The next day you wake up with a blanket on you and with a cup of coffee on the coffee table, you stretch out putting your feet on the floor and find Patrick's ever-present post-it note, "I'm at Black's company this morning, I'll be back tonight, love you xoxo" and the ever-present red rose next to it, you pick up the rose and smell it, but unlike yesterday you can't say I love you too, you place the red rose on the table with a long sad sigh and pick up the cup of coffee which you start sipping thoughtfully.

Your cell phone rings, it's Daisy "Hey doll!" you greet her smiling and putting her on speakerphone.

"Hi gorgeous, how are you doing? Are you already at work?" she asks you, you hear some buzz in the background so she's already around.

"No, I'm going later today. I have a request for a photoshoot for a wedding at noon," you tell her.

"Did they invite you to the party too?" she asks you.

You get up and take your phone with you continuing to talk as you head to the kitchen, "Well, I guess so, I'm their photographer, I'll have to do a complete shooting." you reply to her washing your coffee cup.

"And how are things going with Patrick?" she asks you again.

"Fine." you answer not too convinced "What's with all these questions? Did we wake up in detective mode this morning?"

Daisy laughs, "But no, silly, I'm just asking. Look, but why don't we plan a double date on Saturday? Me, you, Patrick and Jordan?"

"Fine with me, I want to hear from Patrick though."

"Oh!" you hear her snort "These men are so boring!" she exclaims making you smile.

"I know, but we love them for that too, don't we?"

"Yes…" now she's the one using a not-so-convinced tone of voice "So we'll talk about Saturday later?"

"Oh no, how silly!" you exclaim "Saturday there's the wedding, they're getting married in the morning, but the reception is in the early afternoon and then you know how these things go." you add "Sorry, my head's a bit elsewhere."

"Things always go well with Patrick, aren't they?"

"That's the second time you've asked me about Patrick, but do you know anything? So you make me worry!" you say sitting down at a stool in the kitchen.

"No, I just don't like your tone of voice very much. I mean, when we were kids and you were talking about him your voice would go up three octaves! Now it doesn't sound that way at all!"

"Well, Daisy, we were 17 when I was telling you about him and we weren't together yet, I think it's normal that I felt so much enthusiasm then for someone I were falling in love with! Things then change…"

"You mean for the worse?"

You don't answer right away as you don't know what to answer, Daisy has always been like that, a very observant girl who even by a tone of voice can tell when something is wrong and this morning is no exception.

"My friend, go to that wedding and find yourself a hunk, listen to me! If you have this tone of voice after only ten years…" continues Daisy "may I ask you a very personal question?" she adds again.

"Sure!"

"How are things in bed?" she asks.

"Let's talk closely about that, over the phone you know," you answer evasively.

"All right, then I'll meet you at the gardens in twenty minutes."

After exactly 20 minutes you and Daisy are sitting at the local coffee shop sipping good coffee, Daisy tells you about her latest purchases and fashions as if you then don't know or understand much about them, then Daisy asks you again, "So how are things in bed with Patrick?"

"Let's just say … things aren't going very well, he tries, but I don't like it."

"What? Sex or sex with Patrick?" she asks again.

"Does it matter?"

"Well, I'd say it does!"

You snort, "I dunno…I'm a little uncomfortable talking about it. He tries," you repeat, "but I can never come." you admit, as Daisy almost looks at you with bulging out eyes "Please don't look at me like that I already feel weird enough!" you add feeling really guilty about it.

"No, no, I'm sorry…it's just that I thought things were getting better, you already told me about it a year ago and I thought that in the meantime the situation had been changed in better! I didn't think things would continue to go so bad," she justifies her insistence.

You sigh sadly, "The truth is that every day I tell myself that my life is perfect, that I don't lack anything, that I am healthy, I have a good job, I have a man by my side … however, it is not enough for me, I mean, I would like more, I would like to try something again! I'm fine with Patrick, but by now we've established a flat beautiful routine, he makes me breakfast in the morning leaving me a post-it note with a rose and goes to work, I get up, wash, get dressed, have breakfast, go to work, come back, go to the pool, wait for him and…" you sigh heavily "twice a month we do it, but…" you shake your head "each time I don't feel anything but chills, but I don't feel what I felt the first few times with him."

"Oh my God." she says, shaking her head "Do you at least … I mean, do you touch yourself or not even that?" your friend asks you.

"I have a sex toy hidden in the back of my drawer, I'm ashamed of it, but…" you start to say, but Daisy's laughter and her shaking her head interrupt you "Why are you laughing?"

"At least the sex toy kept you from killing Patrick!" she exclaims.

A giggle escapes you, "Silly,"

Daisy squeezes your hand, "I can't tell you what you should do, but think about it. Seriously think about it, my friend." you curl your lips into a little grimace, "Well, I hope at least something happens at this wedding! I mean, maybe you either find a toy boy or maybe someone really nice to have fun with or maybe still something to shake up this your perfect boring routine." she says spelling the last five words.

"Dummy, I'm going to work, not to hook up," you remind her.

"Well, never say never." she tells you with a mischievous look that makes you smile and shake your head, your friend is just crazy.

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ceilidhtransing · 1 month

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Having spent pretty much the entire year immersed in studying Nazi Germany, the Holocaust, and genocide more broadly, my heart is bursting with the need to stress how much you should take Project 2025 seriously. This is a long post but please stick with me.

Don't take this post as an attempt to concretely predict anything. We can't ever fully know the future and I think it's silly to say with total certainty “if Trump wins then America will become just like Nazi Germany” - not only because the future isn't written yet, but also because Germany under the Nazis was a very specific regime with its own quirks and peculiarities and I don't think that even a worst-case-scenario Trump regime would look exactly like Hitler's Germany. No two regimes ever look exactly alike: it would use the same colour palette as all far-right dictatorships but be constructed from a different medium, like what a watercolour is to an oil painting.

But just because Trump is a very different person from Hitler, and a worst-case-scenario Trump dictatorship would not literally be “Nazi Germany all over again”, that doesn't mean that what happened in Germany isn't instructive here. Forget the specifics of whether or not Trump as a dictator would organise a state identically to how the Nazis organised Germany or whatever; on a far broader and more relevant level, there is a distressing number of similarities. And too many people are falling into the same thought traps as they did then.

