#i would be legally allowed to kill someone

[jethought-s]

Eddie Diaz, my love, you are wonderful and I will always defend you by all means.

I really think I have reached my limit. Leaving aside the fact that before Buck kissed the rat the 911 fandom was a paradise while now thanks to them it is practically a hell, I’d have no problem if they stayed in their hole to support Buck's relationship with a homophobic, racist, xenophobic rat and the thousand other virtues that distinguish him but no, from the height of their bad taste they allow themselves not only to insult the ship but even think they have the right to be able to question Eddie not only as a character but even as a father! So, welcome to my defense/declaration of love to Edmundo “Eddie” Diaz (I know that the episode is only an hour away, that some people have already seen it because it was uploaded to some platform, and that it is a very long post, but if you love Eddie Diaz like I do, please read it and let me know what you think. I have to share my immense love for him with someone)

If I were to launch myself into the experience of describing and analyzing everything we know about Eddie I would end up rewriting the entire Divine Comedy so let's focus on today's “problem,” which is the one that, for some, Eddie is a selfish character and a bad father. This honestly makes me laugh a lot, because the people who support this theory came out after the sneak peek that instead is absolute proof of the wonderful father that Eddie is and his growth as a character.

“Eddie called Buck, but what does he have to do with his mess?” “He cannot be so selfish as to hope that Buck will solve his problems.” “His problems are not Buck's problems”.

So, first of all, do you even know the other member of the ship you support? OF COURSE BUCK WOULD DROP EVERYTHING AND EVERYONE TO RUN TO EDDIE AND CHRIS. Second, what kind of miserable, affectless life do you have to even think such a thing? Taking the ship out of the picture, taking the romantic side out and keeping only the friendship, if one of your friends, someone toward whom you feel sincere affection has a problem, it’s normal that that becomes partly your problem as well. It’s love, because friendship is also love. And here we're not talking about a problem with the car engine, we're talking about a problem that Buck himself was already concerned about and that involves not only Eddie, but also his son. The son whom Buck loves so much that he fights for him as no one else would, and of whom he does in fact have legal custody should the reading of the will take place. That's why Eddie named Buck, and that already shows a great evolution in him, the fact that he recognizes that he has a problem, that he doesn't know how to handle it, that he needs help, and he doesn't shut himself off and somatize all these anxieties and fears but seek help.

Those who have suffered with their mental health know perfectly well how big this step is toward the right direction. In the healing process one has to come face to face with the problem and he has done that, unfortunately, however, not entirely because of him, Christopher has been involved. AND HERE WE GET TO THE POINT OF WHAT A WONDERFUL FATHER EDDIE DIAZ IS.

Contrary to what the same psychopaths claim, Eddie is fully aware that he screwed up, but, being a good father, he called Buck. Why? Because he knows his son so well that he knows, no matter how much it kills him, that there is nothing he can do to fix it at the moment and that the only one who can approach Chris in such a delicate situation if he cannot, is only Buck. The sneak peek scene clearly shows how Chris is at the center of his world, is literally his heart, so much so that he is willing to step aside for his sake.

Eddie is not asking Buck to solve the problem (Buck's response about how he doesn't think he is able to explain what is going on proving that he still doesn't totally realize how significant and essential his presence is in their lives) he knows that that is his job, but he knows his son so well that he knows he needs to talk and be heard, because nightmares become less frightening when you talk about them, but he knows he wouldn't do that with him because he needs time to be able to process it, but he also knows how risky it is to keep it all inside, and so he has called the one person he is sure Chris can confide in without pressure in a natural way. Eddie is not asking Buck to fix the mess he made, Eddie is simply asking Buck to be Buck, because he is all that Eddie and Christopher need. As he has been from the first moment they met and as he always will be.

Taking away the parallel to 5x12 (this would deserve a separate post), this sentence destroyed me. Eddie doesn't care about himself right now; he cares about Chris. His instinct as a father would lead him to break down that door, to apologize, to get him to talk to him, to hug him, but he loves him so immensely that he knows he can't do that right now, and with all the selflessness that only the strength of the purest love can give you, he steps aside to make sure he’s not alone. Eddie is a wonderful father because he is still learning, and I am afraid he will learn a hard lesson in this episode but I will talk about that once the episode airs.

I would like to say so much more, about how much this also shows Buddie in their essence, in always being there for each other, to always be the priority in each other's lives because essentially, even if they don't realize it yet, they are already one. Let's just hope the show decides to take the path of making them realize what they always have before their eye

One last point is necessary, however. What is written above is only 1% of the story, but that alone is more than enough to make you understand how BuckRats fans will NEVER be able to bother Buddie fans. Because there is no contest, we are talking about two characters, Eddie and Buck, sharing life, soul and heart, and two characters, Buck and the rat, sharing 4 minutes of screen time.

[colorisbyshe]

kinnporsche spoilers i’m sorry for still going on about this... but like... it is HAUNTING ME

so ALL of the couples are cousins... except for the couple that is the dude and his kidnapping victim?? and the kidnapper ALSO tried to get with one of his cousins... because he had a thing for sleeping with everyone his OTHER cousin always slept with... like his obsession with one upping his cousin involved sleeping with everyone he slept with... which lead to him trying to sleep with his other cousin

and i know they’re not blood cousins but

[nesquikflavoredchapstick]

i think i should legally be allowed to be killed and maimed once every six months like the purge (i come back fine but whoever kills me that time around has to get me coffee and a sweet little treat)

[gremlingottoosilly]

The only thing you want to do is... [Price x fem!Reader]

Price broke his hand on the last mission. Fortunately for him, his caretaker is just as adorable as she is eager to help him in every way.

CW and tags: Legal age gap, power imbalance, daddy kink, pervert!Price, obsessive!Price, coercion into sex, handjob (m!receiving)

Word count: 3246

This work on AO3

You’re such a sunshine, it hurts. 

John Price never considered himself to be a good man. He did what he had to do to protect his country, to ensure that big bad terrorists are kept at bay, and foreign militaries are ending up where they belong – somewhere in the ditch, with reports stating KIA an anonymous bullet drugged out of their skulls. 

His job was just that – a job, something that had to be done because he knew that someone else, someone worse, would gladly take his place in case of retirement. The captain can be considered a fucking angel compared to some people he is working with – no one would ever dare call him evil when people like Graves still exist out there, hunting for innocents. 

But you’re so fucking sweet to him, he simply can’t handle it. 

When his arm got injured, and he was forced to get on leave for at least a month – he tried to argue for something less, but Lasswell silently pointed out that he hadn’t had a break in the past five years, and she would kick him out of his own Task Force if he’d continue to refuse – he got assigned a caretaker by Kate recommendation. 

John was fully expecting some old lady, probably a retired officer or field medic. Maybe some burly man with too much time on his hands and the ability to give really nice massages under flights of bullets. Perhaps, worst case scenario, he would be assigned an actual; nurse that wouldn’t buy any of his shit – that amount of whiskey he drinks is prescribed by his therapist, smoking cigars in the apartment is a nice form of relaxation, and he actually doesn’t need help and can go in service back again less than in two weeks. 

But, the Captain got wee ol’ you, all nice and warm, and adorable, and too fucking young to have anything to do with his apartment. 

You’re nice, warm, fresh out of college, where you got some recommendations about rehabilitating veterans back into normal lives. Probably was writing a Thesis about something as dumb as “Healing PTSD through flower crowns and little touches”. You chirp your way into his heart and refuse to go out – just like Kate promised to him, you really didn’t allow him to do anything on his own. 

God, it was infuriating – how much he wanted to simply grab your shoulders and kiss you. Or kick you out and find someone else to take care of him, someone boring, someone of appropriate age. Without dumb, bright eyes and cute smiles, without enthusiasm, that can only be seen in unpaid interns and college graduates who still believe that the world is fair and nice. 

You cook his dinners and clean up his apartment – as small as it is, never having a family or any other reason to make it even slightly bigger – and you do this with such a wide smile on your face it actually makes Price question basically everything he knows about young ladies doing charity work. You must be paid triple because you fold his underwear in neat little cubes and refuse to accept his help. Always chirped something about his hand like he can’t kill a man with his teeth only. 

— I can fold my own pants, love. 

He presses his body against the doorframe of the small bathroom – looks at your ass so shamelessly bent over the washing machine. You’re folding his dried clothes, and he can only pray that you aren’t slowly resenting him for being such a disgusting old man. He knew he looked good for his age, 37 years in this world molded him into something that many young women would consider hot – even though his beard is unkept and his hair grew a bit longer since he couldn’t be arsed to do anything about it, and his dominant hand is broken. 

— We don’t want to sprain your hand even more, right? — Everythin’ is alright with my bloody hand…

— Lady Lasswell said I shouldn’t listen to you like this, sir. Sorry. 

— Little minx. 

— Me or Lady Lasswell? 

John looks at you, so eager and cheerful, and he just wants to…he can’t, of course, he stops himself before he even forms the thought because it’s dirty and you don’t deserve this, and your shy smile as you laugh softly and push the last of the laundry in the neat pile on the washing machine. 

You look too eager to please, and he has an idea – the one he will never act upon. Maybe will entertain himself later, stroking himself in some abandoned base deep in the snowy tundra, trying to remember your warmth as if a sinner like him can even comprehend your light. 

God, you got him so bad, he starts thinking about good ol’ Jesus again. You really are a side to behold, aren’t ya. 

He looks at you again – you’re so easy to please. You cook for him, the smell of home cooking that he almost forgot, all the ingredients you invited yourself to buy when he left his card for you. You didn’t think it was weird, not a single mischievous bone in your body – if anything, he was casually prompting you to go and buy yourself something nice, something as compensation for all the trouble you endured for him. 

Instead, you went out of your way to cook for him, to make him tea like he wanted it – without sugar, but with a small amount of milk poured into a cup that is probably the most expensive thing in this whole place except for his weapons. 

