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#corrupt law enforcement and the like
bugslap · 2 years
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Mister Franky, ex train engineer turned farrier and horse breeder. unfortunately he names both his trains and his horses after the Battle Frankies line…you kind of have to figure out which is which
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8km-2 · 11 months
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was the church always in charge of yharnam or was there like a mayor and then laurence came along and did something...?
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sophiaphile · 4 months
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ftfy: STL Police Crash into LGBTQ bar, Use Homophobic Slur, Attempt to Arrest the Owner, Co-Owner Resists and is Charged with Felony Assault
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—RFT
[James] Pence, who lives above the bar, says that he was getting ready to head to bed as two other people closed up for the night. Suddenly, he felt the whole building shake and ran downstairs.  He came down to find the police SUV in his building and an officer demanding to see his identification.  Pence says he replied: "No you don't. That's a police cruiser in my building. You don't need to see my ID. This is not how this works." Pence says he was spun around and placed in handcuffs.  Pence’s co-owner, [Chad] Wick, was taking videos and photos of the police vehicle when, according to Pence, "Three of them (officers) went for him. He raised his arm and they said he hit them."  Pence was eventually taken out of cuffs, but Wick was taken away by police. In addition to cleaning up the damage, Pence spent much of this morning trying to locate Wick. He later found out that Wick had been taken to the South Patrol police station, then SLU Hospital for medical attention. He was then taken to the North Patrol and finally, around 9 a.m., was at Central Booking. Wick, whose legal name is Chad Morris, was later charged with felony assault. (See details here.)
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James Pence: I came out. My husband came out as well. There was one cop that made a very homophobic remark. My husband did put his hand on a cop out of defense because they had already put me in handcuffs for coming out, wanting to know what was going on. I was told I had to ID or shut up.
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bloodxhound · 2 months
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Honestly, leaving the LAPD is crushing to Ray. It’s not an easy decision at all. Working as a police detective has been his dream since he was a child, fueled by a lot of romanticism and the need to claim an identity for himself outside of what his father tried to force on him. He sacrificed much to become a detective: friendships, relationships, his freetime, his health, other career opportunities... all to secure himself a place away from his father’s influence, one that opposed him by design. Or so he thought. To then realize little by little how fraudulent all his idealism was, how the place he has chosen for himself is just as corrupted as the criminals he’s been pursuing really messes with him on top of everything else that's going on in his life.
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carewyncromwell · 1 year
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“And the big bad man and his big bad clan, Their hands are stained with red... Oh, how quickly they forget... They aren't gonna help us --  Too busy helping themselves! They aren't gonna change this:  We gotta do it ourselves... They think that it's over, but it's just begun!”
~“Only the Young” by Taylor Swift
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“And so…esteemed members of the Wizengamot…based on the overwhelming evidence – the factually bankrupt, inflammatory anti-Muggle and Muggle-born leaflets sent out by the defendant’s Commission and promoted by the defendant herself; the transcripts of trials overseen by the defendant that spell out blatant corruption and unsanctioned cross-examination techniques, including having Dementors present during all trials and actively refusing to give any defendant proper legal representation; the testimony of over fifty Ministry employees, speaking to the defendant’s close working relationships with known Death Eaters and to her own willingness to overlook Wizarding Law to advance herself and her Commission’s political aims; the countless memos written in the defendant’s own hand condemning nearly a thousand people, including over a hundred children, to unjust captivity; and the defendant’s well-known reputation among her ex-students, her coworkers, and even her own family for enjoying the suffering of others and persecuting fellow wizards and witches not just for their blood, but also for suffering from medical conditions like lycanthropy and blood maledictions – all of which the defense has offered no suitable defense for, aside from incorrectly asserting that the defendant was ‘simply following orders’ from her superiors…I think there is no question as to her guilt, or to what justice would be appropriate.
Although I – as a private citizen of the Wizarding World – agree with Minister Shacklebolt’s measure to remove the Dementors from Azkaban prison…I must acknowledge that if there were ever a case for a criminal from our world deserving the Dementor’s Kiss…it would be Dolores Jane Umbridge. But because we – unlike the defendant – have a code of honor before us that we will not break just to achieve a political objective…I believe it’s our solemn duty to ensure this basilisk in human skin never walks free again.”
~Carewyn Cromwell, prosecutor for the trial of Dolores Umbridge // January 1999
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About two-and-a-half years ago, I drew a concept for Carewyn as a lawyer for the Ministry of Magic, and...yeah, looking back at that concept, I knew I could improve on its visual, if I tried it again! 
Carewyn Cromwell was still a fresh-faced, idealistic young lawyer of twenty-five when she became the Chief Prosecutor behind the Ministry of Magic’s trials of ex-Death Eaters after the end of the Second Wizarding War in 1998. That very same year Carewyn also became the legal guardian of one of the Muggle-born children she defended in court (a drawing of whom is also coming soon!), even while unmarried and only living in a small flat in London. Despite her relatively short time with the Ministry, however, the fashionable young prosecutor left a strong impression, not only taking charge and putting Dolores Umbridge under citizens’ arrest when the Death-Eater-controlled Ministry fell, but also in fiercely advocating for those who had been most hurt during the War. The Daily Prophet was eager to spotlight the young Cromwell in their articles, both flatteringly and otherwise, simply because of how much fascination such a pretty and paragon, and yet stoic and ruthless woman evoked in both reporters and the paper’s readership. There were even several points, both during and after the trials, when Carewyn’s name was floated by the Prophet as some possible future replacement for Ministry Shacklebolt, or even just as a permanent member of the Minister for Magic’s support staff -- but Carewyn, thoroughly disinterested in working directly in politics, instead remained steadfast in her pursuit of legal justice. 