Please don't assume that Trump is “way too incompetent” to achieve what's in Project 2025 or Agenda 47. They said the same thing about Hitler. They said that there was no way this showman could govern effectively - holding big rallies and making speeches that get people riled up isn't the same as being good at running a functioning state and achieving what you want. The New York Times even wrote after he became Chancellor of Germany that this would only “let him expose to the German public his own futility”. And in many ways Hitler was pretty incompetent. But that didn't end up mattering. The greatest crime of the Nazi regime, the Holocaust, was masterminded mostly by a whole load of people besides Hitler, who were delegated the nitty-gritty task of actually orchestrating it. Hitler's personal incompetence didn't prevent war or genocide.

Please don't assume that Trump is “just a wacky nutcase” who “can't possibly be a real risk”. They said the same thing about Hitler. The mainstream media gave constant coverage to all the crazy extreme things Hitler said as if he was merely a bit of a joke and not a massive threat. The Nazis were quite happy with this. To quote Goebbels repeatedly in his diary, “The main thing is they're talking about us.”

Please don't assume that being in power will “moderate” Trump and that “of course he won't be able to do all the crazy stuff once he actually has to govern”. They said the same thing about Hitler. It was a common sentiment in the early 1930s that all the sensible politicians around him would force him to moderate his stances. Fritz von Papen, the last Chancellor of Weimar Germany, persuaded President Hindenburg to make Hitler the Chancellor by assuring him, “In a few months, we will have pushed [Hitler] so far into the corner that he will squeak.” It turns out that power doesn't “moderate” people who are openly talking about a dictatorship.

Please don't assume that there's any truth to the whole “Trump has nothing to do with Project 2025 and trying to link it to him is just liberal hysteria” line. They said the same thing about Hitler. People repeatedly asserted that Nazi street violence wasn't really representative of the party leadership; it wasn't representative of Hitler. He was even subpoenaed by a very brave lawyer in 1931 in a bid to prove that recent violence by Nazi stormtroopers was committed with the knowledge and encouragement of the party leadership, with part of the prosecution's argument hanging on a pamphlet by Goebbels that promised a violent overthrow of the state if the Nazis couldn't come to power legitimately. Surely no legal political party could be publishing that. In a successful attempt to escape criminal charges, Hitler repeatedly lied that the pamphlet was not official Nazi Party material and that he didn't know anything about it. No Trump didn't write it, no it isn't an official GOP manifesto, but the links between Project 2025 and Trump, the previous Trump administration, and Trump allies are extremely well documented. Just the other day, Project 2025 co-author Russell Vought was caught calling Trump's disavowals of the document “graduate-level politics” and saying, “what he's doing is just very, very conscious distancing himself from a brand ... he's in fact not even opposing himself to a particular policy.”

Please don't assume that “there's no way something like that could happen here; we're way too educated and advanced”. They said the same thing about Hitler. The Germany of the 1920s and 1930s was one of the most educated and most scientifically and industrially advanced nations in the world, and its cities were some of the most progressive in the world. People were stunned and horrified that it was in Germany of all places - Germany, land of music and art and science and literature! - that fascism took root. Germany's economic and social advancement didn't stop about 40% of its voters choosing the Nazis. It didn't stop them taking power.

Please don't assume that Project 2025 is “just a wishlist” and “not actually a serious plan”. They said the same thing about Hitler. As is hopefully very clear by now, plenty of people did not think that the Nazis were capable of, or would dare to try, putting into actual practice the horrific ideas about race that undergirded so much of their ideology. “I like Hitler; he talks sense economically and I think all this stuff about Jews is just bluff and bluster.” “Every party has a loony wing, right? You have to understand they're not serious when they talk about this stuff; they're just telling their base what they want to hear.” “God have you heard this crazy race science shit about head shapes and stuff? It's hilarious! I'm sure none of them at the top really believe that; there's no way they'd be that nuts.” When a group of people like this tells you what they believe and tells you what they want to do with power, believe them. No matter how ridiculous they seem, they're not joking.

In the words of Hans Litten, the lawyer who subpoenaed and cross-examined Hitler in that court case in 1931, “Don't listen to him; he's telling the truth.” Litten was arrested on the night of the Reichstag fire in 1933 and spent the rest of his life being tortured in concentration camps before dying in Dachau in 1938 at the age of 34.

A tyrannical dictatorship can often be seen coming a mile away. I don't want to imply for a second that what the Nazis did came as a surprise to everyone and couldn't possibly have been predicted. There were people who saw this coming in the 1920s and 1930s and tried to sound the alarm while they still had a chance. But they were too often in the minority, taking the threat seriously while others had convinced themselves that there was no need for concern because the Nazis wouldn't really do all the things they repeatedly talked about wanting to do. Everyone should have seen this coming, but too many people wanted to believe it couldn't be true.

Don't let this scare you. Let it energise you. Talk to the people in your life about Project 2025 and Agenda 47. Push back against people who assert that “they'd never actually do all that stuff” or “Trump didn't even write Project 2025” or “it's not a real plan, just a list of crazy shit to get the base riled up”. Have conversations with folks you know who are on the fence about voting or about who to vote for and who seem persuadable. Make sure you're registered to vote, and keep making sure, especially if you live in a red state where people keep mysteriously dropping off voter rolls.

Now, again, please don't read this as some confident prediction that Trump will be a Hitler figure. I want to stress that is a worst-case scenario. If a Trump presidency is what happens, I would much prefer the best-case scenario: that he spends four years fumbling around and not really accomplishing anything and then gives up power at the end without much of a fight. But it would also be a folly to be smugly overconfident that the worst-case scenario “won't” or “can't” happen. It could. It has happened before. There is no reason it couldn't happen again.

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henrymatyn05 · 10 months

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Types of Injuries in New York Construction Accidents: A Comprehensive Guide

Construction sites in New York are bustling hubs of activity, but unfortunately, they are also hotspots for accidents that can result in a range of injuries. Workers navigating the hazards of construction zones may face various types of injuries, each with its own set of challenges. In this comprehensive guide, we'll delve into the diverse spectrum of injuries commonly sustained in New York construction accidents, emphasizing the critical role that New York construction accident lawyers play in ensuring justice and compensation for the victims

1. Traumatic brain injuries (TBIs):

The dynamic and often unpredictable nature of construction sites can lead to falls or falling objects, putting workers at risk of traumatic brain injuries. New York construction accident attorneys play a central role in representing victims dealing with the aftermath of traumatic brain injuries, from medical expenses to long-term care needs.

2. Spinal injuries:

Construction accidents can lead to serious falls or impacts that can result in spinal cord injuries. These injuries can have profound and lasting effects on a worker's life, necessitating ongoing medical care, rehabilitation, and adjustments to daily living. New York construction accident lawyers help ensure victims receive the compensation required for their recovery.