The problem is – John Price doesn’t really like it when people are taking care of him. Not because he is shy or insecure, god forbid, but because he knows that if a pretty young thing like you is going to show him kindness, he will take a fucking mile and make you run from him as fast as you can. He has desires, he has needs, something that pretty good girls like you should know nothing about. 

You’re so eager to please that you’ll probably jerk him off if he were to whine about his arm being broken and his inability to get himself off because of it. Which, in turn, gives him an…idea. 

Price was never a good person – he isn’t the worst guy either. He sees your reactions, that adorable heat of your face when he brushes his knuckles over your cheek in an affectionate manner. How you are biting your lips every time you have to fold his underwear, when you cook for him, and he presses his body against yours, rocking his hips just gently enough to not make his arousal obvious. John knows you like him in more ways than just one – he doubts that such a lovegirl like you would ever agree to take care of a grumpy military man like him. 

He wonders where your father is – probably out of the picture if his precious daughter is almost crying from a desire to please a guy like him. He wonders if you have a boyfriend or if you’re seeing someone else – if you’re a virgin or you already had a series of disappointing sessions with blokes that have no idea how to behave with an angel like you. 

Pretty girl like you shouldn’t be taking care of a SAS captain – did your superiors forget to tell you just how girl-hungry men like him are? That he didn’t even bother to find a wife, and the loneliness of a single life will make him fucking explode if a girl as pretty as you were in the vicinity of that perverted old dog. You must be stupid – or so insanely naive, it’s not even funny. 

He licks his lips, staring at you again. He is certainly isn’t a good guy – not the worst either, but it’s up for debate. He wants to hold you close and say all of those pretty good things he knows you want to hear. He also wants to push you as close to him as possible and just fuck that pretty girl until you’re begging for him to make you his wife. He’d always laugh at the thought of other military commanders and higher rank soldiers having sugar babies – especially the mercs and their fucking inability to keep a girl who isn’t tied to their paychecks. But now…he might just pay for your adorable pout and eagerness. 

Might make a call to that one masked arsehole and ask how the hell he keeps his questionably young wife around without breaking her legs. Visibly, at least. 

— Sir? Planet calls for Captain Price. 

You giggle when you are waving your hand around him. Shit – looks like he zoned out for a hot minute, leaving you free to stare at his face, the fantom red spreading across his skin as if he is actually embarrassed to be caught like this. He isn’t, of course, he is stronger than some girl trying to get a rise out of him. He thinks he is stronger, at least. 

You wave your hand in front of his face again, and the insects are kicking in – captain grabs your hand, not even caring that his supposed helplessness stems from the fact his dominant hand is still broken. He has no problems keeping you in place with just his left hand – and you almost look scared when you understand that you literally can’t move. 

Your innocent smile turns into a pathetic whimper when he squeezes you even more. Bruises, no doubt, are starting to form already – well, it should be your fault. Good girls are usually smarter than teasing an old dog like him, even if you’re trying to play innocence. He knows what you are. 

His future special girl that is. A wife, if he plays his cards right…and the captain was always good at poker. 

— Shite, love. Sorry. 

His smile mirrors yours – an innocent display like he didn’t almost break your wrist in his hold. He is still squeezing your hand, but not he slowly presses his lips against your knuckles – thin, dry lips gently caressing your skin in a gesture that you should never accept from a guy who kills people as a job. Who saves people, too – but a good guy with a gun is barely an upgrade from a bad one. 

He kisses your fingers and finds heaven in the feeling of your soft skin against his lips. You are certainly embarrassed, and this is exactly what he wants – an old pervert trying to get in the pants of a cute girl who just wants to take care of him without any strings attached. He just has to make this whale thing complicated, isn’t he? 

— It’s okay, sir. Just thought I lost you for a second. 

— Not a chance. 

Your smile looks a tad bit mischievous – that is, or he is simply hallucinating from painkillers he is forced to drink every morning because you refuse to let him feel pain even though he is used to it. You are acting like he is a soft doll made out of pink ribbons and soft plushes, not a seasoned soldier with his own thoughts and ideas about what he can do about your desire to please him. He might just use your eagerness – his cock has been pitching for too long without female attention, and he usually doesn’t indulge in shitty one-night stands in some sketchy pubs, but he can make an exception for now. For you. 

You smile awkwardly, still trying to get your hand out of his grasp. Little minx, teasing him like he can’t just push you on this exact washing machine and fuck you like a slut you are. Poor girl, you probably don’t even know what kind of thoughts he has in his head – even though your eyes tell him something your lips cannot articulate. 

John acts on his instincts, and they usually don’t deceive him. 

— If you want to help so badly, I can think of another way. 

— Is that so, sir? You’re going to get him in so much shit with Lasswell, he doesn’t even know how he is going to get out of it after fucking her best little protege. Would have to marry you – like it’s not his end goal, like he doesn’t want to make your care for him a tad bit more permanent. He has done so many good things for humanity, why can’t he be a bit selfish and get himself a little something to make this place feel more like home? 

He thinks of a pretty thing like you, heavy with his kids, cooking something nice and hearty in his house – not this crappy apartment, of course, he’d buy you something in the countryside, away from terrorists and public squares, with good schools and greenery all around. 

You lick your lips and tilt your head to the side. He is daydreaming again. 

— If you want to make me relax so badly, love, there is something I need help with…

Beating around the bush like this isn’t in his character – but he knows that you’re a good girl, maybe way too good and proper. He can’t just shove his dick in your hand, it would be too unpolite. 

He has to prepare you, it’s a slow sniper mission where he needs to approach you as gently and quietly as possible – he still holds your hand in his, a phantom of his lips tucked away on the softness of your skin. 

Then he places his hand on his growing erection – as awkwardly as he can operate with only using his left arm as a helper. 

Price might not be the master of espionage, but he also didn’t get his rank for not being able to do cover missions under pressuring circumstances and lie in the faces of people who trust him. Not be the best person, of course, but he gives you a choice. You have all the power now – even with his weapons safely stashed in his bedroom, he knows he won’t ever try to force you. He won’t have to. 

— Help your captain, eh? 

You’re embarrassed, shy, scared even – your hands are trembling, fingers tracing the outline of his cock with morbid curiosity he never thought he’d find this adorable. You don’t stop and don’t try to fight him – like a little animal, nervous and terrified somewhat, you’re slowly indulging yourself in something that you actually shouldn’t. 

He lets go of your hand and allows you to continue on your own – like a good girl, you only nod and slowly duck your palm in his boxers. He’d say that the way he is rock-solid just from looking at your ass and pouting on your face is weak, but he can afford to be a bit pathetic after so many weeks without the ability to jerk off. With your watchful gaze, he just couldn’t find it in his heart – or the only remaining working hand – to do something to help with his raging crush on this adorable social worker who comes to help him. 

John is many things – a war hero, war criminal, the captain, and the butcher of many who may deem his actions irredeemable. He made peace with not being the poster good guy and often dirtying his hands just to keep the world clean – and he knows that, in the end, he deserves a pretty young thing to jerk him off while he kisses your hairline and whispers sweet nothing with that beautiful accent of his. 

— This is not very… appropriate, sir.

— Bullocks, love. You’re helpin’, that’s why you’re here. 

 You’re nervous when your hand, squeezing his shaft firmly, goes up and down on his cock. You’re trying to find the rhythm in his quiet grunts and little moans, not having too much experience with pleasuring men who you like this much. It’s fear of disappointing him that makes you go wild, that approving gaze of his every time you press your soft fingers against the head of his cock and squeeze a little. 

He is throbbing in your palm, pre-cum leaking on the small of your fingers – naturally, you lick it as slowly as possible, not breaking the eye contact. 

Price moans. 

— Bloody hell, luv…so good for daddy. 

The name makes your ears burn, the desire growing in your stomach – you fight the urge to drop on your knees and take him fully in your mouth. This isn’t what he wants, you think, so you just continue to squeeze him more, making sure he is satisfied with every little movement your hand makes. You lick your lips and continue, feeble attempts at containing the rhythm with shaky fingers. 

— I just wanted to help you with your life, not…this. 

He chuckles, unharmed hand presses on the small of your back to fix you in place. You lick your lips, understanding that he is not going to let you go this easily – you don’t want to behave like this, of course, it’s against the terms of your contract and your agreement to help him without feelings attached, but he moans so deeply for you, hips are buckling to fuck the firmness of your hand like he is ready to use your moist, prepared pussy. 

God, what are you even thinking about? 

You don’t know if you should be doing this, but the captain is not letting you go – and you can’t even do anything against his wishes, can you? 

— We really shouldn’t be doing this. 

— Quiet. I’ll help you out after my hand is healed, eh? — This isn’t what I’m talking about, sir. 

— Now, let’s not use that here. I’m sir in the field, not here. 

He is manipulating you as hard as he can – he can feel the tension in your eyes and the way you’re squeezing his cock, and he wants nothing more but to simply push you harder, make you fall apart in his hold like a precious porcelain vase. You’re sensitive and shy, just perfect for a bastard like him – his only regret is that the dumb cast on his right hand won’t really allow him to relax to have sex with you properly. 

He will pay you back later – on your back, on your knees, on your tummy, moaning his name as he plunges his seed deep into you. It was about time he’d settle down with a pretty wife of his own – he can afford you, certainly. 

— I can’t call you daddy, it’s embarrassing…

Your shy words are what send him over the edge. John Price was never a good guy to begin with, but your little pleas are enough to make him cum – and it’s certainly one of the biggest sins he has ever committed. Cute girl like you shouldn’t be so embarrassed about jerking him off, but here you are. 

Your hands are covered in cum as he continues to release his seed, only sad because he wasn’t able to breed you properly – that’s the agenda for the time when he finally is freed from this dumb cast. Might just ask Lasswell for extended leave. 