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agoddamn · 2 years
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Funny nart shit I can't get over:
The entire police force was one family (assigned cop at birth)
Because the entire police force was one family and that entire family was killed, there was apparently just no law enforcement at all below ninja FBI for the next decade, which actually explains a lot about how insane Konoha is
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chewwytwee · 8 months
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Do I go to my bullshit 'disciplinary hearing' stoned as shit
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medicinemane · 2 months
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Final thought, the cut off for any welfare program at minimum needs to be 150% of the poverty line (ie, the poverty like is $10 the cut off should be no lower than $15)
Cause the poverty line, one assumes, is the bare minimum we're saying everyone should be at, and surely welfare programs are supposed to be meant to help people below that
If you cut it off right at the line, then people aren't going to be able to get out of poverty, because any time they get close they're suddenly going to be on the hook for like $1000 or more between the various welfare they might be on, and honestly only a fool would push past that if pushing past it means falling back down again
150% at least means that they've got a chance that maybe now they're picking up the slack of all the stuff they're losing
#and listen you can say you don't trust the government with this shit and frankly neither do I#...but clearly we need something; and clearly private charity isn't able to rise to the level to deal with it#so I'd rather in one way or another reform things so it works#like listen... you get private charity taking care of this; I'll be glad to have been wrong#but you can't just be like 'well; if we had no taxes'; well that's not gonna happen; you gotta work within reality#if everyone behaved perfectly and was never corrupt that would be a great solution too; but that's not the world#anarchy will always devolve into a government; governments will always take taxes... rather work in the system we have than post collapse#so if you have another solution; I'm all for it... but it has to be systemic and self enforcing#(as in; laws must be written where a random judge can't twist it to do something heinous)#(the author of a bill won't always be in the room; you need to close loopholes so it has to be enforced how it's meant to be enforced)#in the end it's like this... the government is fucking awful; but some things require a big pot of money#this is exactly how insurance works too; get a big pot of money and pay out from that pot when 1 of the 1000 people has something go wrong#anyway... infrastructure; military; healthcare... these are all things that need a big pot of money#they have so many working parts that require consistent inputs that it doesn't work to just hope Joe Everyman comes in to buy $5 of road#eh... why bother talking? not like I'm gonna change any minds
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Greed's eyes shifted after looking at the calendar. So close...too soon. He hadn't even restocked since last year. He was well aware of Hank's amused look but he had to ignore it as he took off the top hat with a forming grimace.
"You know how much I hate this Day...though it's pardoned it gives me fucking anxiety!" Greed groaned as he slumped into his chair while Hank leaned against the desk, oddly careful of the files that littered it.
"I'm still surprised you and your Part's not joining. Would help you release some of that damn pent up energy. You did nearly fuck up my arm with a knife a few minutes ago." Hank admitted with a tilting head, much to this sheriff's dismay. Of course the maniac wanted him to join.
Greed only shook his head with a sigh. "I can't. I might be just as corrupted as my last asshole of a late Part but I'm not that corrupt...not anymore at least..."
Hank seemed to frown as he heard that. Even he knew better though as he glanced over his shoulder. "In that case I'll bring back a pie for you. I don't know if he'll be out there but I'll keep an eye out for your sake."
Greed opened his mouth before snapping it shut. He didn't expect this but he could only give a near thankful look. "Get yourself two, asshole." He couldn't help his grin at the eye roll that got as he held out the cash.
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Regarding the WM3 case, I just don’t trust the State of Arkansas at all. Like as much as I hope they’ll test the evidence I know they have a vested interest in not testing. Also back in 2021 the state of Arkansas just told everyone the evidence burned in a fire even though it didn’t which is uh... 
I just really want answers but Arkansas state officials really do not want that evidence tested to the point of lying about it being destroyed. 
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NLRB rules that any union busting triggers automatic union recognition
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Tonight (September 6) at 7pm, I'll be hosting Naomi Klein at the LA Public Library for the launch of Doppelganger.
On September 12 at 7pm, I'll be at Toronto's Another Story Bookshop with my new book The Internet Con: How to Seize the Means of Computation.
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American support for unions is at its highest level in generations, from 70% (general population) to 88% (Millenials) – and yet, American unionization rates are pathetic.
That's about to change.
The National Labor Relations Board just handed down a landmark ruling – the Cemex case – that "brought worker rights back from the dead."
https://prospect.org/labor/2023-08-28-bidens-nlrb-brings-workers-rights-back/
At issue in Cemex was what the NLRB should do about employers that violate labor law during union drives. For decades, even the most flagrantly illegal union-busting was met with a wrist-slap. For example, if a boss threatened or fired an employee for participating in a union drive, the NLRB would typically issue a small fine and order the employer to re-hire the worker and provide back-pay.
Everyone knows that "a fine is a price." The NLRB's toothless response to cheating presented an easily solved equation for corrupt, union-hating bosses: if the fine amounts to less than the total, lifetime costs of paying a fair wage and offering fair labor conditions, you should cheat – hell, it's practically a fiduciary duty:
https://www.jstor.org/stable/10.1086/468061
Enter the Cemex ruling: once a majority of workers have signed a union card, any Unfair Labor Practice by their employer triggers immediate, automatic recognition of the union. In other words, the NLRB has fitted a tilt sensor in the American labor pinball machine, and if the boss tries to cheat, they automatically lose.
Cemex is a complete 180, a radical transformation of the American labor regulator from a figleaf that legitimized union busting to an actual enforcer, upholding the law that Congress passed, rather than the law that America's oligarchs wish Congress had passed. It represents a turning point in the system of lawless impunity for American plutocracy.