3. Broken bones and fractures:

The heavy machinery and equipment on construction sites can pose a significant risk of crushing injuries and broken bones. New York construction accident attorneys help victims recover compensation for medical bills, lost wages, and pain and suffering related to broken bones.

4. Electric shocks and burns:

Electrical hazards are common on construction sites, and accidents involving electrocution and burns can have serious consequences. Attorneys specializing in New York construction accidents are working to hold those responsible accountable and secure compensation for victims' physical and emotional recovery.

5. Crush injuries:

Construction sites are dynamic environments with heavy equipment and materials. Accidents involving crush injuries can have serious consequences, including limb amputations. New York construction accident lawyers are instrumental in navigating complex legal processes to ensure fair compensation for victims facing life-altering injuries.

6. Cuts, lacerations, and abrasions:

Sharp tools, debris, and materials increase the risk of cuts and abrasions on construction sites. While these injuries may seem less serious, they can still result in significant medical costs and a long recovery time. New York construction accident attorneys help assess the full impact of these injuries when it comes to recovering compensation

7. Respiratory injuries:

Exposure to dust, chemicals, and hazardous materials on construction sites can lead to respiratory problems. New York construction accident lawyers advocate for workers suffering from respiratory injuries, ensuring they receive compensation for medical treatments and ongoing care.

Conclusion

Navigating the aftermath of a construction accident in New York requires a deep understanding of the diverse range of injuries that can occur. If you or a loved one has experienced a construction-related accident, seeking the expertise of a dedicated New York construction accident lawyer is essential for pursuing justice and reclaiming a sense of normalcy.

#Construction Accidents #new york construction accident lawyers #construction accident lawyers

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goidelandsiegel · 11 months

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Explore the impact of the pandemic on motor vehicle accidents in this insightful blog by Goidel & Siegel LLP. Discover how changes in driving patterns, road safety, and legal considerations have evolved during these challenging times. Gain valuable insights into the effects of the pandemic on road accidents and the legal landscape. For more information contact us at 929-593-2024.

#New York Construction Accident Injury #Personal Injury Victims #Accident Injury Lawyers In New York #Motor Vehicle Accident Lawyers #Auto Accident Lawyers in NY

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shiorimakibawrites · 23 days

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inside the mind with peter parker!!!! also, congrats bestie!!!!

Thanks bestie! I hope this helps cheer you up:

After the events of NWH, Peter tries several jobs that one can get with only a high school education - waiter and/or barista at various fast food or local cafes, cleaning services for hotels or office buildings. Name a low-level service industry job, he’s probably tried it. Along with day labor with construction projects.

Each job ends up running into one little problem: Spider-Man. Saving people sometimes makes him late for work. Sometimes hours late. Or he runs off in the middle of shift to save someone he notices in trouble. Needless to say, his bosses don’t like this. And often fire him.

He has better luck when he starts doing freelance work or online work where it doesn’t really matter when or where he gets the work done as long as he meets the deadline.

Some of this freelance work is vigilante photography. He develops a reputation for getting the best shots of New York’s vigilantes and their battles. Mostly Spider-Man (for obvious reasons) but he has gotten some very good shots of Daredevil.

Peter is torn on those Tumblr posts comparing his ass to those other heroes in the city. The jokes can be funny. But some of the NSFW comments have left him rather red-faced and at times uncomfortable.

He does find it absolutely hilarious that Daredevil won that Hottest Vigilante Ass thing. Easily the funniest part was the look on the man in question’s face when he was informed about this . . . honor.

One of the freelance jobs he picks up is doing electronics repairs. One day, he ends up in the office of Nelson, Murdock, & Page trying to convince their braille printer not to die. He managed it but also captured the interest of the lawyers. Who insisted he take a bonus payment in the form of food.

Peter thought about arguing but his metabolism is very high and his budget low. No sense in turning down (more or less) free food.

The law firm starts regularly calling him with offers of various temp work. He has gone to the office often enough that he has met Mr. Nelson’s mom. Who thinks he’s far too skinny.

Somehow it was after this meeting that Peter gained the attention of Daredevil. Which was . . . cool. Even if the way Peter threw punches made the man grimace and tell him to come to some rundown gym to learn how to do it properly - “you’re gonna break all your fingers doing that way, kid.”

Peter’s protest that (a) he will be healed by morning and (b) that he wasn’t a kid held no water. But Daredevil had a point that breaking the bones in his hands hurt and hampered his ability to fight or flee until those broken bones healed.

He calls the other vigilante Mr. Devil, despite repeated attempts to get him to just call him Devil or Daredevil. Fair is fair. Daredevil kept calling him a kid despite being told repeatedly that Peter was ‘not a kid.’

#follower celebration #300 followers #headcanon #mcu #peter parker #spider man #request fill

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tropes-and-tales-archives · 5 months

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More Precious Than Rubies: Part 5a

This is an alternate timeline story that has a Rafael Barba track and a Sonny Carisi track. The two paths split off in part 3.

WC: 5223

TW: Idiots in love; smut (drinking but not impaired; PiV, unprotected). 18+ only.

AN: The prompt was "How about you make me?"

If Barba had been irritated by how much space you were taking up in his head before, he was doubly maddened now. You weren’t just taking up space at this point – you were moved in and living rent free.

Your case load with SVU waxed and waned. Sometimes you had a whole slate of cases against him, and other times he went for stretches without facing off against you. Still, he saw you all the time at the courthouse, and you were usually arguing with some other ADA. Barba usually felt a sting of jealousy when he did. He wondered if you called Niles “Yale Law” or if you smirked at Cox.

He was still nettled by your comment about O’Dwyer being a better ADA than him, even if he was mostly certain that you were just teasing him.

At least you shook his hand after trials now. He had hated it when you’d pointedly ignore him, but it was his own fault for taking a shot at your age by calling you “Girl Wonder.” He knew how hard it could be to be a lawyer fresh off the bar exam, and he assumed it was twice as hard for a baby-faced young woman.

You didn’t seem to mind being called “Fordham Law,” and you always responded with a grin and rejoinder of calling him “Harvard Law.” And you never said it with a sneer – usually, Barba’s opponents used his Ivy League education against him, implying that he was some sort of out-of-touch elite.

----

The New York City Law Association was holding its annual charity event. Barba could think of a million things he’d rather do on a Saturday night other than socialize with other lawyers, but networking was part of his unofficial job duties, and McCoy made it clear that he expected all of his ADAs to attend. Barba put on his tuxedo and got a taxi to Brooklyn.