— You’ll just have to get used to this, love. Not letting you go after this. 

You can only whimper when he kisses you – possessive and tender at the same time. A silent promise of making you his dumb little wife. 

[the-library-alcove]

One repeated refrain I keep seeing from the Pro-Palestinian crowd, from the most virulently Jew-hating to the most Jew-sympathetic, is pretty straightforward.

"Well, after 75 years of how the Palestinians have been treated, can you blame them for the 7/10 attack?"

And the response that I've been itching to give to that...

"So, you're saying that the Nakba was acceptable back in 1948? Because after 1000+ years of mistreatment by Muslim Arabs, including multiple massacres and ethnic cleansing in living memory, that means that the Jews were justified with the Nakba--indeed, they were restrained, because they could have easily done so much worse, and the Palestinians Arabs hadn't had any mistreatment yet. There was a clear side who had been the victims (the Jews) and a clear side who had been the victimizers for over a thousand years, as the Muslims been the ones doing the mistreatment to the Jews. If you're saying that 75 years of marginalization justifies mass rape and murder, then the Israelis in 1948 would have been justified in killing every single proto-Palestinian Arab by that same metric.

"No? That's different? How? How is it different? Explain to me how it's different without using the word 'colonizer', because a vast number of the Jews who lived there were native and had never been living elsewhere. Sure, they were just a portion of the Jewish population as a whole, but so are the Palestinian militants. Would someone whose family had been butchered in the 1929 Hebron Massacre not be justified in taking out their hate on other Arabs? Because that's the standard you're promoting now. How is it different?

"On what ethical grounds is it okay to say that the Palestinians deserve to get to rape and murder for 75 years of marginalization, and yet that the Jews simply displacing them but allowing them to continue living, sparing their lives after 1200+ years of brutal suppression... that act is somehow the most horrendous and monstrous act in the entire history of mankind, as some Pro-Palestinian activists have explicitly said?"

"Explain to me how 75 years of mistreatment justifies mass murder, but 1000+ years of legally recognized second-class brutal near-slavery doesn't justify displacement of your former oppressors."

[ghost-bxrd]

okay so this is an idea I’ve seen brought up maybe once before, but maybe Jason (before the Bats find out who he is) accidentally lets something slip that makes them realize that he’s literally, like, a child (seventeen, sixteen, I’m not sure how old he is at that point exactly, but either works)

and Bruce “adoption addiction” Wayne promptly looks at this obviously traumatized teenager and decides that he should adopt Red Hood.

I just think Jason would be so confused (maybe a little pissed too)

I’ve touched on that a little bit in What you’re longing for (you claim to abhor)!

I think this trope is wayyy underrated. Like, Jason is still so, so young. Basically a child. Even if he died at sixteen and then spent two years with the league (even if we’re counting the time he spent dead as aging). He’s barely even legal when he returns to Gotham. Or if we’re being generous let’s say he’s nineteen.

Doesn’t matter, he’s barely out of his teens (maybe he’s still IN his teens if you bend the timeline of your fic a little) and he’s experienced horrors that would have most people become utterly unable to function. But Jason? That boy takes his trauma and channels it into anger. Which, not exactly healthy, but well.

Anyway, getting off topic:

YES. Jason is still basically a kid when he debuts as the Red Hood, and you know what else he is? A good boy who’s not gonna touch any alcohol until he’s officially 21.

“But why would he do that? He grew up in Crime Alley! Ain’t nobody got time for age limitations!”

Hear me out! Let’s assume he grew up in a household where his father, Willis Todd, drank quite a lot on the regular in addition to his mom’s addiction. Jason experienced the aftermath of this (perhaps domestic violence?) every time his dad returned from a job/jail and he grew to loathe any and all substances, including alcohol. Knowing Jason and his convictions it wouldn’t be too far fetched to assume he’d never touch a single drop of alcohol at all.

So that’s one way he could slip up while taking to his goons (and having the bats overhear) or even straight up talking to one of them where maybe Dick banters a bit and goes “Hey, perhaps you should chill out a bit. Have a drink maybe” and Jason just instinctively goes “Fuck you Dickwing, I’m seventeen/eighteen/nineteen! I’m not allowed to drink!”

And Dick just— bluescreens. And immediately goes to tell Bruce, obviously.

OR

The Bats assume Jason is this old guy (Bruce’s or Drathstroke’s age maybe) and consequently they keep alluding to things that happened way before Jason was ever even born and at first he’s so? Confused??? But eventually it just gets really annoying and eventually he just— snaps.

“How the fuck would I know which Nokia gen hit the market that year? I was born in fuckin’ XXXX, I’m an iPhone kid!”

“Stop referencing the Cold War dipshit, I’m fucking seventeen! I’m glad I remember my own damn birthday!”

“I don’t know, I was like— two back then.”

Bruce, obviously, would take .1 seconds to realize:

“Omg. That’s- that’s a whole child. That’s a whole damn TRAUMATIZED child, killing people and sawing off heads. Omg someone must have hurt him so bad. Don’t worry tho, son, Batman’s got you. You won’t have to hurt anybody ever again. We’re here for you. Would you like the room next to Tim’s or Dick’s?”

Meanwhile Jason: “what the fuck”

[sexhaver]

a few nights ago i went to my city's town hall meeting because they were voting on a resolution to call for a ceasefire in Gaza (mostly symbolic but our rep is close to biden) and like. jesus fuck dude participating in democracy is so exhausting

dude at the pre-meeting rally/speech session was passing out flyers about Bob Avakian. i vaguely remembered that being a cult so i googled it and ended up accidentally downloading a 256-page pdf titled "Against Avakianism". i love leftist infighting so much

one of the council members said he would be abstaining from voting because he's technically in the army and doesn't want to piss them off even though it would technically be legal for him to do

another one (George Scarpelli) said he would be abstaining and then immediately followed that up by reading a bunch of letters that "concerned constituents" had sent in to him about this bill. every single constituent was a zionist saying that calling for a ceasefire would "sow division" (?). this was in a format where public commentary was limited to 2 minutes per person, but council members had unlimited time, so these zionists were also bypassing the time limit because they know a guy on the council. eventually the moderator told him to cut that shit out so we could actually start

someone in the audience yelled "read letters from palestinians" and he replied something to the effect of "i talked to them but none of them submitted comments to me" and i shouted "gee i wonder why" and then he got really visibly mad and then the moderator moved everything along

only three people out of 40+ during the public commentary spoke against it. all of them mentioned "sowing division" (???). two of these people called in via zoom but one was dumb/brave enough to do that in person and everyone just stared at him in silence as he went back to his seat

the moderator had to stop three different people during public commentary to tell them that they technically weren't allowed to "address comments directly at any one member of the board". all three of these people were mad at George Scarpelli

multiple Palestinian speakers literally older than Israel talking about their friends and family who were killed and running up against the two-minute time limit because there were so many of them to list

Scarpelli ended up voting against it even though he said he would abstain

it passed anyways

i just learned this now while googling his name for this post but Scarpelli is a democrat? jesus fucking christ

[captainpikeachu]

I don’t care about Aemond taking Vhagar, that is his right to try and Vhagar is allowed to choose her own rider.

But I do care that Aemond coldly insulted Rhaena in the family home of her mother just right after the funeral by not just saying that her mother is dead with no care but also effectively calling her a pig, even though Rhaena had done nothing to him.

I don’t care that children got into a fight with each other, kids are immature and childish and emotional, so it’s understandable there is a scuffle, and I don’t care that Aemond fought back.

But I do care that Aemond grabbed Luke by the throat, pulling him away and choking him, and then was going to smash his head in with a rock. I do care that he was also going to do the same to Jace.

The “self defense” excuse evaporated for him the moment that happened. He was not defending himself, he was the aggressor. Him smashing Luke or Jace in the head wouldn’t just be a childish scuffle or something that happened by accident, he made a choice to either do great harm or kill.

Luke slashed Aemond with that knife in the defense of his brother who Aemond would have done serious permanent brain injury to or killed if Luke hadn’t jumped in.

If Aemond hadn’t been stopped, it wouldn’t have been just an eye someone lost, Jace would have likely been dead. And I wonder what worse punishments Aemond would have received than just an eye loss if he had killed the legal future heir to the Iron Throne.

[leonw4nter]

Hi! Imagine like pop star/extremely popular music artist gf or s/o and Leon met them by being their body gaurd? I think a drabble of this would be so cute, or even just headcannons!

The Theories Of My World Revolving Around You

Bodyguard!RE4R!Leon x F!Popstar!Reader || Read next: 2

Chapter 1: "Running Up That Hill"

“Agent Kennedy, may I repeat that  you are too unstable for another overseas mission–”

“Lab reports said that I am just fine! They cleared me and stated that I’m fit to go to Bosnia–”

“Agent Kennedy!” President Graham exclaimed, both his hands coming in contact with the oak of his desk and creating a loud pounding sound.

“The last mission to Spain nearly killed you! I appreciate the risks and near-death encounters you had just to get Ashley back home but you could’ve died! You made it back barely alive! What about your mental state, huh? I’m sure as hell that dealing with all that crap would do a number on your mind. Physically you claim that you’re doing well, but how are you doing mentally?”

Leon stayed silent, gaze drifting down; President Graham was right: he was physically fit but what about his mind? Is he stable there? He knew he needed a break from all of this but who is going to be in the front lines? What’s going to happen to Sherry and Claire? Who’s going to give up their life just so a hundred others can live? He needed to give himself a break but chaos never rests, it’s just waiting for him to get his guard down.

“Mr. President, I know that you’re looking out for me but USSTRATCOM needs me. A little girl needs me,” Leon softly explains even if he feels his patience wear thin.