In the words of Frank Wilhoit, it is is a repudiation of the conservative dogma: "There must be in-groups whom the law protects but does not bind, alongside out-groups whom the law binds but does not protect":
https://crookedtimber.org/2018/03/21/liberals-against-progressives/#comment-729288
It's also a stunning example of what regulatory competence looks like. The Biden administration is a decidedly mixed bag. On the one hand there are empty suits masquerading as technocrats, champions of the party's centrist wing (slogan: "Everything is fine and change is impossible"):
https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/10/the-courage-to-govern/#whos-in-charge
But the progressive, Sanders/Warren wing of the party installed some fantastically competent, hard-charging, principled fighters, who are chapter-and-verse on their regulatory authority and have the courage to use that authority:
https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/18/administrative-competence/#i-know-stuff
They embody the old joke about the photocopier technician who charges "$1 to kick the photocopier and $79 to know where to kick it." The best Biden appointees have their boots firmly laced, and they're kicking that mother:
https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/16/the-second-best-time-is-now/#the-point-of-a-system-is-what-it-does
One such expert kicker is NLRB General Counsel Jennifer Abruzzo. Abruzzo has taken a series of muscular, bold moves to protect American workers, turning the tide in the class war that the 1% has waged on workers since the Reagan administration. For example, Abruzzo is working to turn worker misclassification – the fiction that an employee is a small business contracting with their boss, a staple of the "gig economy" – into an Unfair Labor Practice:
https://pluralistic.net/2022/01/10/see-you-in-the-funny-papers/bidens-legacy
She's also waging war on robo-scab companies: app-based employment "platforms" like Instawork that are used to recruit workers to cross picket lines, under threat of being blocked from the app and blackballed by hundreds of local employers:
https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/30/computer-says-scab/#instawork
With Cemex, Abruzzo is restoring a century-old labor principle that has been gathering dust for generations: the idea that workers have the right to organize workplace gemocracies without fear of retaliation, harassment, or reprisals.
But as Harold Meyerson writes for The American Prospect, the Cemex ruling has its limits. Even if the NLRB forces and employer to recognize a union, they can't force the employer to bargain in good faith for a union contract. The National Labor Relations Act prohibits the Board from imposing a contract.
That's created a loophole that corrupt bosses have driven entire fleets of trucks through. Workers who attain union recognition face years-long struggles to win a contract, as their bosses walk away from negotiations or offer farcical "bargaining positions" in the expectation that they'll be rejected, prolonging the delay.
Democrats have been trying to fix this loophole since the LBJ years, but they've been repeatedly blocked in the senate. But Abruzzo is a consummate photocopier kicker, and she's taking aim. In Thrive Pet Healthcare, Abruzzo has argued that failing to bargain in good faith for a contract is itself an Unfair Labor Practice. That means the NLRB has the authority to act to correct it – they can't order a contract, but they can order the employer to give workers "wages, benefits, hours, and such that are comparable to those provided by comparable unionized companies in their field."
Mitch McConnell is a piece of shit, but he's no slouch at kicking photocopiers himself. For a whole year, McConnell has blocked senate confirmation hearings to fill a vacant seat on the NLRB. In the short term, this meant that the three Dems on the board were able to hand down these bold rulings without worrying about their GOP colleagues.
But McConnell was playing a long game. Board member Gwynne Wilcox's term is about to expire. If her seat remains vacant, the three remaining board members won't be able to form a quorum, and the NLRB won't be able to do anything.
As Meyerson writes, centrist Dems have refused to push McConnell on this, hoping for comity and not wanting to violate decorum. But Chuck Schumer has finally bestirred himself to fight this issue, and Alaska GOP senator Lisa Murkowski has already broken with her party to move Wilcox's confirmation to a floor vote.
The work of enforcers like DoJ Antitrust Division boss Jonathan Kanter, FTC chair Lina Khan, and SEC chair Gary Gensler is at the heart of Bidenomics: the muscular, fearless deployment of existing regulatory authority to make life better for everyday Americans.
But of course, "existing regulatory authority" isn't the last word. The judges filling stolen seats on the illegitimate Supreme Court had invented the "major questions doctrine" and have used it as a club to attack Biden's photocopier-kickers. There's real danger that Cemex – and other key actions – will get fast-tracked to SCOTUS so the dotards in robes can shatter our dreams for a better America.
Meyerson is cautiously optimistic here. At 40% (!), the Court's approval rating is at a low not seen since the New Deal showdowns. The Supremes don't have an army, they don't have cops, they just have legitimacy. If Americans refuse to acknowledge their decisions, all they can do it sit and stew:
https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/26/mint-the-coin-etc-etc/#blitz-em
The Court knows this. That's why they fume so publicly about attacks on their legitimacy. Without legitimacy, they're nothing. With the Supremes' support at 40% and union support at 70%, any judicial attack on Cemex could trigger term-limits, court-packing, and other doomsday scenarios that will haunt the relatively young judges for decades, as the seats they stole dwindle into irrelevance. Meyerson predicts that this will weigh on them, and may stay their hands.
Meyerson might be wrong, of course. No one ever lost money betting on the self-destructive hubris of Federalist Society judges. But even if he's wrong, his point is important. If the Supremes frustrate the democratic will of the American people, we have to smash the Supremes. Term limits, court-packing, whatever it takes:
https://pluralistic.net/2020/09/20/judicial-equilibria/#pack-the-court
And the more we talk about this – the more we make this consequence explicit – the more it will weigh on them, and the better the chance that they'll surprise us. That's already happening! The Supremes just crushed the Sackler opioid crime-family's dream of keeping their billions in blood-money:
https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/11/justice-delayed/#justice-redeemed
But if it doesn't stop them? If they crush this dream, too? Pack the court. Impose term limits. Make it the issue. Don't apologize, don't shrug it off, don't succumb to learned helplessness. Make it our demand. Make it a litmus test: "If elected, will you vote to pack the court and clear the way for democratic legitimacy?"