The only thing that the NYCLA had going for it was its commitment to out-of-the-way and unique venues. The District Attorney’s office stuck with the usual hotel ballrooms for their events, but the NYCLA always found some new place. This year was the New York Transit Museum.

He made his way to the bar and snagged a scotch, then made a quick sweep of the room. He saw some familiar faces but no one he wanted to talk to, so he wandered off to look at some of the exhibits.

There were people milling around and looking at the offerings – the old subway cars, the old maps and photos of the subway construction. Then Barba saw you. You were in a deep oxblood cocktail dress, so dark is was almost black, and your hair was down and loose. You had your back to him, but (he was ashamed to admit), he’d know your ass anywhere.

He strolled over and pretended to look at the same exhibit that you were engrossed by – old fare boxes through the years. You turned and looked at him, and smiled when you recognized him.

“Barba,” you said, and you looked him over. “You clean up nice. A far cry from your usual off-the-rack sackcloth.”

“Counselor,” he replied. “I’m surprised to see you here. Shouldn’t you be off visiting some serial masturbating client in prison?”

You pouted at this, and Barba tried to ignore how kissable you looked in your deep red lipstick. “My serial masturbating client isn’t in prison, Barba. Remember? I won him a ‘not guilty’ verdict, from you, if I recall correctly.”

“One of your rare victories.”

You took a sip of your drink; it looked like cola and something, in a rock glass with a twist of lime. “Ah, but those rare victories against you are so sweet. The sound of you grinding your teeth when I win…it sustains me through the lean times.”

Barba scoffed. “I don’t grind my teeth. Besides, get ready for another lean period. The Alexi case…I’ll have a guilty verdict within an hour of the jury retiring.”

You polished off your drink and turned to walk to the bar, and Barba followed. “We’ll see,” you said as you strolled beside him. “I think Judge Catalano will have some thoughts about the integrity of the lab once I talk with him.”

At the bar, you made eye contact with a bartender and tapped on your glass, and the woman nodded at you in understanding. You turned to face Barba, leaning back against the bar. “We all know that the medical examiner’s office is compromised after the Rudnick disaster.”

Barba groaned. “Oh, don’t start with that.” He reached across the bar to hand you your drink, and you both settled at a nearby table. “You know damned well that Rudnick was an anomaly…”

“How can I know that? How can anyone? Any single case he oversaw could be compromised…”

“…but you know that’s not the case….”

“All I know is that a crucial link in the chain of custody was being overseen by an actual serial killer, Barba, and…”

He sat his scotch down specifically so that he could throw up his hands. “You’re impossible! You’ll only be happy when the prisons are empty and every bad guy in the world is released with a hug and an apology!”

This made you burst into a gale of laughter, so loud and unexpected that you placed a hand over your mouth. He watched you laugh for a long moment, smiling a bit at the sight of it. Once you calmed down, your laughs trailed to the occasional hiccupped giggle, you took a deep swallow of your drink and grinned. “That’s what you think of me, Harvard Law?”

He polished off his own scotch and flagged down a wandering server to order another. “I think you’ve got a good head for law and a soft heart. I think the world hasn’t worn you down yet, but in public defense, it seems inevitable.”

Your wide grin faltered a bit, but before you could refute his claim, two women made their way over to your table, waving and calling you. You looked over at them and your smile returned.

“Who let you in?” you teased. “This exclusive organization has clearly lowered its standards.”

The taller woman scoffed and leaned in to hug you, but the shorter red-head looked hard at Barba before turning to hug you too.

“Barba, these are my friends from Fordham,” you introduced. “Chauncy and Sarah. Guys, this is ADA Rafael Barba.”

There was a flurry of handshakes, and Chauncy’s seemed especially firm. “You handled the Jackie Walker disaster,” she said. Barba winced to remember the flubbed case against the innocent man, and the red-head saw his discomfort. “Don’t sweat it,” she continued. “I’m representing his civil case against the NYPD. I’ll get him a nice payday to soothe the fact that his career and reputation was destroyed.”

The tall woman laid a gentle hand on Chauncy. “Play nice,” she warned.

You had just watched the interaction, then offered to go get drinks for everyone. Before anyone could object, you were off to the bar, and the remaining three exchanged wary looks.

You returned laden down with an armful of glasses and a wide grin that he recognized. “Open bar, guys,” you said. You plunked down another scotch for Barba and then everyone else’s drinks. “Drink up. I got shots.” He watched you place an electric pink shot glass in front of everyone, him included.

Sarah laughed at you. “What’s this shot called?” she asked.

You shook your head at her. “You know what it is.”

“Say it.” Sarah said. She and Chauncy started chanting “say it, say it” until you were ducking your head in embarrassment.

Chauncy looked at Barba and explained it to him: “She tried to order a certain drink when she turned twenty-one and we took her out to celebrate.”

“It’s the only alcoholic drink she knew,” Sarah added.

“But she was too embarrassed to say ‘sex,’ so she called it ‘Love on the Beach,’” Chauncy finished.

“And these jackals picked up on it immediately,” you said with a rueful shake of your head, but you refused to quite meet his gaze. “And they spent the next four years – and apparently this evening – making me order drinks and shots based on how filthy the name was.”

Barba picked up the shot glass with its nuclear pink liquid, playing along. He’d never seen you look so discomfited, and he loved it. “So what’s this one called?”

“It’s got peach schnapps, coconut rum, cherry vodka….”

“He didn’t ask what was in it, Sparky,” Sarah teased, and Barba gave a bark of laughter at your apparent nickname.

“Sparky?” he asked incredulous.

You heaved a heavy, beleaguered sigh. “They called me ‘Sparky’ because a professor called me a sparkplug once when I got worked up and argued a case in class.” You picked up the shot and regarded it for a moment, then mumbled in a rush, “and this is called a Killer Pussy.” You stuttered on the last word, scrunched your face in embarrassment, then threw back the shot. Then turned on your heel and marched off for more booze, the laughter from your table at your back.

-----

This is how the evening progressed: you got everyone drinks, socializing as you came and went to the bar with people you passed. Your friends ordered different shots and tried to make you say what they were. Sometimes you muttered it in passing, other times you dug your heels in and refused to say it, making your friends howl with laughter. It wasn’t mean spirited though – you laughed and relaxed with each drink you threw back. You only did about half of the shots, preferring your mixed cola and whatever.

Every time you wandered off, Barba asked general questions about you to your friends, and they (lawyers in their own right) saw right through him.

“Why do you care?” asked Sarah. “You like her?”