“I understand your concerns, Agent Kennedy, but they have many other agents just as capable as you are. You need rest. As for the girl and Ms. Redfield… I can assure you that they will be alright.” was all the older man said. “You will be referred to another protective detail. We are not necessarily laying you off but I need to refer you to lower departments and other less… demanding organizations. You’re dismissed.”

Leon simply sighed and gave the President a small nod, head hung low as he headed for the door of the Oval Office. A part of him felt grateful for the break given to him– that is if you can call it a break. He’s not exactly totally resting, he’s still on duty– just a less demanding one. Another, bigger part of him felt as if he couldn’t just sit around and wait until they’ll call him back for another job. He was just about to worry about Claire’s college tuition, worrying if student loan debt will be an issue soon but he remembered that he gave her her monthly allowance just a while back, which means that she’ll be just fine. As for Sherry, he knows she’s in good hands with Claire as her legal guardian. With the millionth sigh for today, he runs a calloused hand through his hair and decides to head home, too tired to deal with more crap for today.

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

Never would Leon have thought that he would be thankful for the loud ringing of his phone, the ringtone loud enough to help him snap out of a nightmare he’s been struggling to wake up from. Half asleep and slightly disoriented, he answers the call and brings the phone up to his ears.

“Is this Mister… Kennedy? Kennedy, Leon?,” an unfamiliar voice responds from the other end of the line.

“Yes,” Leon says, his voice hoarse from sleep. “Who is this?”

“I’m Agent Corey Morgan. Someone under the agency you’re currently in referred you under my team–”

“What team,” Leon interrupts, his mood already sour because of the nightmare and with work being the first thing he is bombarded with in the morning. The man on the other side of the line cleared his throat, obviously taken aback by Leon’s snappy attitude.

“My team under a celebrity protection detail company,” Morgan responds. “We are Citadel Group and we offer protective services to celebrities. I’m sure you are very much familiar with Ms. Ashley Graham.”

“Ashley must’ve put in a word with her father,” Leon thought to himself. “Citadel Group huh,” he mumbles.

“Yes. We request you to send in your resumé within the day for closer deliberation before we can let you start, even if the things we’ve heard about you are beyond exemplary. I’ll send in a follow-up email as soon as the screening process is finished.”

Leon hummed, already exhausted with all of this. The call ended and he tossed his phone to his bed, too tired to do anything but it’s not like he can get back to sleep again when he knows that only nightmares are there to wait for him. With a groan, he gets up and brews himself a cup of coffee to try and salvage the already worsening day.

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

He sent in his resumé despite several fields being blacked out, receiving an email hours after stating that he’s been assigned to a singer, codenamed ‘Red String’  and will start duty a week from now. He arrives home from the additional interview, keys fumbling to unlock the door to his apartment. He stumbles in, kicking off his dress shoes and undoing one more button to his white button-up before he shrugs his navy blue blazer off, folding and placing it on the back of a dining chair. He rummages through his cabinets, looking for a heavy-bottomed glass to pour some Jack in. Claire chides him in his drinking but he can’t help but drink right now; he’s probably going to be babysitting some stuck-up diva or be at the receiving end of a tirade of screaming if a small drop of rain lands on their shoulder or something. Flashing lights, Leon remembers; there’s probably going to be paparazzi hounding his client with their obnoxious cameras. Leon catches himself worrying over flash photography, cursing himself; the president was right on the matter regarding his mental health.

“Fuck, Leon. You need help,” he silently mutters to himself as a bitter chuckle leaves his throat. This line of work caused Leon to be more thankful towards the mundane– thankful for the opportunity to even get in 3 hours of sleep in, the fact that the loud noise he heard was just a bus and not an Armadura, or that he simply stepped on a twig on the way home and no BOW is out for him for making such a small, seemingly harmless noise.

He takes another drink before the glass is empty again, refilling it with liquor. He has a week alone with his tortuous mind before he can finally do something, even if it’s less intense than what he’s been conditioned to endure.

NOTE - I srsly had to redo my post again bc my laptop died and whatever I did didn't save 😭 Neways, BIG thanks to the anon who requested this!!! I genuinely loved this idea so much, I had to make it a series :) First chapter is short, next chapters will be a little bit longer than this so just strap in and uh wait ig :3 Also, I don't know how protective detail shit works so this is inaccurate as hell so if you're looking for accuracy then this isn't for you :) That's it and thank you to whoever reads my fics, I <333333 UUUUUU !!!!!!!!!!!

The heart dividers were made by @fairytopea , the images are made by me (sourced from Pinterest).

[alienwithaguitar]

Does anyone else think this Wilbur thing has been blown way out of proportion? First of all, I am in FULL support of Shelby and am not defending Wilbur. As a victim myself, I sympathize with her story, and I will never discredit her experiences. But this community is going to extremes that make me so fucking uncomfortable.

What people forget is that Wilbur has a record label. He CAN'T say whatever he wants. There’s a reason he made a statement not an apology, why Lovejoy hasn’t said anything, why he never mentioned Shelby by name, why he didn’t apologize- because making promises can get you in legal trouble. One of the first things you learn about car accidents is to not apologize, even if it's your fault, because that will be used against you in court. Admissions can even get you in trouble for things you didn’t do, if the other party decides to push for that. He’s almost certainly not allowed to apologize because his record label can't risk the legal trouble. We can excuse Quackity for making poor statements for the same reason, so why can't we keep that energy here?

Wilbur has always been an unstable man. As a long time fan and someone who heavily relates to YCGMA’s themes of being awful and feeling like you’ll never get better, he struggles with a lot of mental problems. His persona has been built around manic, destructive tendencies and that’s something that’s been a part of his brand for YEARS. He's brought up drugs and alcohol use in the past, and one of his closest friends recently passed away, which certainly only added to things. Mental health isn't an excuse, but it is a REASON. (Listen to Mammalian Sighing Reflex and tell me it doesn’t resemble compilations of artists deteriorating as they lose their sanity)

I don’t understand how anyone can actively want him to kill himself. Or wish that he gets worse. You can’t claim to be an advocate for mental health and helping victims if you don’t want EVERYONE involved getting serious help. Wilbur needs therapy, he needs to atone if either of them want to heal. Nobody has to forgive him, or welcome him back into their life, but he absolutely deserves the chance to fix himself to ensure this doesn’t happen AGAIN. 

If you can seriously say that you want him to get worse, and you don’t care about his mental health, then you DON'T care about victims. Leaving a destructive man to rot alone WILL lead to repeat events in the future. As someone with multiple diagnoses for debilitating mental illnesses, when I was at my lowest, I hurt myself. I hurt other people. Mental illness isn’t cute shit you put in your bio. It's terrifying, isolating, exhausting. And if I wasn’t given a chance at therapy and healing, I could have continued hurting people for the rest of my life.

These tweets just confirm none of you actually care about mentally ill people, it's all situational and performative. This is the most clear cry for help I've seen and you're feeding into it. Most of you will never understand what debilitating mental illness is like, how easy it is to hurt people you care about. You can hate him, be pissed, wish he never did it, deplatform him, I AM TOO! But nobody involved would be happy if he killed himself. These are real people, not characters in a soap drama. Actively wishing for him to kill himself is disgusting. If you care at all about Shelby getting closure, Wilbur needs to understand what he did wrong and fix it, so she can move on.

Also the lying I’ve seen is so stupid. The spotify stuff is fake. Anyone who’s a casual fan of Wilbur has known for a long time that’s not his spotify account. It’s a fan account that posts unofficial versions of his songs. So easily debunked and yet people still hold it against him??

Again, I'm in FULL support of Shelby. I fully condemn his actions, and as a victim I'm so proud of her for speaking up. But at the end of the day, we’re people. I'm glad many of you have never had the kind of debilitating downward spiral that leads to you hurting yourself and others, but if you think that makes it okay to wish an unstable man takes his life, then you can’t say you’re a mental health advocate. Take care of yourselves, please think twice about your own morals if you're sitting around hoping fans and creators commit suicide.

If you are one of the people actively waiting for him to kill himself, I pray that you never find yourself hurting others at your lowest, and I pray that people show you the kindness you didn't give to him.

[gravyhoney]

Being non-binary is exhausting guys.

On one hand, having to justify my existence to cis people who think that they/them pronouns can only be used for multiple people, and also having to explain to trans people that I’d prefer getting he/himed by accident than she/her, but not in the closeted transmasc just hasn’t realized it yet way, because I HATE he/him as much if not more than she/her but because I present, look, and sound feminine so most people default to she/her but if someone uses he/him, that means I looked androgynous enough that they were confused on my pronouns. No matter how I present or look, nobody will EVER default they/them for me at first glance. And god that makes me sad.

Also just. The amount of people that want to label me as transmasc. I’m NOT transmasc. I could fully medically transition, and I would never be transmasc, because I’m not transitioning to be/look/sound more masculine, that is NOT one of my descriptors. If you call me transmasc I’m legally allowed to kill you.

Ough.

Just being trans-neutral in general.

There’s an exhausting amount of people, including trans people, that think the only ways to be trans are transmasc and transfem. So I’m also constantly justifying my existence to trans people aswell, and it’s like. FUCK. You, out of EVERYONE should understand. And yet you insist. I cannot be trans because I don’t experience gender or dysphoria the same as you.

Anyways. I’m tired. I love being nonbinary but fuuuccckkkk this sucks.

This post is about trans-neutral individuals and people who don’t fit the gender binary, if you derail I’m going to kill you with a brick.