Meanwhile, Cemex is already bearing fruit. After an NYC Trader Joe's violated the law to keep Trader Joe's United from organizing a store, the workers there have petitioned to have their union automatically recognized under the Cemex rule:
https://truthout.org/articles/trader-joes-union-files-to-force-company-to-recognize-union-under-new-nlrb-rule/
With the NLRB clearing the regulatory obstacles to union recognition, America's largest unions are awakening from their own long slumbers. For decades, unions have spent a desultory 3% of their budgets on organizing workers into new locals. But a leadership upset in the AFL-CIO has unions ready to catch a wave with the young workers and their 88% approval rating, with a massive planned organizing drive:
https://prospect.org/labor/labors-john-l-lewis-moment/
Meyerson calls on other large unions to follow suit, and the unions seem ready to do so, with new leaders and new militancy at the Teamsters and UAW, and with SEIU members at unionized Starbucks waiting for their first contracts.
Turning union-supporting workers into unionized workers is key to fighting Supreme Court sabotage. Organized labor will give fighters like Abruzzo the political cover she needs to Get Shit Done. A better America is possible. It's within our grasp. Though there is a long way to go, we are winning crucial victories all the time.
The centrist message that everything is fine and change is impossible is designed to demoralize you, to win the fight in your mind so they don't have to win it in the streets and in the jobsite. We don't have to give them that victory. It's ours for the taking.
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If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:
https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/06/goons-ginks-and-company-finks
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Why is it that the more I look at Lang Shilong the more I’m getting Yang Jian from Lotus Lamp vibes from him??? Idk I just feel like so much of his motivation centers around filial piety/孝 but not in a Liu Chenxiang way, just specifically in a Yang Jian way
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cryptvokeeper · 10 months
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Spoilers for nimona but while everyone’s talking about the really obvious queer subtext I gotta talk about the even more obvious fuck-cops text-text
Like this movie, with absolutely zero exaggeration on my part whatsoever, said “this is not a case of a misunderstanding or sudden action done in the moment or one bad apple or a system with ultimately good intentions. The entire law enforcement of this country from its foundations is corrupt and built on bad bigoted history and deserves to be demolished”
but also yes while I’m here it also said “you cannot change the system from within, respectability politics are a scam that gets people killed, and telling oppressed groups they’re the ones who need to change to make life easier for them is horse shit and do not take it from anyone, not even someone in the same situation as you.”
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mphountitled · 5 months
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𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐒𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐬 𝐄𝐏. 𝐈 : 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐦𝐚𝐧
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❝ 𝘾𝙖𝙣'𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙨𝙚𝙚, 𝙄'𝙢 𝙖 𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙨𝙞𝙜𝙣? ❞
Pairings: Park Seonghwa x Fem!Reader
Synopsis: Being begrudgingly seduced by the anarchist
Warnings: Language, Enemies to Lovers, Cop!Reader, Revolutionary!Seonghwa, Implied Violence, Crazy Form!Au, Seduction, Smut (+18, minors dni) Corruption Kink, Innocence Kink, Masochism, Humping, Fingering, pet names, Rough Sex, Massive Degradation Kink, Dom!Seonghwa, Sub!Reader, Squirting, Humiliation, Unprotected Sex, Hate Sex
A/n: I might turn this into a series featuring all the Pirates with their own smutty little parts because I cannot help re-watching the Crazy Form mv. It's too good
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The very sight of the undulating mosh pit has your stomach rolling with nausea as you enter the dimly lit warehouse. The corrugated walls are illuminated only by various splotches of neon paint, and you suddenly feel the uncanny need to pray as you enter the crowd.
You begin to grow fearful, not onky because this crowd might birth a fresh panic attack, but because you fear for your focus as well.
That you may not be swayed from your mission.
The Intel that led you and your police partner here had been incredibly difficult to come by because every one of their little followers were so terribly loyal.
So naturally, upon receiving a tip off about a show being hosted on the seedier outskirts of town, you had no choice but to attend.
In this unpredictable field of law enforcement, of one thing you are completely certain: There will always be a clear distinction between the good and the bad and they are as bad as they come.
They are common criminals, and there is nothing else to it.
In fact, referring to them as anything but, feels like a gross display of exaltation. Exaltation, which is, evidently, what they are used to.
Disgust is smeared across your face as you and your police partner sieve your way through drunken bodies swaying to the sound of Seonghwa's voice. Although you're shoving roughly past people, all in an attempt to get to the front of the stage, you can not help but marvel at the crowd, undulating to the beat of a bandit.
His face, along with the faces of 7 of his fellow delinquents were smeared across every wanted poster in the city, and yet here he is, raging into a microphone while the crowd cheers his name.
“If I hear ‘Seonghwa’ one more time I fear I might shoot myself in the foot,” you call out, to your partner not far behind, “Keep a tight grip on your weapons, please,” you say, craning your neck back as you palm cradles your back pocket with the Glock 14 nestled inside, “We don't know what any of these idiots are on and I dont think we want to find out.”
Your civilian attire is successful in keeping the attention off of you and your partner as you break out of the heat and anxiety of the moshpit, right in front of center stage.
Seonghwa is right above you, cradling a microphone as if it were the Holy grail while his accomplice, a very inebriated San, bounds across the stage, stirring up the crowd like Seonghwa's personal hypeman.
You could almost feel your vexation increasing to ungodly heights.
Everything about this egregious display of egomania makes your blood boil raging hot, and although these are only 2, you find your hands clenching in anticipation of being one step closer to putting all 8 behind bars.