“I just face off against her a lot in court,” he offered. “Might help to know her weak spots.”

Chauncy scoffed at this, like she didn’t believe him. “Sure. We wouldn’t help you beat her in court.” A sly look crossed her face as she looked Barba over like a butcher appraising a cow. “Maybe if you had more…personal reasons though…”

He felt his face grow warm, but you came back just then with another round (you wouldn’t name the shot, so Sarah said it and Barba heard you audibly wince when she did). Then dinner was served.

A relative silence descended over the table as everyone ate, and Chauncy took the opportunity to ask you, rather pointedly, if you were seeing anyone.

“No,” you replied with a shake of your head. You sawed off another piece of steak, happy to leave it at that.

But your friend persisted. “Maybe you could find someone here,” she tried, and Barba shot her a glare across the table that she only batted her eyes at.

“Doubtful,” you said around a bite of steak. You glanced around the room. “Though I see the Bronx ADA that I went on a date with once. Not my type.”

Barba glanced over to where you were looking – he knew the Bronx ADA you were looking at. ADA Williams and Barba had started in New York together. He cleared his throat when you casually brushed off his colleague. Likely you had an upper age limit on potential suitors. “Why isn’t he your type?” he asked.

You shrugged and moved onto your mashed potatoes. “He’s a jerk, and I found out after the fact that he’s still married. He obviously struggles with the fidelity thing. It’s a deal-breaker.” Then you wiped your mouth with your napkin and excused yourself to use the restroom.

Your friends clucked in sympathy and filled him in. “Her first boyfriend, Jason, cheated on her for a year before she found out. And her last boyfriend, Dom…well, the working theory is that he cheated too,” said Sarah.

“He’s a cop. He had a cute little blonde partner that apparently came between them,” Chauncy added. “Missed their anniversary dinner.”

Sarah sighed. “I remember that. She called me, crying.” She glanced over at Barba and pointed at him. “This is top secret. You’re in the inner circle now, so don’t repeat it.”

Chauncy pointed too. “Inner circle. You drink the Killer Pussy, you’re in the club. The only way out of the club is death.”

He held up his hands in surrender. You eventually returned to your seat, and Barba looked you over. If your eyes looked a little watery and red-rimmed, he couldn’t tell if it was from the alcohol or if you’d been crying.

You were a fierce competitor in the courtroom and an irritating presence besides, but he felt a sympathetic comradery with you. He’d been cheated on when he was around your age, and he had thrown himself into his work. Like you seemed to be doing. He pretended to be uninterested in romance, as you seemed to be now. And he knew where that sort of life would lead: you nearing forty, alone and bitter and convinced that you’d never find anyone. Caught in a terrible limbo of being lonely and wanting love, but too terrified of being hurt again.

Suddenly your reaction at the 16th precinct made more sense. He also knew that if he ever got the chance, he’d kick Carisi’s skinny ass down the courthouse steps.

-----

After dinner, there were the usual speeches about it being another great year. There was a slideshow of all the conferences and opportunities they’d created, how membership grew, how so many law articles had been published and legislation drafted. Then the lights were turned down a fraction and the music was turned up. Sarah and Chauncy drifted off to dance and mingle with other people, but Barba was perfectly content to pick up the dropped thread of your earlier conversation. You both stood and went to the bar, got fresh drinks, then lingered by the edge of the dance floor.

Arguing with him seemed to revive you – you’d been unusually quiet ever since dinner, but as soon as Barba brought up the Alexi case again, you got that glint in your eye again.

“Forget the tainted lab results then,” you said. “I have serious doubts that the rest of the evidence was even legally attained.”

Barba rolled his eye elaborately, which made you roll your eyes at him. You continued, “there’s a lot of established case law regarding non-English speaking suspects being Mirandized in English only….”

“Your client speaks English, Sparky.”

You narrowed your eyes at him until they were slits, and your scrunched your face up again. It was probably supposed to look mean, but you looked charming. Barba wanted to kiss your frowning mouth until your lipstick was smeared and you were smiling at him.

“Don’t scowl at me,” he continued. “It’s a great nickname. It suits you.” Your eyes narrowed even further, so he plucked your empty glass from you hand and pulled you onto the dance floor before you could protest.

Your dress was off-the-shoulder, and it revealed an expanse of your soft-looking skin – far more than you ever revealed with your courtroom suits. But Barba was a gentleman, so he laid a hand lightly on your waist and led you in a simple box step around the floor.

“Kadyrbayev versus the Commonwealth of Massachusetts,” you continued. “Knowing some English isn’t the same as having a competency of English.”

He snorted. “Everyone knows the Miranda rights,” he started, but you cut him off before he could continue his train of thought.

“Solid argument,” you agreed sarcastically. “You write about how ‘everyone knows stuff’ for your law review article?”

Barba gritted his teeth, caught himself when you smirked at him knowingly, and felt his irritation rise. You were closer to him than you’d ever been; you were close enough that he could smell your bright perfume and feel the stormy electric front he always felt when you were near him and fighting. But the irritation was stronger than any desire he might feel for you.

“You’re so annoying,” he bit back lamely.

“Solid,” you repeated. You tilted your head at him and smiled. “You’re just mad that I win against you.”

“Rarely. You rarely win against me.”

“But it stings, doesn’t it? You’re used to public defenders who barely try, and here comes this girl wonder…”

“Girl pain in the ass,” he grumbled, and you gave another loud laugh at this that startled him into a smile.

“If you would just be willing to compromise on plea deals, it’d go easier for you.”

“It’s not my job to get plea deals,” he retorted. “It’s my deal to deliver justice.”

You looked at him, staring straight into his eyes and giving him a jolt at how close your face was to his. “Define justice, Barba.”

He twisted his mouth into a smirk and stared back at you. “You need me to give you an introduction to justice? Plato and Nicomachean ethics? You skip that at Fordham so that you could go comfort people in jail and tell them it wasn’t their fault because a study once said that people who didn’t get hugged three times a day are more likely to…”

“God, you’re the worst.” You dropped your hand from his shoulder and pulled your other hand from his grasp, and you marched off the dance floor. You were slightly unsteady in your high heels, and Barba was at your elbow, following you. You turned and glanced back at him. “I meant utilitarianism versus retributivism, and you bring up hugs again. What’s your deal with hugs, Barba? You sound like every crusty old white guy ranting about how kids today are too soft….”

“That’s completely unfair,” he barked back, stung at the insinuation. He wasn’t a monster; he was completely sympathetic to the challenges that poor people faced in the justice system. You likely didn’t know that he grew up poor in the Bronx, and he was insulted that you thought he didn’t care about the people from his neighborhood…and all the other disenfranchised in the city and beyond.