[leclerc-s]

divorcegate

series masterlist

rhys jones they're joking right?

rhys jones charles isn't really leaving ferrari right?

rhys jones i already lost seb, i can't lose charles

rhys jones i still love you carlos. like so much. at least you're still staying

isabella perez SOMEONE ANSWER US!

isabella perez this isn't fucking funny guys!

charles leclerc legally i'm not allowed to say anything

isabella perez FUCK LEGALLY! TELL US THE TRUTH LECLERC!

natalia ruiz he won't even tell me isa, he's not going to budge.

penelope trevino i don't even know. carlos isn't telling me anything. carlos sainz there's nothing to tell when i don't know anything 🤷🏻‍♂️

bailey winters something is shifting

freya vettel i fear you're right bailey. things are changing.

isabella perez CHARLES! POOKIE! CONGRATS ON THE FERRARI EXTENSION.

rhys jones LET'S GO!!

freya vettel praying for your mental health bestie but yeah go sharl!

zoya torres isabella and rhys lost sleep over the possibility of charles moving to red bull

carlos sainz congrats charles.

max jones-verstappen you people are acting as if charles and i would've killed each other at red bull

mae jones-verstappen you would. it's just not fair right?

sebastian vettel congratulations charles!

lewis hamilton congrats charles!

charles leclerc thank you, all of you.

rhys jones i expect a carlos announcement in the next 3 to 5 business days

daniel jones-ricciardo something is changing and i don't like it.

daphne jones-ricciardo i think you might be right dan. whatever is happening is not that good.

penelope trevino i third that. what the fuck is happening?

isabella perez CONGRATS YOU FUCKING MUPPET

isabella perez BUT WHERE THE FUCK IS THE CARLOS EXTENSION?

rhys jones WE DEMAND ANSWERS!

carlos sainz can't say anything.

bailey winters THE LAST TIME SOMEONE SAID THAT WE GOT AN ANNOUNCEMENT LIKE 3 WEEKS LATER. WE HOLD ON TO THE DELUSION

freya vettel WE'VE LEARNED THAT DELULU IS THE SOLULU HERE!

logan sargeant what could possibly go wrong?

logan sargeant i take it back. i don't want to be the one responsible when something goes wrong.

mick schumacher *cough, lando, cough*

lando norris oh shut up, it's not like i leaked a relationship.

lando norris oh wait, i did that too.

rowan todd anyone else have a gut feeling that something big is about to happen?

arthur leclerc yes, we've all been saying that since early janurary.

daniel jones-ricciardo by the way, congrats and good luck on monday baby leclerc

arthur leclerc thanks daniel!

bailey winters I WAS FUCKING RIGHT!

lando norris bailey, not the time

isabella perez WHAT THE FUCK HAMILTON?

rhys jones HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO US HAMILTON?

isabella perez THE FUCK HAPPENED TO TOGETHER OR NOTHING?

zoya torres congrats? i guess. i don't know?

freya vettel i- i don't know how to feel.

george russell i feel betrayed. why lewis why?

alex albon he's being dramatic. it's time for his monthly cry session.

mae jones-verstappen i'm really sorry carlos.

carlos sainz it's fine. i'm fine. everything is okay.

daphne jones-ricciardo it's okay if you aren't. carlos sainz there's no point in crying over something that happened, right?

charles leclerc i'm sorry carlos. truly

mick schumacher is this betrayal? from lewis?

logan sargeant toto must be fuming a la abu dhabi 2021

zoya torres logan, now is not the time. logan sargeant right, my bad. i'm so sorry.

esteban ocon i think you're all being a bit dramatic

isabella perez HOW DARE HE COME IN BETWEEN CHARLOS? LEWIS, WE HAVE BEEF

rhys jones lewis, i love you, but how dare you?

mae jones-verstappen and somewhere in monaco, nico rosberg is giggling like a maniac.

max jones-verstappen the funniest thing nico could possibly do is come back to f1 and be with mercedes, again.

george russell what makes you think i want nico as my teammate? i want alex or mick or carlos. i'll take carlos.

logan sargeant you are not taking my teammate russell. have mick or carlos!

pierre gasly this whole thing is hilarious. the internet is fighting over who gets bono in the divorce.

rowan todd this is now referred to as divorcegate

dulce perez we can't go one season without a huge scandal can we?

rhys jones r.i.p alpinegate, you were iconic until this moment

oscar piastri nice to know we can move on from the alpine thing

fernando alonso they are never letting the alpine thing go

sebastian vettel like you with multi-21? fernando alonso you said it not me

rhys jones we haven't forgotten about you hamilton. we will get our answers.

isabella perez i know where you live sir.

lewis hamilton please, let it go.

george russell OH SO HE IS ALIVE?!

lewis hamilton i'm muting all of you.

max jones-verstappen no wonder fred was so chummy with toto.

daniel jones-ricciardo who even says chummy anymore? max jones-ricciardo i do bitchiardo

arthur leclerc it all makes sense now. fred became besties with toto only to steal his driver from under his nose.

lewis hamilton your minds are all insane.

zoya torres tell us something we don't know.

rhys jones WHAT WAS THE REASON HAMILTON?!

lewis hamilton i'm not telling any of you anything.

¡leclerc-s speaks! was gonna post this yesterday but it felt to soon, so i posted it today. i cope with drama and all of this with humor and writing. what happened to "together or nothing." or "we come as a package." i'm literally still devastated over this. IF I SEE ONE MORE SAD TIK TOK EDIT I WILL BE COMMITTING CRIMES. I SWEAR IT.

¡disclaimer! this is in no way making assumptions about the people involved in this story, this is all fake. it is a fanfiction please don't take any of what is said seriously. this is all for entertainment purposes and as a creative outlet for me. enjoy!

[xenosagaepisodeone]

For the last 2 weeks I've been transfixed on a strain of lost media I've come to call "bad memory induced media", where the supposed media in question does not (or at least more than likely does not) exist, but there are swaths of people convinced that they have definitely seen it at some point. There is rarely anything more to go off of for the hunt than a vague summary outlined in a post on some forum, but the lack of specificity allows people to fill in the blanks with similar types of media that they've seen, giving them the impression that they've already experienced it. I've found that this is extremely common for alleged lost shock media in particular, which isn't surprising. I talked a little about this on my LOL SUPERMAN post, and I get the impression that a similar strain of logic applies on a smaller scale.

Anyway, 2 major cases I have been looking at for a while are Saki Sanobashi/Go For A Punch and Evil Farm Game. Saki Sanobashi in particular fascinates me because an urban legend like this should have crumbled to the wayside by like 2018 at the latest, since that's when anime more or less became demystified to normal people. The basic premise is that it is an 80s/90s horror anime about anywhere from 4-8 girls trapped in a bathroom. The girls talk about their lives, hopes, dreams and philosophies before slowly going insane and dying one by one. If you like horror stuff you probably are already getting the vague impression that it sounds familiar- which could be influenced by any swath of media artifacts from Saw to the Russian Sleep Experiment creepypasta to the Ikea SCP to ClockUp's Euphoria to snippets of Battle Royale to that one Grisaia no Kajitsu arc. OP insisted he found it fully subbed on the deep web (omegalul) and hasn't found a trace of it since, implying some kind of murky origin or legal status (the OVA is not pornographic btw). As you can probably tell, I think this is silly. Like, so much goes into anime production that it would be difficult to hide any traces of this thing's existence. Someone had to voice act those girls. Someone had to sit hunched over a desk and draw that settei. OVAs were such a new thing in the 80s and 90s that both sfw and nsfw series were advertised in magazines. The only way that this could be so lost that not even a MAL entry remains is if it had been a student/indie production or something made for a single comiket event...but even at that....you're telling me that someone still managed to rip this from a vhs and subtitle it? And then chose to upload it to the deep web instead of youtube? even the title sounds like something google translated but didnt format correctly ("Saki Sanobashi" being gibberish while "Saki-san no Bashi" translates to "Saki-san's Bridge").

And yet there are people who will say "I definitely saw this at some point" because they saw a reaction image similar to the alleged scene where the protagonist smashes someone's head into a mirror. "The neck scratching death sounds familiar...." because you watched a higurashi amv! And OP did too, and thought it was so creepy that he involved it in his fake story. It's almost grating how much you have to suspend your disbelief to embrace that something like this exists in the exact way that stories like this insist. While many people have accepted that the series is likely not real in the last 4 or so years, there still persists a cohort of people hunting for Saki Sanobashi, likely because they are kids who are now too old to believe in Squidward's Suicide.

Evil Farm Game gives me a chuckle because it goes like this: a redditor posts to r/tipofmytongue about an old flash game where you play as a farmer who kills his wife and then has to hide her body while going about his farm tasks. The setup is completely fine and actually kind of reminiscent of a few story driven flash games I played on newgrounds as a kid. Many people came forward insisting that they had played this as well, one person even producing a link to a file from their hard drive that they couldn't open, but strongly believed that the game was there. A subreddit was even created to support the search. The twist is that it was a misremembered joke from a vinesauce stream.

Everyone knows that memory is an extremely fallable thing; people can be coaxed into believing that they did or saw things that they didn't with the correct prompts. What gets me is that a lot of people on the hunt for "bad memory induced media" seem to largely be hyping themselves up. They want to believe there is something that exists against all reason no matter what. It's chuuni in nature. Do not get me wrong- the interest in finding a cool, mysterious, haunting piece of media isn't lost on me, but dog, the dopamine hit of finding a previously lost 1985 commercial for almonds in a box of vhs tapes you got from eBay is the same.

[neesieiumz]

venus ⸻⸻⸻ k.nanami

synopsis ⸻⸻ after five years of you being his lawyer, nanami shows you just how much he appreciates you

warnings ⸻⸻ smut. 18+ minors do not interact. lawyer!reader. mafia!nanami. black-coded reader. female reader. afab anatomy. praise kink. slight degradation kink. kento has a thing for your titties. starts off with him being arrested. slight open ending incase i feel like doing a part two. slight power imbalance (after all, he's fucking his lawyer.)

writer notes ⸻⸻ yes yes i know. *another one*. I'm in love with this man and you can't keep him away from me. will it surprise y'all that i started this a month ago and just finished it now? anyways, i hope you all enjoy it! see you in the next one.

wc ⸻ 4.5k

Who would have thought one’s life would be this way?