Your hatred seems to be oozing out of your pores because soon, you catch his attention. Perched on a stage elevated amongst the masses, he is looking at you now. You. Instead of any of the other drunken groupies in the crowd begging to get even a sliver of attention.
With both hands cuffed around the mic, he peers down at you and winks before belting out the final words of the song.
How badly you itched to bind his wrists with your silver cuffs.
How badly you wished to get him and his insolent underlings off the streets.
"They do know how to capture an audience… we can at least give them that," Your head snaps sideways as the words of your partner rouses what little patience you're already working with.
You tap lightly at his badge. The sound of your nail hitting the metal is drowned out by the raucaus applaud but your police partner watches you intently as you cooly say, “Don't forget why we're here, Sergeant,” your voice holds caution as the noise of the crowd trickles down.
The set ends, and the man on stage drenched in flamboyant white linen bids the crowd a ‘Very good night’. He strolls off stage, not without giving you one last, knowing glance.
‘If you catch me, it's because I let you catch me,’ is what those eyes seem to be saying.
So much for blending into an unsuspecting crowd.
“These are not your friends. They're common criminals.” Your voice is louder now, with the absence of that Seonghwa's cacophony. “Stay here, make sure none of these degenerates kill themselves.” You're hellbent om following Seonghwa off the stage, but your partner's light snickers have you pausing slightly. You raise your eyebrows in questioning.
“You speak about them like they're not just fans," Your partner shakes his graying head, "Like they're complicit,”
“They are." You almost immediately reply with a narrowed gaze. "As far as I'm concerned, their fans are just as bad as them.”
With those parting words you make your way towards the part of the warehouse sectioned off from the rest of the crowd, where Seonghwa and his accomplice disappeared off to in the wake of their applause.
You reach what appears to be a backroom hidden behind the makeshift stage. It is far quieter than the rest of the warehouse pulsating with cacophony. You do not miss the slight apprehension that swallows you whole when your feet stop you from venturing over the threshold.
“It doesn't look like you have a backstage pass,” San sits beside Seonghwa on a couch positioned in the focal point of the small room. You recognize hid face as another one of the men whose visage was stamped in a very large police docket on your desk.
“Apologies,” you murmer to San, “I only have one of these,” you raise your police ID to the side of your face and San rises from his seat in mild curiosity. He sinks closer to you while Seonghwa, the man who held most of your attention, sits reclined, with his legs spread on the wide sectional.
He sits lazily, almost kingly under a giant white sheet. A flag plastered to the wall, with a giant, obnoxious, A carelessly spray painted in black.
“I thought we said no fans allowed backstage." San says in a sing-song voice, blatantly ignoring your badge with his giant shoulders now bending down to your height. The circumference of his hat casts a wide shadow over you, all in a clear display of intimidation. "That counts for pigs, too.”
His steely gaze never wavers from your face, and you fight valiantly to keep your emotions tamed under a calm, nonchalant reserve. "If you're a cop, where's your uniform?" San does an obnoxious display of racking his eyes over your body.
"Your dad's place," you whisper cooly, "I couldn't put it on in time."
Your words have an unmistakable smile cracking on the sides of San's face. "I enjoyed that very much."
"I thought a degenerate like you might." Despite your words, San is still smiling. In fact, you fear yourself at risk of slipping right into that enchanting gaze of his were it not for the interception of the third voice in the room.
“How interesting,” Seonghwa's voice cuts through the tension blistering between you and San like a white, hot knife.
“Leave us.” San's head snaps backward towards his accomplice, and all Seonghwa does is smile as they communicate, quite literally without words right in front of you. Seonghwa evidently 'says' what is needed in order to get San slyly leaving room. Not before tipping his hat in parting.
With your attention now focused solely on the man ok the couch, drenched in the white linen, whose arms are outstretched and resting on the headrest, you suddenly find yourself completely and unfortunately unsure.
You had met plenty of prisoners. Dined with manner delinquents and questioned many criminals, it is only in his presence when you feel your usually tough reserve quaking at the smallest fraction. In the face of what is apparently true rebellion.
“Why don't you have a seat,” he snickers when he finds you already stepping over the threshold, making yourself all too comfortable in an evil space. Nothing good existed beyond this point.
“I hope you enjoyed the show,” There is a depth to his voice that is regrettably tickling down the edge of your spine, dousing every bit of pateince you had.
“You call it a show… I call it inciting a riot,” you shrug, finally choosing to sit beside him on the wide sectional. Far too close beside him and his outstretched arms.
Despite the warning bells, you refuse to exhibit any fear.
“Is that why you're here?” His voice remains steady as he focuses it on tracing the tips of his fingers against your shoulder. He wants to see how quickly his touch could elicit a valley of goosebumps.
He is all too pleased to find you shivering in protest.
“You're here to arrest me?” In all honesty, Seonghwa enjoyed watching you try to push him away for the sake of your precious morals. Call it masochism, but there is something enticing about a woman who so very clearly abhors everything he stands for. Seonghwa cannot help but find it almost irresistible. His captain always remarked on Seonghwa's enjoyment for not only fixing broken things but also obsessing over them.
You did not know that the frown plastered across your face only accelerated his racing heart more. Desire plunged through his arteries as he immediately recognized you as a challenge.
Something to perhaps break.
It would be so incredibly satisfying, especially because you represented everything he despised in this wretched world.
Order.
“Actually, no.” You say, staving off another shivsr as you evade Seonghwa’s steadily heavy growing eyelids. “We received a call that someone was disturbing the peace.”
“In an abandoned warehouse?” He asks, voice airy and tone almost dismissive because he is much closer to you now, leaning towards you, as if enchanted by your very scent. You watch him with apprehension as you begin to feel the very first signs of what you regrettably realize to be attraction.