“I’d slap you,” you replied, and you stopped and turned to look at him. “But you’d try to twist the simple assault charge into attempted murder, probably.” You paused, then added, “for justice’s sake.”

“It’d get you off the street at least,” he snapped. “You could stop menacing the city with your fucking irritating mouth.”

Your eyes widened at his sudden use of profanity. “Are we actually fighting now, Barba? Is this us having a fight?” You pointed between the two of you in disbelief.

He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose before he looked at you again. “You just never stop. You always have some convoluted study or obscure case from some 1930’s backwater jurisdiction…”

“Like you ever stop!” You threw your hands up in exasperation. “You find the most tenuous ways to link a date-rape case back to Constitutional law, practically.” You went on, made some claim that Barba would eventually cite the Articles of Confederation in a cyber-stalking case, but he was barely paying attention. He couldn’t tell if you were really mad or not. He’d never spent so much time with you arguing, so he wasn’t sure if this was its logical outcome. You were ranting but punctuating your words with light laughs. You were gesturing wildly but gifting him with half-smiles.

He wanted to kiss you desperately, but he wasn’t sure if it was because you looked like the sexiest woman he’d ever seen or if because he just wanted you to shut up for a minute.

You were winding down now, and like in court, you linked your conclusion back to your opening statement. “You never stop either, Barba,” you finished, and you squared off in front of him like you were expecting to actually fight him at this point.

He waited a moment, then simply said, “The Articles of Confederation didn’t outline the court system, so your analogy is very weak.”

You replied by growling at him, “just stop!” and he swore he saw actual murder in your glaring eyes. He never got to see you thrown off your game like you seemed to be now.

“How about your make me?” he teased.

You reached up, and for a split second he thought you actually were going to slap him. Instead, you clasped a palm over his mouth, silencing him. But he ducked his head out of your grasp with a chuckle, and the next thing he knew, your mouth was on his, cutting off his laugh as you pressed the length of your body against him. All he could do was groan against you and snake his arms around you. And then kiss you back.

The rest of the reception fell away, like the world always did when Barba was with you. He felt you wrap your own hands around the back of his neck, tugging him closer to you. You parted your lips and ran the tip of your tongue against the seam of his mouth, and he opened himself to you.

You slid your tongue into his mouth, and he groaned again to taste you. He could feel his blood – already heated from dancing with you and teasing you – start to pool in his groin, and he pushed you away gently, breaking the kiss and looking at you.

Your pupils were huge, and your lipstick was blurred around the edges in that just-kissed look that drove him crazy. Otherwise, you seemed sober – or sober enough to consent, or at least he convinced himself that you were. To your credit, you weren’t slurring your words or stumbling or acting drunk. Aside from kissing him out of nowhere. That was unexpected, and possibly the result of impaired judgement.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly, and you drew your brows in confusion before you nodded.

“I’m fine.”

“Do you…do you want to get out of here?” He could barely look at you; he wanted you so badly but wasn’t sure you were sober enough, but you seemed in your right mind. But you had to be intoxicated to kiss him…maybe?

You cut off his circuitous thinking by reaching down and grabbing his wrist, and you tugged him towards the nearest exit, and Barba was too far gone himself, drunk on the sexual tension and/or murderous rage (Liv could never, ever find out), to do much higher thinking after that.

-----

You were silent as you led him to the street, then you muttered that you lived a few blocks away. Barba just nodded, but he wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you closer to him as the two of you walked to your place. When you had to stop and wait for a light at a crosswalk, he pulled you back to him. He kept waiting for you to push him away, to stop the whole chain-reaction that you’d started when you kissed him at the reception, but you didn’t. You leaned into him and kissed him back just as fervently.

Your apartment looked like a Victorian rowhouse, chopped into units, and as you led him up two floors, you informed him that Sarah and Chauncy lived on the second floor. At the third landing, you pulled a bundle of keys from your clutch. Your hands shook a bit as you tried to unlock the door, and Barba took the opportunity to sweep your hair away from the back of your neck and kiss you there, drawing the tip of his tongue along your heated skin and making your breath hitch.

Once inside, he practically kicked the door shut. You knelt down to undo the narrow ankle straps of your shoes, and once out of them, you were much steadier on your feet. When you turned to face him, he felt suddenly nervous.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked.

You nodded and reached for him, but he held you at arms’ length. “Did you have too much to drink?” he asked.

You pulled a face at this, then took a step backwards to balance on one foot in a semblance of a field sobriety test. “I do solemnly swear that I am well within the legal limit of alcohol intake, and am furthermore consenting to the activities about to occur in this apartment.”

He smiled weakly. “It’s just that you’re not my biggest fan usually….”. You took a swift few steps over to him and placed your hand over his mouth again.

“You’re a pain,” you said softly. “You constantly fight me at work, you smirk at me, you called me Girl Wonder. But I very much want you right now, if you want me.”

He did. Very much.

He kissed the palm that covered his mouth, and when you pulled it away, he dipped his head and kissed your crimson lips, parted them to plunge his tongue and slide it against your own. And from there, you both got increasingly desperate, pawing at each other and tugging at clothes and gasping each other’s names until it felt like you were both drowning and you were each the only chance of salvation for the other.

Barba shucked his own tuxedo as fast as he could as you shimmied out of your dress, revealing a sweetly sexy strapless black bra and panties. He pulled you back to him, savoring the feel of your nearly naked frame pressed against him, and you buried your face in the sensitive juncture of his neck and kissed him while he fumbled with the clasp of your bra. Once undone, he tossed it aside and then cupped your breasts in his big hands, and you arched yourself into him with a moan.

You pulled away from him with a sultry smile, then took his hand and led him into your bedroom. He lifted you up with a grunt – you were deceptively heavy – and tossed you onto the bed, and you laughed until he joined you and latched onto first your left nipple and then your right, suckling them and then nipping at them with his teeth, and then swirling his tongue around them to soothe the sting of his light bites. You tangled your hands in his hair, sometimes tugging him upward, sometimes pushing him into the valley of your breasts, and he grinned against your warm skin that smelled faintly of vanilla. He worked your panties off of you as far as he could reach, and then he felt you kick them off into some shadowy corner of the room.

He wanted to take his time with you, but it was all too much, and he let you tug his head back up to yours. You kissed again, nipping at his lower lip and sucking on it. He slid his tongue into your mouth and felt your sharp intake of breath and then your groaning sigh as he reached down to the junction between your legs and slid one of his fingers into you. He muttered a curse at how wet you were, how unbearably hot, and he wondered if it was all because of him.