You remember the days, desk surrounded by coffee and energy drinks, books as thick as statues as you studied for your next exam in Legal Methods. Hair matted for days, not even knowing when your next shower is. Struggles while at Law school, to take the bar exam, every single decision has led you to this very moment in your life. 

You stood amid the officer, staring at you as if their looks will put you six feet into the ground, “If that is all, you have absolutely nothing to hold my client. Release him immediately.”

Blonde hair and brown eyes stare at you, as the officer in front of him glanced between the two of you. The man sighed, pulling his ring of keys. The detective standing not too far from you turned to glare at him, but he had already moved to take the cuffs of your client. Kento rose up, his figure towering above rest as he rolled down his sleeves, buttoning his cufflinks. Taking a deep breath, you moved out of the way, allowing Kento to leave first before following him. You walked towards the receptionist's desk, grabbing the release papers for him. He didn't say anything as he waited, leaning right near you as you filled out the papers. The smell of off-stale coffee and donuts soon permeated your senses as some stood right next to you. 

“How does it feel to represent someone who has killed people,” you felt someone whisper in your ear. 

You glanced to your left, the detective that was standing too far from you back in the interrogation room. She glared at you, hard as you finished signing the final line. Handing the papers to the detective herself, you gave her a smile, a cold one. 

“You forget the word allegedly, and on the 1000-thread silk sheets with the money, he pays me,” you whisper back to her, before looking over at Kento. 

With that single look, Kento stood up and followed right behind you. He pushed slightly in front of you, opening the door for you, allowing you to walk into the cold night. There stood a car, with a tall standing man right near the back entrances. Once Kento got close, he bowed before opening the door and gesturing towards it. You glanced towards Kento, who stood right behind you, taking your briefcase from your hands. A normal routine was what ran through your mind as you climbed into the low-rise small limo. You got comfortable as Kento took the seat in front of you. The man closed the door, before running around towards the front. The moment the door shut, you relaxed into your seat, sighing as you fell back into the comforting leather. You reached over, grabbing a rose champagne bottle, which was pineapple flavored along. Along with the drink, you grabbed a clean glass.

“Kento, you are probably my favorite client but please, never again get arrested like that again,” you grumbled, pouring out the drink, and filling it to the brim.

The car began to move at the same time he chuckled, the low rumble matching the roar of the car.

“Probably? You act as if it was my intention to get arrested like that,” he says, rubbing his fingers against his temples. 

“But still Kento,” you said, “if you’re gonna make big moves, let me know. If I have to jump out of my hot jacuzzi bath because you got taken down to the big house, I would like it to be known.”

He grabbed a glass from his side of the car, holding it out towards you. Leaning forward, you poured out teh rose for him. As you pour, glancing towards his eyes, seeing them linger along your chest, before looking away. 

“Thought you were more of a red person?” You asked, leaning back and taking another sip of your drink. 

“In the mood for just about anything right now. I feel sloppy, tired even. I haven’t been on top of things, that’s probably how they even arrested me.”

Shuffling in your seat, you stared at the man, as he swirled the rosé within the glass. His hair was ruffled, his eyes heavy with bags, and his eyes strained with red. He took a sip of the alcohol, taking a long one before pulling it away from his lips. A bit of it dripped down his lips, his tongue flicking, licking up the rest of his lips as well. Taking a deep breath, you looked away, taking another sip of your drink as well. 

“Well then, you’re lucky I’m very good at my job then,” you smirked, causing him to glance at you, “fuck up all you need to get your head back in the game Kento, I’ll make sure the law doesn't bother you.”

You glanced at the text once more. 

Come by Venus in an hour. Dress up a bit. Leave the pantsuits at home.

You could almost scoff at that last sentence in his sentence. This wasn't the first time you were invited to Kento’s clubs, one of his many places of income. Venus was one of his new places, which opened up a year ago. There were many times your own friends had invited you out to the exclusive nightclub. They knew of your relationship with the owner and hoped you would be able to get them in. You had only gone there for meetings with him concerning the legalities of his endeavors, but the way he texted you, he wanted you to come over for something more informal. It's been over ten minutes, and he’s probably seen that you’ve read his text. Walking around your penthouse, you glanced around at everything, massaging your temples. Heart pounding, you look around your place one more time. Glancing back down at your phone, you let out a sigh, before typing out a response. 

Fine. Don’t make me regret it. Kento

With that, you moved with purpose, going up the stairs to your room. With you already freshly showered, it wasn't a matter until you found something to wear. It was an impulsive decision, a red latex dress with a side split, showing off some cleavage. You pushed back your faux locs behind your ears and shoulders, showing off the amount of skin you were showing. Grabbing a red coat, draping it over your shoulders as well. You picked up a simple pearl layered necklace, with its matching earrings and bracelet, you are set. Grabbing your things and stuffing them within a red latex bag that matched the outfit, you head out. Before you left, you grabbed a pair of sunglasses, holding them right in your hands as you walked down the steps of your high-rise luxury place. 

The club was packed, lines stretching down the way. The moment you pulled up, a person came and opened your door, immediately prompting you to turn off your car. One of the valet people helped you out of your car, their gloved hand matching your own. You handed the keys to another person who handed you a ticket. As soon as you took another step, a man dressed in an all-black suit appeared right beside you. 

“Mr. Nanami is expecting you inside, ma’am,” he guided you towards the door with his hands. 

Saying no words, you nodded, the man escorting you inside as well. The interior was glowing a deep red color, an irony considering your chosen outfit for tonight. Money was everywhere, within every step you took. Velvet couches surrounded poles, dancers for parties twisting and folding themselves along the poles. The air smelled rich, expensive alcohol being seen at every turn, carried by different bottle girls. 

Taking a breath, you followed the club bouncer through the crowds, eyes not leaving all the different exotic dancers. He led towards the twisting stairs, cut off from the rest of the world by two other bouncers in matching uniforms to the one leading you and velvet rope. The man whispered to his coworkers, who glanced at you and at their tablets before nodding. The man to the right reached for the velvet robe hook, unhooking it and gesturing for you to go up the stairs. The man continued to lead you up the stairs. As you reached the top of the stairs, past the guards that were posted there as well, you found the area calmer, and more serene yet it was even more intoxicating than the ambiance on the lower floor. 

You swayed through the crowd, eyes drifting to those all around you. As you passed by a couch, you caught eyes with a certain blue, peeking from tinted glasses. Beside him, his usual companion, two peas in a pod people would call them. Kento would call them acquaintances, while they would call him “his closest friends.” Before the man could lay eyes upon you, you looked away and continued on your journey to the man who invited you to this very place. 

As you walked further and further into the crowd, the lights dimmed darker and darker, until you couldn't see barely two feet in front of you. There were not as many people around anymore, and it seemed they were standing around something. The bouncer sifted through the crowds, the people parting their way to let you two through. He soon approached a door, locked behind an ID scanner. The bouncer who led you here pulled his own out, pressing it against the small machine. The door unlocked, revealing a short hallway leading into some kind of private living room. Ahead was a couch, surrounded by a few people as well. And in the midst of them, was the man himself, Kento Nanami. He wore a white shirt, ruffled with its first few buttons unbuttoned. He was mostly alone on the couch, with two of his associates he often does business with. He was talking slowly amongst himself, taking sips from his crystal glass.

The bouncer soon stopped right in front of the couch, nodding to Kento before gesturing toward you. The moment his eyes landed upon you, he rose up from his lean position, eyes locking with you. The bouncer nodded one more time at his boss, before walking away, disappearing back into the real world. The blond man stared at you for a few more moments, before smirking right at you. The two people he was talking to also looked at you, but your focus was right on Kento. You took a couple of steps towards him, walking around the small table the men had amongst themselves. Kento closed his legs up, making even more room for you as you sat down right beside him. 

Kento glanced at his two associates, who looked amongst themselves before getting up at the same time. At the same time, the people who were also doing business within the room got up, without a word filed out of the room. They gave a slight head nod towards Kento before waving off into the crowd, probably up to the lower floor to chat up some poor girls. It was just the two of you for a moment before a girl came up with a tray. She placed down a tall wine glass, along with a bottle of wine, rosé to be more specific. It was your favorite bottle too, one of the more expensive bottles. One that you usually get when you’ve had huge wins. The girl nodded toward Kento, before holding the tray close to her body and walking off. The moment she was gone, it was just the two of you, as if the people around you dissipated. 

Kento grabbed the bottle of wine, twisting the top off of it with ease. You heard a pop, with slight steam flowing out of the bottle. He poured it out, filling it ⅔ of the way before placing the bottle down, taking the wine glass in his hands, and handing it over to you. You thanked him quietly, before taking a sip of the wine. As you sipped, Kento grabbed the bottle of whiskey on the table, refilling his own glass. Keeping your eyes on him as he finished poring, placing the bottle down, and taking another sip of his hard drink. You took another sip at the same time as he did, lowering your glass and looking over at him. 

“Why am I here, Kento?”

The man sighed, leaning back into his side of the couch, “I just wanted to have a celebration with you, a more private one.”

You said nothing, continuing to look at him with a knowing look. The man smirked, letting out an almost silent chuckle. 

“It’s been five years to the date since I officially asked you to be my lawyer.”

You blinked, sitting up a bit in your seat. Pulling out your phone from your purse, you glanced at the date under the time. May 14th. He was right, the anniversary of him officially asking to be your client. At the time, you were an overworked and underpaid lawyer at a big-time law firm. Your bosses were putting major cases on you, you did all the evidence finding and the hotshot lawyers above you would take your findings and use them in court. Using your hard work and they took all the glory for it. Kento saw how they took advantage, his previous lawyer being one of his bosses in fact. He offered you a deal, a way out. With that, you built your own law firm, with his support being the main backbone. Kento Nanami was your first client, and the reason you are as successful as you are now. 