However, you can not move off the couch now because you can not control any of your motor functions in your concrete bones. Every one of your morals howl for you to get away from this man. To cuff him, send him down to the precinct and convict him for... something…
but that 'something' does not come quick enough, and he's leaning closer to you, with both arms still resting on the couch behind you. Before you can blow up your entire career, and close the distance, you wrangle some bit of sense to turn your head sideways, evading his half lidded eyes and slightly parted lips.
Your blatant rejection rouses him slightly, and he readjusts himself in his seat. Seonghwa brings his legs together to better manage the heat rushing to his cock in the wake of your rejection and apparent attraction (and immense frustration) as he shifts even closer beside you.
“You will find no disturbance here,” he says, “Only music.”
His words release the floodgates of your vexation, and your head snaps as you fire off. “Music that you weaponize to spew your delinquency.”
“Ah. Ah.” Seonghwa dips his head down to your ear as he whispers, “Delinquency, or rebellion?”
You're laughing humorlessly into the air, effectively causing Seonghwa’s smile to widen and his cock to stiffen completely in the confies of his pitch black dress pants. You are oblivious to his eyes, watching you as if you hung the very moon.
“You and your… freaks preach your vitriol and call it ‘rebellion’ when all you're actually doing is polluting our city with riots and crime.”
“You don't wish to be liberated from an oppressive world order?” He adjusts himself again, getting far too excited with the way this conversation is flowing. Your wide eyes and high vibrato do little to calm his restlessness.
“What oppression!?”
His voice is quick and monotonous, “Capitalism. Classism. Racism.” His fingers clench and unclench before swiping against the back of your neck, “Why do you willingly submit to a system that is simply un-winnable? We want you to free yourselves from the hierarchy. Fucking wreck the system-”
“You're fucking Pirates,” you spit the word out, unwokowungly snapping the very last of your reserve before Seonghwa is pulling you into a heady, heavy kiss by the nape of your neck.
"Fuck yes," He whispers before pulling you in as if you weighed absolutely nothing and you let him. You let his lips move languidly against yours as your hands fall against his chains and the white linen frills spilling from his collar. His hand is still positioned on the nape of your neck and he squeezes, forcing you to kiss him back. He groans into your mouth when you begin to work with him instead of against him. You mouth falling open as his tongue collides with yours.
Vaguely, in the background, outside these four walls, you can hear the crowd beginning to cheer once again as raucous music spills from unseen speakers. You can hear San beginning to sing into a mic, and your hand on Seonghwa's shirt curls imperceptibly.
“You're so beautiful…” You hate how easily his words affect you. You hate what a slave to desire you seem to be as he leans back to immediately push his hands in between your legs.
“Tell me to stop,” he challenges, keeping his feline eyes trained on you as he unclips the buttons of your jeans with one hand. “Tell me you don't want this disgusting delinquent to make you cum over and over again.”
Your lips are pursed painfully, and you throw your head back with your eyes clenched shut as you lift your hips. All the better for him to wriggle your jeans down to your ankles.
As he brings your legs up to his lap to pull off your jeans completely, Seonghwa's movements become all the more reckless and all the more urgent.
“All the same,” he murmurs before kneeling on the floor in front of you, “You conformists are all the fucking same.” Your eyes flutter open, along with your mouth, and the very moment your gaze locks onto the spray painted flag, hanging above you, Seongwha pushes aside your underwear, immediately spearing your dripping cunt with his long fingers. You release a broken moan into the air and his smile has blossomed into a full-on lopsided, evil grin as he brings your knees up to frame his face.
“2 seconds,” he taunts, in between your chorus of broken moans going head-to-head with the sound of San’s sensational belting, “it took me 2 seconds to have you humping my hand like a pretty fucking slut-”
Despite the pleasure coursing through your body, you still manage to keep your teeth clenched as you murmur, “You're the one… fuck… you're the one kneeling in front of me like my personal whore-”
Seonghwa's eyebrows raise, and his eyes glint in excitement at your taunting. He prided himself on being someone who could take as much as he gave out, and you're doing a terrific job at holding his attention when so many other people fell short.
You were interesting, of that, Seonghwa was sure.
“You make me want you so bad, Dove,” he admits before swiping his other hand over his stiffening bulge to the rhythm of his hand pushing in and out of your cunt.
“You drive me fucking crazy-”
“You're already crazy- fuck, just like that! Please don't stop-” your clenching around his fingers, eyes locked on his wide, excited eyes and his close lipped smile as brings his other hand to swipe over your clit.
The very second his calluses make contact with your swollen, puffy clit, you're cumming around his fingers. San’s vocal rages and your screams pour out as you fight to keep your eyes open. Seonghwa's fingers are still pushing into you relentlessly, and your heart sinks when you realise the seat underneath you is drenched with your arousal.
Seonghwa's mind is flooded with the image of you squirting so shamelessly around his fingers. Seeing you give yourself over to him so seamlessly made him feel absolutely restless with arousal, and he's pushing you down onto the couch before you're able to fill the air with idle protests.
His clothes suddenly feel too constricting and he curses the black corset as he wrestles with the buttons of his collar. He does not care that the buttons are flying onto the floor because he is clambouring onto the couch and hovering over you as he slots his hips in between your open legs.
“I need you to make a mess for me,” he whispers, before pulling his collar open, showcasing a patch of his tanned chest to your wide eyes. You unbuttoned your own shirt at the very same time that Seonghwa pulls down the zip of his pants, and he nearly whines at the sight of your breasts spilling out of your top. You are using him just as much as he is using you.
“Just like that, baby,” He nods, forcing his cock deep inside you as you begin to tweak your own nipples to stave off the discomfort of being stretched open so completely.