You wriggled under him until he was completely on top of you. And when you opened your legs to him, he removed his hand and replaced it with his cock – so hard that he could practically feel his heartbeat in it. But despite the spinning room and the heady unreality of having you naked underneath him, he managed to pause and ask you if this is what you really wanted.

“Oh, yes,” you whispered, and your eyes had that same gleam in them as they did when you argued with him at work, so he gazed into them as he slid into your depths in one even motion. Your eyelids fluttered and you moaned something unintelligible, so he paused again when was buried to the hilt and asked if you were okay.

To answer him, you wrapped first one leg and then the other around the small of his back, granting him an extra inch to sink into you as you pulled him closer. He dropped his head beside yours with a growl, and he let your small heels dig into his ass and guide his thrusts until he found his own rhythm. It wasn’t long before you were gasping his name, and then arching hard underneath him, so hard that you nearly bucked him off of you, and then squeezing his cock as you came against him. And then he followed, unable to hold back, spilling himself deep inside of you.

And from there, the alcohol and sex and maybe the exhaustion from your evening of bickering put you both to sleep before any awkwardness could descend. You were both sprawled out at first but then drifted in sleep towards each other until you were curled against him, and his arm held you there.

Hours later, before sunrise, you both stirred and came awake in degrees. Barba’s erection pressed against your hip, and he tried to pull away from you, embarrassed. But you pressed a finger against his mouth to silence him before he could talk. When he kissed it, you tilted your head at him and leaned down to press your own lips to his, and without a word exchanged, you straddled him, running your slick parts against him.

“Is this really what you want?” you whispered, echoing his own question to you earlier. He could only reply as you had.

“Oh, yes.”

You lowered yourself onto him, but it was less frenzied this time. In the dim light, he could make out your outline as you rode him gently, sliding yourself off of him nearly all the way before impaling yourself. Over and over and over, until he had to reach out and grab your hips to guide you in a faster pace, bouncing you onto him until you came. You gasped his name again, and he felt his own orgasm coil up and then snap, and he came too.

And then another few hours of sleep. When Barba woke up, fully sober and a little hungover, and the soft grey-pink light of dawn creeping through the blinds, he felt a sudden horror at what he’d done. You were dead asleep: your lips were parted as you snored lightly, and your hand was laid across his arm. He moved it carefully to not wake you.

He should have never come to Brooklyn, he should have never drank at all, and he certainly should have never come back to your place. And to have sex with you twice, when he wasn’t sure if you could really consent? A terrible dread filled him, and he did the only thing he could do: he slid out of bed, got dressed as quickly as he could, and fled.

He was halfway back across the Brooklyn Bridge when he second-guessed himself, but by now you’d be awake and realizing that he’d left you. And fleeing was useless anyway: your respective work heavily overlapped, and he’d have to face you sooner or later.

#rafael barba #rafael barba x you #rafael barba imagine #rafael barba x reader #law and order svu #law and order svu fanfiction #tro

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nancydrewwouldnever · 2 months

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Elizabeth Taylor was a woman who owned many famous jewels, but the one perhaps most associated with her name is the Taylor-Burton diamond.

The diamond was originally mined in 1966 in South Africa, beginning as a raw diamond of 241 carats. Harry Winston cut it down to a pear-shaped 69.42 carats and mounted it in a platinum ring setting. It was then bought by Harriet Annenberg Ames, sister of Walter Annenberg. She was too afraid to wear it in New York City, though, and consigned it to auction in 1969.

The auction became a lively affair in which Richard Burton and Cartier went head to head for the winning bid (Aristotle Onassis dropped out at $700,000). Cartier just edged Burton out by $50,000, with a final bid of $1.05 million. Not to be deterred when it came to acquiring unique jewels for his wife, Burton went on a telephone rampage the next day until his lawyer negotiated with Cartier for them to sell it to him for $1.1 million; Cartier had the proviso that they could show the diamond first in their New York and Chicago locations, and rename the diamond.

Once in possession of the diamond, Taylor realized it was too heavy to wear as a ring. Instead, she commissioned Cartier to reset it as a custom necklace, which cost another $80,000. She had the length set to cover the tracheotomy scar on her chest.

Taylor debuted the new necklace at the Fortieth Birthday party for Princess Grace in Monaco in 1969. It was a bit of a scandal, as she had to smuggle her expensive jewels in for the party, as Monaco's laws forbade jewels worth more than £50 being brought in by tourists.

She also subsequently wore the necklace at the Oscars in 1970 as she presented the award for Best Film that year. Her blue dress for the awards was created by Edith Head.

Alas, nothing lasts forever. Taylor and Burton divorced, again, in 1978. In 1979 Taylor privately sold the necklace to a jeweler in New York. She used part of the reported $3-5M sale to fund the construction of a hospital in Botswana. Today, the necklace is owned by the jewelers Mouawad.

#elizabeth taylor #richard burton #cartier #jewelry #necklace #old hollywood #classic hollywood

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murdockussy · 2 years

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Beyond These Walls

Matt Murdock x Reader Fic

Summary:

Lawyer by day, masked vigilante by night, Matt Murdock found himself growing familiar with his not-so-normal lifestyle. But nothing prepared him for what would happen once you – his new neighbour – entered his life.

In the works, will be actively updating

Loosely follows the daredevil TV show timeline, has it's own twists to it as well

next chapter

masterlist

Chapter One: The Devil Is Born

words: 1,500+

Minute by minute, as the sky grew darker shades of blue, the devil itched to be released from its cage.

Subconsciously counting the tap, tap, taps of his cane, Matt continued down his usually route home along the sidewalk as he switched the phone in his hand from one ear to the other. “...Plus, it's almost directly above where that pizza place burnt down a few months back”

The sing-song tone of Foggys voice bringing a smirk to his face.

“The ‘best double stuffed crust’ place?”

“Yes! Exactly the one. And maybe we could push for a price adjustment due to construction, or noise pollution”

“Or the haunting of the 'double stuffed crust' ghost” Matt spoke, a laugh escaping through the exhale of his nose.

“I'm being serious Murdock, and let's not mock the deceased, it was a terrible loss for all of us”

Weaving his way through the bustling crowd, he made a left, reaching the home stretch of his journey. “I know I know, sorry. But given its also in the center of Hell’s Kitchen, I doubt construction or noise will affect the pricing. This is still New York"

"Well, I hate to break it to you pal, but were running pretty low on options"

Tilting his head, the devilish feeling inside Matt rose at the faint wailing of sirens in the far distance. Pushing it aside, realigning his focus on the smacks of his cane on the pavement, he sighed into the mobile.