You looked over at him, giving him a soft smile, “why, yes it is. Can’t believe you remember that to date. I didn’t even remember”

He nodded, taking another sip of his drink, “I tend to remember things important to me. You were an overworked, unappreciated lawyer and I was someone who had fired their own lawyer.”

You rolled your eyes at that, “yeah “fired” and right after that, you had to face a jury on whether or not you torched the man to death, Kento.”

Scoffing, you took another sip of your drink, looking away from him. 

“Yeah, but you can’t lie, you liked the rush.” You glanced over at him the moment he said those words. 

You couldn’t deny that you thought to yourself as you smirked. Taking another sip of your wine, looking at Kento as he placed his glass down. The two of you looked at each other for a moment, unresisting in the way your eyes glanced over his huge form once more. You couldn't lie to yourself, Kento Nanami was a desperately handsome man. 

“The rush is definitely a nice perk to the job but that check you paid me after was extra nice,” you winked at him, heart pounding away in your chest. 

The more sweet wine you took, the more your inner inhibitions cracked. You could feel the blood rush through your veins, feeling hotter and constricted within this dark area. You knew there were people around you, but the room was so dark that you couldn’t even see anyone around the two of you. Finishing the glass, you held out your hand with it, expecting more which he fulfilled with ease. He lifted his own glass in his hand, before tipping it towards you, clinking them together. 

“To a longer partnership,” he cheered, and you smiled a bit, cheering with him. 

“A long partnership.”

The both of you took a long sip, sighing before placing your glasses down on the table before you. You looked around in the low-lit room, the golden spotlights glowing against the golden-themed room. Feeling slightly cold hands rest upon your chin, you found yourself behind turned to face right back at Kento. Glancing down at his fingers before looking back at the man, narrowing your eyes at him. 

“What’s your game here, Kento?” Your voice lowered when you spoke his name. 

He shook his head slightly, “no games here for me, just appreciating what’s in front of me.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, “In front of you, you say?”

“you ask me to come to your nightclub, an exclusive nightclub at that. You ‘say’ you just want to celebrate our partnership, but I’m not an idiot, Kento Nanami. You know this.”

As you spoke, you leaned closer, your large red coat falling off your body as you did, revealing the straps of your glossy red dress. His eyes dropped down to your cleavage, revealed by the low dive of the neckline. Easily, you maneuvered the rest of your coat off your body, the huge fabric falling onto the couch. Reaching up, you placed your thumb right on his lips, and the feeling of his soft lips electrified you.

“Well,” he said with a softness you’ve never heard from him, “what exactly do you want me to say?”

Right after he said that his hand came up around your bottom, stroking it against the smooth latex. You couldn't help but roll your eyes at him but the smile was still present on your face. His hand soon moved down to your neck, slowly wiping away the little bit of sweat that was dripping down your neck. The tension that had always built between the two of you was reaching an all-time high as your own hands found their way to his collar, fumbling with the ruffled collar. 

His large hands found their way around your hips, lifting you up with ease before placing you right on his lap. With no more words that could be said, you rested your hands against his chest before he captured your lips into a hot heavy kiss. The force stumbled you back for a moment but you kissed back immediately, gripping at his pure white shirt. You could feel his hands slide to your hips before scooping up around your bottom, grabbing at the rubber-like material on your body. 

You could feel yourself grind against him, desperate for some kind of feeling. Hands gripping his shirt, they fumbled against the crisp fabric, trying their best to unbutton the dress shirt. His own hands come up to your zipper, quickly unzipping it, a cool air breeze against your open back. Frustrated, you took the top of his shirt, before ripping it, buttons flying all over the place. Feeling him smirk, hands shifting underneath your dress, grabbing at bare skin and the matching red lace panties you wore underneath the dress. His hands guided you, lifting and resting your hips against him. He commanded your every movement, your pussy dripping against him as he did so. Placing your hands on him, hands resting on top of muscular pecs. The sudden cool air you felt dissipated, heat rising between the two of you. 

Letting go of the kiss, you braced your arms around him as his hands moved up from your ass. He grabbed at the rest of the dress, slowly peeling it off your body and revealing your breasts to him, no bra. The dress began to pool around your hips as he lifted you up into the air. Immediately, you wrapped your legs around his waist as he carried you towards another room, one with a bed in it. Barely paying attention to what's around you, he basically dropped you onto the soft bed, before climbing right on top of you. With a quick motion, he removed the rest of the dress off you, leaving you in nothing but your thin lace panties. He tore off the scarps of a shirt before slowly unbuttoning his pants, and sitting right on top of you. Kento grabbed the back of your left leg, slowly pushing back as he sunk further and further down toward you.

Once he was close enough, he captured you into a heavy kiss, his free hand coming to your titty, giving it a quick squeeze. You gasped into the kiss as he did so, wrapping your arms around him to pull him closer. He soon let go of the kiss, giving you a quick and light kiss all down your neck before dipping into the valley between your breasts. Once he reached one, he wrapped his lips around your nipple, eyes closing as he sucked away at it. His other hand rested on your other titty, massaging within his heavy hand. Back arching, clenching around nothing as you hissed in pleasure. He hummed against your warm skin, tongue swirling around the sensitive tit. Slowing down his massages, he wrapped his thick fingers around your free nipple, slowly pressing down and adding pressure. 

Moaning, you couldn't help but say, “I always knew you had a thing for them.”

Inhaling sharply at the sudden pinch of pain that shot through you, you narrowed your eyes at Kento who smirked as much as he could against you before lifting his head up. His lips wet with drool, he immediately switched between the two, sucking away as well. You were soaked, pussy dripping away within your panties as he did this. Soon he let go before immediately moving down, resting his hands around your hips, and maneuvering his fingers underneath the lingerie. He pulled them off your body, throwing them onto the floor. His eyes stared right up at you as he lowered his head, before glazing down and focusing on what he was doing. 

“Oh fuck—” your loud voice cut through, and your head was thrown back as you felt his lips wrap around your clit, sucking away harshly at it as well. 

You could feel his fingers rubbing circles into your inner thighs licking and sucking away at your pussy. Feeling his thumb, parting your inner labia before placing his lips right back on your sopping cunt. Your body squirmed, yet his firm hold on your thigh could only get you so far. He was a madman, sinking two of his fingers within you as he continued to eat away at you. Kento brought you to depths you had yet to understand yet, and the highlight of the night wasn’t even here. 

“So wet,” he mumbled against you, leaving wet kisses against you. 

You cried, curling into him as he continuously devoured within you, sinking another finger into you “want more, please, please, fuckfuck, gimme more! Fuck!—!” 

You screeched, back arching towards the sky as you came unexpectedly, clenched tightly around his now three fingers still moving deep within you. Your hands suddenly weaved themselves within his blond hair, pulling harshly as your arousal dripped all over him. Your sudden orgasm deterred nothing from him, Kento still lapping away at and within you as if you didn’t reach your peak of the night. Your body began trembling unconsciously, your clit feeling the effects of overstimulation. 

“Oh wait, fuck fuck fuck too much! Oh my GOD!”

Still, he didn’t stop, his ministrations leading you to another, much shorter orgasm for the night. Breathing heavily as you felt him slowly remove himself from you. Arms stretched across your face as you caught your breath, peeking from behind as you caught a glance of him slowly removing his boxers. Once he tossed his boxers to the ground, he reached out towards you, screeching as he grabbed at your hips before pulling down towards him a bit. He wrapped your legs around his own waist again, lifting right up off the bed. Cursing, you immediately hold onto him across his neck, so you don’t fall. About to speak, before feeling sudden pressure right against your cunt. Slowly, he lowered you down, his thickness stretching you out in different ways. 

“Kento, oh, oh my fucking god!”

His loud heavy grunts and groans resonated through the room, vibrating especially in your ear. Your grip on his was tight as he lifted you up and down his cock. 

“Fuck— don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for this,” he groaned in your ear. 

Gasping, you moved your face to look at him as he spoke to you. 

“My pretty little lawyer, all fucked out, look at you,” his tone had a twinge of condescension. 

“You’ve been so good to me these past five years,—fuck— “

His words had you clenching around, unable to say anything as his thrust got quicker and quicker, hitting deeper and deeper inside you. His lips soon began pressing harsh kisses on your neck, feeling his hot breath blow against your sensitive skin. 

“Taking me so fucking well,” he mumbled again, his tongue lapping up the sweat dripping down. 

“Kento,” you moaned, “oh my god, ohmygod ohmygod,” was all you could say as you convulsed within his hold, feeling his mushroom tip kiss up against your cervix. 

“Hmm, you gonna come for me, you gonna come all over me?” His own thrusts were erratic, his short hair falling over his forehead. 

Throwing your head back as your body let off a violent tremble, “yesyesyesYES!”

With that final shout, your orgasm came crashing down, spilling all over him. Your shaky movements didn’t stop Kento, his thrusts still as heavy as your cum dripping down your thighs. His actions consumed you all over again, before letting out a heavy groan, slamming into you for the final. Gasping, feeling the way he filled you up, his grip on your thighs having the possibility of leaving deep-dark bruises all over. 

“Fuc…” gasping, your head dropping onto his shoulder. 

You could feel him carrying you towards the bed, before slowly laying you across the comfortable sheets and blankets. Slowly regaining feeling within your limbs, you began to sit up as you felt the space beside you sink down. You pulled the blanket up to you, relishing in the soft feel as you saw a movement towards your right. Glancing over, you found a hand holding a glass with ice within it. Thanking him softly, you took the glass before taking a sip, the drink cooling your body down. It allowed you to move up, sitting up fully, bringing the comforter with you. 