“F-Fuck- Seonghwa…” He is still nodding as he bends down towards you. Strands of his black hair tickle your face as he positions his hands on the side of your head and ruts into you with urgency. “I don't think I can take it-”
“You're already taking it so well, Baby.” He coos, as he forces his cock deeper and deeper into your clenching walls.
“You're taking everything I have to give and you're doing it flawlessly,” his praises are like that fashioned from a poet and the sheer artistry behind mere words have your head flying backwards as you release a torrid moan into the air.
“Where are you going?” He asks with a breathless laugh as he brings your head back by the grip of your throat. He is driving his cock inside you, his own frills spilling over your skin as he chokes you relentlessly.
Seonghwa is the very sight of violent beauty: hair mussed with his collar completely undone. His corset is still fashioned around his waist but it succeeds in tightening his abdomen, bringing him closer to the edge as the torrid sounds of your fucking fills the air.
"Fuck I'm close,” He grunts with his eyes nearly rolling to the back of his skull. "Tell me you hate me-" he whispers.
"I hate you," you moan out. "I hate you so fucking much-" It fell from your lips so easily because it is the God honest truth. Despite the spell he currently has you under, in the eyes of your aspirations, and everything you've ever worked hard for, you hated him and people like him. People who threatened to dismantle the progress lawmakers have strived to protect. And so, with your orgasm crwsting and your toes clenching, you whisper those words over and over to him. And every time to tell him you hate him, he chokes you harder and fucks you deeper.
"F-Fuck- 'Hwa I'm-" he nods, eyes now incredibly pained as he drives his cock into you with no chance of stopping.
"Cum for me," His whisper has you reading a broken moan into the air and Seonghwa watches as you descend into the depths of your euphoria.
"Gorgeous-" He exclaims through clenched teeth as his own hips begin to stutter, "You're so fucking gorgeous-" He whimpers before spilling inside you.
You're both moaning into the air, at the very same time that Choi San appears at the threshold.
"You work fast," San says languidly. He shifts his gaze from your horror-stricken gaze to Seonghwa who stares at his accomplice with a smirk on his face.
"I work smarter," Seonghwa says, "not harder." You're very much aware that he is still very much inside of you in front of a complete stranger but that panic dissipates when you realize Seonghwa, himself, is nothing but a stranger...
"The police is not gonna be a problem for us anymore, right?" He asks sweetly before dipping his head down in between the crook of your neck. You are starkly aware that your silence is answer enough...
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ghoul-haunted · 2 years
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I actually kind of hate how a show that has some pretty heavy social commentary will get reduced to whatever popular ship people latch on to, because it's like. the shipping is fine, it's the reduction of the narrative down to shipping tropes that don't even make sense is what makes me want to start chomping on things
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holycryptid · 5 days
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low honour!arthur morgan x virgin!reader
this is really just one long-winded fic idea that i need to speak into existence.
tags: literally save a horse ride a cowboy, afab!reader (feminine pronouns, descriptions, and names used), religious topics/imagery, obsessive!arthur, virginity kink, age gap relationship, loss of virginity, corruption kink
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Reader is in her early 20s, privileged to come from a family with wealth from their heritage and inheritance in the oil industry.
The era of cowboys and outlaws has started to become a thing of the past from the shifts in climate and industry throughout the country. Reader has resided in Saint Denis her whole life, never needing to worry about gangs, outlaws, or even cowboys.
She has never even seen a cowboy before, but she’s heard stories; none of them particularly pretty. The presence of law enforcement throughout the streets and the sheer distance of Saint Denis from other towns is enough to deter most of them from causing trouble.
Functionally, she should never be compatible with a cowboy.
Her father has always preached about her waiting for a “good, proper man” that can marry her into another family with obscene wealth. And so, she protects her chastity and innocence just as she is expected to—just as her father expects her to.
Hell, she doesn’t even know how to ride a horse! Her father believes that riding horses is beneath them, so anywhere she wants to go is accommodated by a stagecoach.
Cut to: reader is accompanying her father on a trip to Annesburg to discuss potential investments in the mining industry. He hates leaving her alone. She knows he worries that she’ll get “up to no good”.
Her father has chosen one of their more comfortable, flashy stagecoaches for the longer ride, giving him more storage for his financial documents and whatnot. A perfect target for gangs.
And, inevitably, they get robbed.
The robbers’ faces are all concealed by hats and bandanas, and one of them ties her arms behind her back with careful hands before guiding her to her knees on the wet grass.
The man who tied her up stays close by her side, and she can see her father pleading for his life to another man who’s not listening.
“Are you a cowboy?” Are the first words she says to him, not a note of fear in her doll-like eyes that make her look so fuckable in this position with her on her knees next to him, dress billowing out around her form.
He looks down at her confused. “Uh, once, I suppose.” His voice is a little muffled by the black bandana hanging over his nose and mouth.
She can see that his hair is so long that it starts to curl up and out at the ends under his hat.
“Well, you got the hat. And the horse,” she reasons, wondering if she’s truly meeting a cowboy under circumstances she thought she’d never be in.
He looks to her again, left hand causally hooked in the leather of his belt as he waits for the rest of his gang to finish up. “I guess you’re right.” He tips his head to her in agreement.
“Leave them! These people are leeches. Let the wolves decide their fate.” A man with a deep, booming voice announces atop his white horse.
Now she starts to panic.
She pulls against the rope around her wrists, looking up to the man who tied her as he begins to walk toward his horse. “Wait! Mister, please! Please don’t. Please,” she yells to him.
He looks back to her, then his horse, then back to her again. “Hold on.” He signals to the man on the white horse before walking back over to her.
“Take me home. Please just take me home, mister. I won’t say nothing, I promise, but just take me home and I’ll give you anything you want,” she begs to him.