"We'll find somewhere Foggy, that’s within our budget"

Approaching his apartment building, Matt quickly snapped his cane into a fold, tucking it under his arm, using his free hand to push open the building door. Once he made it inside, he began his ascend up the stairwell.

"Easier said than done, buddy. Plus, this is the third viewing you haven't come to, how can we choose the perfect Nelson and Murdock home if half the team is M.I.A. Speaking of, how are you feeling by the way?"

A small wave of guilt washed over Matt as the words left Foggys mouth. If a night of vigilante activities headed more south than anticipated for Matt, he'd often try to avoid any face-to-face interaction with his best friend, an easy cop out from needing to give an explanation about the dark purple bruises that formed on his skin.

Only it was at times like this, where viewing these potential residencies for their dream shared law firm, arose shame deep within Matt, because he wanted to be there equally as much as Foggy wanted him there.

But avoiding the truth was always easiest in Matts mind.

"I can't seem to shake the sore throat just yet, but other than that most of the flu symptoms have gone" Matt spoke, sticking to the excuse he created on the earlier Thursday when he turned down a previous location viewing. "And next listing I'll be there, not that viewing is my specialty but I'll be there to trust your judgement"

The lingering guilt washed away from below Matts skin at the sound of Foggys laughter through the phone.

"And trusting my judgement you shall do, but I want you to promise me"

"You want me to promise you?"

"Don’t mock me, Murdock" Foggy spoke, the jolly tone still present underneath his false sternness.

"Fine, I swear to you I'll avoid any further illness prior to the next viewing”

“Matt!”

“I'll be there, I promise"

They continued their conversation as Matt worked his way up to the sixth floor, cutting the conversation short as he reached walkway leading to his apartment door. "...And don’t forget, next office opening is-"

"Monday at 8am, I know. You have my word Foggy, I'll be there"

After saying their goodbyes, Matt pulled out the set of keys from his pocket and opened the front door. Once inside, he kicked off his white trainers and stripped himself of the damp hoodie, hanging it on an empty hook off his wall, goosebumps raising on his arms as the cool apartment air struck his sweaty skin.

Walking down the small hallway entrance of his home, he removed the round glasses from his face and placed them, as well as his folded cane, next to the envelope that remained untouched, sitting still in the position he left it after having Foggy read out the note left inside, alongside the key almost identical to his own.

After a tedious night of sweeping clear Hell’s Kitchens streets of any threat and harm, Matt returned home in the early hours of the morning to find an onymous envelope slid underneath his front door. Unable to make out the note left attached beside the key, he made sure to bring the parcel with him the following day to an office opening with Foggy.

“It's from Fran across the hall, says she’s having someone stay at her place for the next few months and to keep this spare key at yours until she returns. No sign of a secret camera built in, but I'd keep cautious around it if I were you Murdock, you know how Fran can be”. And with the following days going by with no signs of movement in his neighbour's apartment, Matt disregarded the envelope, keeping it aside and out of his way.

Entering the open floored loungeroom, the closer he approached the broad windows, the more the sound of pedestrians roaming the streets below grew clearer, an indication the sun still was yet to set – the creature inside of him growing even more desperate to claw its way out.

It had been a few months now since Matt took on this double life of his. Attorney at law by day, masked vigilante by night. The more he ventured out into the dark, beating any crime present in the streets of his city, the more he grew accustomed to it. It was becoming a routine, but that routine also held its own flaws.

The more Matt acted on his instincts, the stronger the darker side of him grew. The sound of police sirens driving past, of screams on sidewalks streets away, of glass shattering in a residence's kitchen, day or night, these sounds made the animal inside of him grow hungrier. And the hungrier it grew, the more damage he would do to the people that caused it.

The first time Matt allowed the devil inside him to slip through the cracks, to beat the father who assaulted his daughter every night in the building down the block, he knew something inside him flicked like a switch.

The scent of the man's blood spilled across Matts red stained bandaged hands made him sick to his stomach, they trembled with every sharp inhale he took as he backed away from the unconscious body. Skillfully jumping over rooftops and lurking through the shadows of dark alleys, he returned unseen to the security of his homes four walls, and immediately broke down. He cursed at himself, washing the blood from his clothes as guilt from what his dad would’ve thought - what the big man upstairs would’ve thought - began to suffocate him.

But what made him feel most guilty was that deep down, he didn’t feel guilty at all. He enjoyed the pride and relief he felt, and relished in the adrenaline that pumped through his veins with each contact his fists made with the man's face.

And what gave him the most satisfaction over all was that every night for the month that followed, as the broken man laid in hospital being fed through a straw, Matt and the little girl in her home a block away had never slept better - peacefully and content.

Since that night, Matt couldn’t stop himself from allowing that hidden side of him to chase that feeling over and over. Knowing he truly felt no remorse for the criminals of the night, he continued to stalk, hunt, beat and threaten the people who posed any threat to Hell’s Kitchen knowing it would keep his people, his city, safe.

And tonight would be no different from the rest.

After taking a hot shower, washing away the sweat from his workout at Fogwells Gym, Matt microwaved a leftover Thai dish and slumped on his couch, listening to the slowly softening bustle of the city below. As the following hours passed by, he dropped in on different conversations as if he was channel surfing on a TV. And as the night drew closer, the friendly dinners, late work meetings and evening strolls slowly transformed into drunken slurs, car alarms and arguments between roommates.

Eavesdropping on the drunken shouts of a man stumbling through a carpark three streets away, harassing a man approaching his car, Matt knew it was finally time. Rising from the couch and making his way to the cupboard below the staircase leading to the roof, he unlocked the metal doors and opened the chest resting on the floor. Lifting the false bottom, he removed his outfit from the hidden compartment and swiftly changed into the tight, black long-sleeved tee, pants and boots. Mask in hand, he jogged up the small staircase.

Holding his breath for a small moment, he tilted his head as he searched with his senses for any sign of moment beyond the door. Once the coast was clear, he slipped the mask onto his head, pulling it snuggly over his eyes and nose before walking out into the cool air blowing on the secluded rooftop, slamming the heavy door shut behind him.

#matt murdock #daredevil #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock fic #matt murdock smut #matt murdock x you #daredevil fic #daredevil x reader #daredevil smut #daredevil x you #slow burn #eventual smut #fanfic #charlie cox

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