“Feeling better?” His voice was slightly hoarse as he asked you

You nodded your head, not saying anything as you finished the glass, placing it on the nightside table. You could feel the comforter move right under you before feeling warm arms wrapped around, squealing before feeling pull you down into the bed. You couldn't help but giggle, squirming a bit as you felt his warm breath brush up against the hairs of your neck. 

“If only your men knew how much of a cuddle buddy you are,” you mumbled against him, feeling his arms wrapped around your waist and hips. 

You placed your own hands underneath your head, right on top of his chest. 

“Well then, looks like it's another secret for you to keep then.”

You laughed at that, before slowly closing your eyes, a heavy tired feeling falling over the two of you.

taglist: @joviallljas @bokutossidepiece @cienakim @monsterha-blog @slvt4dabi @teenagecookieexpertangel @gyusbrownie @genofae @5cmbackto-you @eddiesbunnie @wheresclaire @ryumiii @prexeca @nanamikentobrainrot @ddymarie @sugarloafi @atsumulovemail @axidthot @rzrsblog @sxylenaa @gardenof-venus @whimsical--duck @kakashi-mask20 @banolicious @a-mars-0 @diorlov3er @justnamuaf @lik0 @artistyuki-blog @Iysa1201 @poutyoonkook @black-mariposa22 @guguug1 @tookiostqr @daddybugs101 @dionne-dior @reapersan

[strangersteddierthings]

Daily Ficlet 7

I’m challenging myself to write a little ficlet every day, using the prompts from this list. Today’s prompt is recipe book.

-

Steve finds Wayne in the hallway, pulling what items he can from the closet there.

"Need some help?" Steve asks as Wayne struggles with a bigger box that seems wedged in pretty good.

"Sure. Just get yer hands up here and ready to catch," Wayne answers, shimmying the box to and fro while Steve moves to follow his instructions. The box isn't by any means light when it falls into his hands, but it's not the heaviest thing Steve's had to catch -don't think about it, don't think about Eddie's limp body awkwardly shoved through a gate. Don't-

"Thanks, son," Wayne climbs back down the stepladder he was on and takes the box from Steve' hands, walking down the hall to place it on the counter. The front half of the trailer is missing, the gate took it, but a decent amount of of the trailer remains (Eddie's room remains) and the government has finally allowed Wayne to return to pack up what he can.

It's better than starting over completely.

"What's in the box?" Steve asks, because it's the only item Wayne hasn't just demanded he load into the moving truck outside.

"It was supposed to be Eddie's graduation gift," Wayne says softly. "'Suppose it'll have to be a 'glad you woke up from yer coma' gift instead."

"Yeah," Steve says, even if he doesn't believe it. Eddie's been asleep months now. They saved the world, killed Vecna, closed the gates, Max woke up, and the kids have started Sophomore year; Eddie remains comatose. "Can I get a sneak peak at the present?"

"It's not much, and ain't nothin' new," Wayne says, opening the box and beginning the process of pulling things out. It looks a bit like the contents of a hope chest. Things to start living on your own with. Robin's mom has one for her that Steve's seen, and even contributed to. There's an envelope of $500 tucked along the side of Robin's chest.

"This was his grandpa's. My dad's," Wayne says, pulling out a belt buckle. "And my ma made this, not for anyone in particular, mind you, but just because she liked to keep herself busy." It's a blanket, thick and a little scratchy when Steve touches it. "And this. This is the most important." Wayne pulls out a binder from the bottom of the box, handing it over to Steve for inspection.

He takes it carefully even though it looks sturdy. Holding it in one hand, he flips it open. He was thinking maybe it would be a photo album or something but it's not. It looks like a recipe book. All the recipes are hand written on looseleaf paper, with post it notes sticking out randomly. "What makes this special?"

"That's his mom's handwriting," Wayne smiles but he sounds sad. "Eddie lost her when he was five. She got real sick, y'know, and never got better. But she wrote out all them recipes. I'm amazed Al kept the thing, but I guess I shouldn't be. No real value in a binder of recipes 'cept to the people close to the author."

Steve looks back down at the binder. He still has both his parents, however distant they might be, so he doesn't know if he'll ever fully understand the significance of getting this piece of someone back. "Does he not have anything else with her writing on it?"

"No, not writing. We got plenty of things they used to own. Eddie's caseworker let us go through the whole house, after Al'd been shipped off to the penitentiary, to gather anything Eddie might want or need. Was supposed to just be his stuff, mind you, legally speakin', but I think that lady knew if we didn't take other stuff, Eddie'd never see it again.

"So, Eddie's got things that were hers. But nothing that's uniquely hers. There's jewelry, and a coupla blankets, but all that stuff is replaceable and not... Well, I dunno what I'm tryin' to say, but that's just stuff that was hers. But this. This was her. Y'understand?"

And Steve does. There's a difference between having something that belonged to someone once, and something that really feels like them when you hold it. Steve doesn't have anything like that, personally, but he knows there will come a time when the difference matters. When everyone grows up and scatters into the future. He imagines a hand written letter from Dustin will mean much more for him to find after a long time of no contact than it would to find his old Roast Beef t-shirt in the back of a drawer or something, moth bitten and musty.

"I can't wait to find out if Eddie's an angry emotional, or a sad one."

Wayne laughs. "He can be both."

[soundbulb]

I'm not saying this because I actually have beef with anyone who wrote posts like this, but I just saw a true detective post that was talking about how poetic it was that rust cohle covers for marty when he kills ledoux because cohle was thrust into deep undercover narcotics for killing someone, and how he jumps to protect marty because he was left alone with self loathing and the severity of undercover gang work during this period, and he won't let that happen to marty. and this to me is a pretty good example of how fandoms woobify their favorite man at the expense of the actual themes of the story.

both rust and marty murder people and get away with it. we can obviously say that their victims deserved it for committing crimes against children, but that's pretty irrelevant given you're not allowed to legally kill someone out of retribution. if a regular person finds the kids and shoots ledoux, they go to prison. but rust and marty are police, not regular people. if you wanna know the line that's actually connected to rust's story of emptying a clip into a man, and marty killing ledoux, it's "of course I'm dangerous. I'm police. I can do terrible things with impunity." and more on that later.

but the undercover position wasn't penance, it was law enforcement trying to both cover for rust and exploit his act of violence. rust is, quite literally, still doing his job only now doing it with even less constraint. when he displays a capacity for unrestrained violence, they promote him to a position where this violence is a boon. when he's ready to cover for marty regardless of reason, this is not to me an emotional catharsis, but the reality that cops view themselves and each other as above the laws the selectively enforce, even to the detriment and death of others, and have the institution that purports justice cover for them because they're homoousian as that institution. even rust, who everyone hates. in the same way the mayor and the superchurch pastor can get away with killing marie fontenot and hurting all the other people rust interviews; they are the institution that protects them.

this is why it's important in the end that they don't get to catch anyone powerful or notable within that institution, with a literal fringe inbred strain of the childress family as the only one that ever sees any consequence. it's also why it's thematically important that rust and marty aren't cops when they do it and they specifically have to work against the police.

theriot leaves his religious position, and reveals in his 2002 interview that while in the seminary he found pictures of child abuse, and this is what cumulates in his departure from the tent revival. an implied whistle blower who came forward, or would come forward, about the abuse in the christian schools dies in a car "accident" in his 2002 interview with tuttle. the institutions weed out or hunt down those who won't cover for their exploitation of authority. on multiple levels, the story is showing you who is allowed to be protected by these institutions and who isn't. who is "chum in the water" and who isn't. in 1995 rust and marty are protected, but when rust realizes he's part of the system that's killing dora lang and marie fontenot and countless other women -- what he calls the sprawl -- his refusal to cover for it revokes his protections.

I really don't think it's supposed to be character catharsis when we watch them contrive this heroic epic tale of facing down certain death, and then we cut to them, off duty, cornering a naked man out of the shower and shooting him on a whim when he's already cuffed and kneeling. obviously no ones hurting for ledoux, or the offscreen man rust shot, but this isn't the tale of fate helping them thwart evil they told. they bolster the mythos of police as the barrier between darkness and the rest of the world, while the anticlimax of their very banal abuse of power plays out. if you want the actual parallel to marty and rust's ledoux story, it isn't one where rust is the person he needed or anything like that, it's when marty breaks into lisa's home and assaults her and her date. it's when rust is alone in a motel room with the blonde woman buying his quaaluudes, and the scene has him loom heavily on his half of the frame as we cut between him bathed in shadow and green light, and her covered with bruises. alone in this room he could hurt or kill her, she even says she thinks he's dangerous. then as we watch him get closer, standing over her and looking down on her dispassionately, we know the only reason nothing will happen to her is his lack of interest. he's still imposing as the camera shifts under him, and the scene ends with him looking down at us and her, saying "of course I'm dangerous. I'm police. I can do terrible things with impunity." it's marty huffing his own paint, thinking he's a big strong hero, a "real man", and beating the shit out of the men he caught his daughter with, then going out to his car and vomiting from fear.

I get that rust cohle is memed on, like very babygirl-ified. but this to me begins to favor him as a personal figure of comfort rather than a character in a story that's interested in the way institutional power interacts with and exploits the unknowable and unpredictable powers of our world. I do like thinking about the emotional lives of these characters, even relating to them -- I don't shit on that instinct at all because it's the natural response to characters, especially such intense and tragic characters. but I do notice a lot of posts in these tags have a "poor rust" sentiment to them. talking about how he's used and never treated with tenderness; how he's ready to show up for marty in a way "no one showed up for him" when the reality is we are very intentionally not shown rust's past before the dora lang case, the case that is the infrastructure of our narrative, and the only detail we are given -- that he was allowed to keep his job after committing a shockingly violent murder -- says that he was sufficiently looked out for by the institutional power he would later try and fail to indict, and he in fact repeated this cover up for someone else, perpetuating over and over the cycle of violent men doing anything and never paying for it, while everyone else pays for everything just by existing.