He sighs, but not out of annoyance or hesitation for her request. He sighs because he has no idea what she has just done to herself.
He places his bandana over her eyes and leads her to his horse. He unties her hands and lets her blindly climb into the saddle, legs shaking from unfamiliarity.
When she settles, she blindly grips onto the saddle horn for dear life, wishing her father let her ride at least once in her life so she wouldn’t appear so delicate in this situation. The man chuckles off to the side before mounting up behind her. She notices the saddle is not quite meant for two as he pushes in tightly against her ass, seemingly not even concerned about it.
This is probably the closest she’s ever been to a man.
“Where to, miss?” The man leans forward against her back to grab the reigns, caging her in with his arms.
She tells him in a quiet voice, and he kicks against his horse, setting them into motion.
When they arrive at her French two-story home on the outskirts of Saint Denis, the man dismounts swiftly, hand circling her wrist before saying, “Swing your right leg over and I’ll help you down.”
She slowly brings herself around, feeling the man lock his hands around her waist to guide her to the ground.
He tugs at the knot holding the bandana around her eyes, and she doesn’t let herself turn around until she feels he’s had enough time to tie it back around his face.
“Thank you, mister,” she whispers.
He tips his hat and leaves without another word.
In the following week, the man watches her after the sun sets. He watches her pray before bed and change into her silk nightgown, waiting for the night he can maybe finally see the more explicit side of her. But it never comes.
She’s perfect.
Eventually they cross paths again one day. The man purposefully chooses to ditch the bandana, too.
“I don’t think my daddy would appreciate me talking to someone like you,” she admits slyly as she continues her trek into Saint Denis.
The man follows beside her on his horse, left arm lazily hanging down by his side. “Someone like me? And who’s that?” he asks, a slight smile also on his lips.
“A cowboy. An outlaw,” she says, sneaking a glance up to him as his horse steps in time with her down the path.
“Well your daddy ain’t here.”
“No, mister.”
“Come for a ride then.”
And that’s how it’s starts for them. He introduces himself as they ride to his gangs camp, and she complains about how sore her legs are when they arrive.
“You don’t ride?” Arthur asks, intending for it to be a joke.
“That was my second time. Ever,” she laughs.
And that’s when he understands what type of lady he’s dealing with, so he goes for it.
“Maybe you should practice on me sometime,” he remarks, untacking his horse.
She wonders if she heard him right. “Uh, mister—”
“Arthur,” he corrects.
In that moment, she realizes he can teach her everything her father has kept from her, show her everything he had protected her from. Throw away the innocence and chastity and truly experience what life should be. But Arthur doesn’t know the entirety of her sheltered life. He needs someone like him.
“Arthur…I don’t think I’m what you’re looking for,” she admits. “I…I’ve never been with no one. Ever.”
“You’re untouched, aren’t you?”
“Yes, sir. Just as my daddy said I should be. Until marriage.”
And Arthur makes it his mission to make her experience her own sexuality in its completeness, so he starts off slow.
He would always touch, never breaching her or letting her do anything to him. The focus was always on her.
Her virginity and pureness made him conflicted: he wanted to ruin her in all the ways she has never been, but he wants to tease and rile her up and watch her experience all the sexual frustrations for the first time.
It was cute. The more bold he got with his touches, the more bold she got in trying to take what she wanted. He would take her behind a tree and slowly lift up the dainty material of her summer dress, gathering it in his left hand as he used his right to rub her clit through her underwear while he licked and sucked along her neck, careful not to leave marks.
She would get weak so fast, Arthur could barely handle how virgin her body truly was. She would grip onto the leather straps of the rifles hanging down his back, trying to force his hand harder and faster.
However, the first time he made her cum was an accident.
He confidently placed a gentle kiss on her lips while they were alone in his tent—he just wanted to see how she would react.
She leaned in and returned it, snaking her hands around his neck and pulling him down to her. He pulled her into his lap, laying them down on his cot as they started making out like a long-distance high-school couple.
Arthur mindlessly starts grinding against her, ignoring the clothing separating them. She doesn’t realize what she’s feeling as Arthur’s hard cock slides against her clothed pussy.
Her orgasm just kind of happens.
Arthur watches her shake and twitch under him as he pulls away to see what happened. The wet spot on her underwear is all the evidence he needs.
Ever since, she’s been insatiable. She wants Arthur to show her everything. Teach her everything. She wants to feel everything if that means she can cum like that again.
Around the campfire she’d sit on his lap, tightly circling her hips against him until he’d grow hard before stopping. Then she’d do it again.
Arthur would mostly ignore her teasing. He didn’t want her to know how much she was driving him up the wall, so he’d retaliate in a way that was ten times worse then whatever she did just to prove a point about her innocence, how she knows so little compared to him.
The first time they fuck, he makes the horse riding joke again: “I’m sure this’ll be good practice for you, sweetheart.”
She huffs a laugh, rubbing his cock through her folds as she straddles him. He’s built up her confidence so much, it’s all been leading to this.
He’d guide her up and down, back and forth, testing her body to see what she likes. Seeing what spot makes her tremble.
He finds it. “Fuck, there it is,” Arthur groans.
She can’t even think. She doesn’t know what to think. She’s doing everything her father told her not to.
Premarital sex.
Premarital sex with a cowboy.
“Oh, Lord, forgive me,” she prays, her pussy sliding so perfectly along him as he grips her hips harder.
Eventually, he’d eat her out in her childhood bedroom. Her father sleeping in the room above her own, separated by the thin wood of the floor. She arches against the bed, and her eyes meet the iron cross hung above her bed frame.
She’d often ask him to leave the hat on, and he’d laugh, pleased that she is slowly adopting sexual preferences and interests.
She was his perfect, sophisticated woman that he was free to defile and poison with his desires.
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